Donald Hiscock | Articles | The Guardian
Why am I sitting in a deckchair with a plastic
box down my trousers and strips of Velcro cutting off the blood supply to
my legs? It is certainly beyond the call of duty. I am here against my will.
It is just not cricket. Well, actually, it is. Oh, good shot!
Roxanne, one of my more challenging students, assured
me it would be fun. When I refused her menacing offer of helping to raise
money for the Pashminas for Chechnya Appeal or something like that, she demanded
to know which part of "fun" it was that I didn't understand.
She reminded me what a good sport I had been on
previous occasions. I agreed reluctantly, assuming that nothing could be worse
than last term's attempt on the world record for the longest ever game of
Twister. My contribution of an hour of uncomfortable contortionism meant I
ended up with my nose inside the armpit of my mate Colin from maths, while
he appeared to be shaking hands with someone between my legs.
This time Roxanne has decided to organise a traditional
staff versus students cricket match. Or that's how she described it while
writing my name on her list and helping me to find that emergency £10
postal order I keep in my wallet in case I am confronted by a mugger.
Actually, having a student like Roxanne flipping
through one's wallet is a bit like being mugged, on a psychological level.
I was frightened about what I might reveal of my own private world. For fear
of her finding the photo of the donkey I have adopted or the tickets to see
The Yetties in concert, I agreed to write her a cheque for twice the entry
fee.
Not having picked up a cricket bat since knocking
over a display of them in a department store, I have devised a simple game
plan. Having been reassured that the match will be just a bit of fun, I've
decided I will be quite happy to provide the laughs by getting out first ball
and then retreating to my deckchair. And when the time comes to field, I can
loiter on the boundary and deliberately dive the wrong way if a ball comes
anywhere near me.
But things don't always go to plan. I suppose I
should I have sensed this when the word "fun" was uttered in a further
education context. The word, of course, is on the official management list
of banned utterances, along with "why", "how" and "not
over my dead body".
I wasn't even sure I had turned up to the right
game, as the only other team member I immediately recognised was Colin in
a tight-fitting chunky knit sweater and what looked like his old school cap
barely hiding his bald spot. We are captained by Ted Ledbury, who holds the
record for retiring in 12 consecutive years, even though no one knows what
he does at college. Or to be more precise, he turns up every year for his
leaving do and then he is not sighted again until next year. He is, in fact,
a role model for anyone in the profession.
Ted has sensed my fear of the ball and has told
me I am a tail-ender. Even though I am not sure whether this is a compliment,
I am content to sit here in my deckchair. The only downside is that Roxanne's
specialist spin technique is sending players back to the pavilion at quite
a rate.
You can bet she's planning to bowl me a googly.
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