Village Squire, 1976-08, Page 19BY
IRENE McBRIDE
Long ago, and I have no intentions of
telling you how long, I gave up active
participation in sports.
My schooldays were blighted by athletic '
teachers. 1 always seemed to end up on the
field hockey team, no matter how I tried to
blend in with the pavilion. It was painted a
sickly green and, on sports days, I invariably;
went to school dressed in the most atrocious
green outfit.
The teachers were wise to my subterfuge
and managed to pick me up for the team even
though, by that time, I was also green around
the gills!
The whole area was loaned to the school,
under protest, by a gaggle of rabbits who
went to a great deal of trouble placing holes at
strategic spots on the hockey field.
Twice I put my foot down one of those holes
and both times ended up with my swollen
ankle being bandaged for days. But, being
British, the stiff upper hp prevailed and the
next game would find me back in place trying
to blend in with my surroundings.
The payoff came the day an opponent
forgot she was playing hockey and opted for
golf instead. One mighty swing and I saw
stars. A black eye and a lip that would have
put a balloon to shame were the proverbial
last straws. I gave up sports for life.
Confessions of an Olympic widow
Everything went along fine until Canada, in
.its infinite wisdom, decided to host the
Olympics.
I had discovered, over the years, that I was
married to an avid sports fan but, not until the
Olympics took over the networks, did I realize
just how avid he Nvas!
My dining room and kitchen suddenly
became infiltrated by loud descriptions of all
kinds of sports. Sound reverberated around
the ground floor; the source of which was the
nasty box in the living room.
The film crews frenziedly jumped from one
event to the next and, as I was away from the
changing pictures, 1 became bemused by
commentaries that ran something like this: --
"They're rowing furiously---,"
--Now he's off and running a supurb
race." So that I had a mental picture of "Him
hopping out of his boat and running like the
wind across the water to the finish line!
Another time the confusion arose when: --
"He has turned in a perfect performance
on the parallel bars.---"
---Now he takes a left jab to his body and a
right to his head." I could see the poor chap
dropping to the floor from his grand
performance and being set upon by the other
competitors.
Or: --
"She is having trouble with her mount
The horse is spirited and takes careful
handling.---"
"There she goes, swimming a great race in
the breast stroke---" Perhaps the horse
tipped her over the fence into the St.
Lawrence!
The fabulous Olympics became a conglom-
eration of highly entertaining mental pictures
and competitors became super beings who
performed in a manner never before seen by
human eye.
The whole thing became even more bizarre
when my husband changed channels in an
effort to catch every event. Then I got: --
"He proudly receives his gold medal."
Click. "Right in the eye." Click. "violence is
one of our gravest problems." Click. "And
now - Here's Dinah!" Click. "She's putting
everything she's got into the javelin throw."
They were the most entertaining Olympics
in history as far as I was concerned. I now
look forward to four years hence when I hope
to get the same kind of fun listening to
commentators trying to put excitement across
in language spiked with Russian:-
"Katri^ski swings from the parallel barskis
"She makes a perfect diveski into--"
The basketball courtski!" By then I
imagine I will be about ready to be carried cif
by the men in the white coatskic'
VILLAGE SQUIRE/AUGUST 1976, 17