The War Of The Blue Balls

Sometimes, on very rare occasions, our PE teacher is ill. This is very rare because PE teachers hardly ever seem to get ill. It’s strange. It’s like they can’t wait to get into school each day to torture us with their rugby lessons and basketball lessons and netball lessons and football lessons and handball lessons. I mean, who’s ever even heard of handball?! Maybe all the PE teachers ran out of sports to teach us and so they made one up and called it handball.

But the worst one of all, the very worst sport that you can ever play at secondary school, the one that could leave you with a big green bruise shaped like a three-legged hamster the day after you play it, is

DODGEBALL

It’s in the name.

Dodgeball is where the teacher puts balls in the middle of the hall and when it starts you run and get them and chuck them at your classmates and if you hit them with the ball then they’re out and people throw them really hard which is where the three-legged hamster bruises come in and if you’re the last one left when everyone else is out then loads and loads of balls come flying at you from the other team and hit you in the stomach and I’ve said ‘and’ ten times already in this sentence so I should probably stop.

Unfortunately, there is more.

We don’t just have to play dodgeball, we have to play dodgeball for TWO HOURS. Two whole hours. I mean, one hour would be bad enough, but two hours is torture. Every free moment where I am not being pummelled with blue foam balls, I look hopefully at the clock on the wall.

Please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end please let it be the end

But it never is. The minutes crawl by like slimy slippery snails.

One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Four minutes……. Fifteen minutes. Sixteen minutes. Seventeen minutes……. twenty-nine minutes. Thirty minutes. Thirty-one minutes.

By the time it gets to two-hundred-and-twenty-minutes I am going mad. Sometimes I go outside for a drink of water to get out for few minutes. But when I go back in again, walking very, very slowly so it takes me longer to get inside, only one measly little minute has passed.

As I said, torture.

And don’t get me started on benchball.

Published by Lily

Doodles, cute stuff, stationary, I love it all! :D

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