Healthy minds in healthy bodies
I saw this photo in Facebook and I hope my old friend and colleague Bob McGoran doesn't mind me showing it to you.
This is Bob getting ready for 'walking football.' It sounds like good fun - although I don't think the guys play in their slippers, as shown here. Bob has always been a football guy.
I am not a sport person. The closest I ever got to sport was hill walking and yoga. But I respect other people's enthusiasm for kicking a ball, hitting a ball with a stick, or chasing a ball. Not to mention getting hurt by a ball while doing all of these things.
The nearest I ever got to sport when I was a teacher was taking 'please-takes' with PE classes. I loved them. I always seemed to end up with classes of boys who definitely did not want to see me and would spend the first part of any please-take telling me how to organise the class so that they didn't have to spend the lesson sitting in a classroom. They were, of course, already in their PE kit - for that read, football kit.
The conversations always went the same way:
- (Smart kid) We could go to one of the gyms.
- Nah, there's classes in there.
- (Me suckered into it) So where would you be usually?
- In the hall. Miss, will I go and see if the hall's still empty?
- I suppose - (but he's already away - and back - in no time)
- It's empty.
They're already moving and I have to shout to stop them.
- What are you going to do? Remember, you have to referee it yourself - and it has to be safe!
Great consternation. Lots of arguments until finally:
- Bum football.
A ball and a whistle would appear from nowhere and we'd tumble out the door and along to the hall. Two teams were picked in seconds and the boys settled down. Me too, because I knew what was coming: boys who wouldn't give me or my subject the time of day sat down and got ready to play a game of football in which their bony bums never left the floor. They couldn't use their hands except for throw-ins but they kicked the ball along the hall floor, passed the ball overhead, shouted at poor passing, fouled outrageously, got told off by the referee and ended up red-faced, panting and happy.
And me, I just laughed for 40 minutes.
The finest compliment I ever got was after one of these please-takes:
- Miss, that was great.
- Glad you had a good time.
- Aye, best French lesson we've ever had!
This is Bob getting ready for 'walking football.' It sounds like good fun - although I don't think the guys play in their slippers, as shown here. Bob has always been a football guy.
I am not a sport person. The closest I ever got to sport was hill walking and yoga. But I respect other people's enthusiasm for kicking a ball, hitting a ball with a stick, or chasing a ball. Not to mention getting hurt by a ball while doing all of these things.
The nearest I ever got to sport when I was a teacher was taking 'please-takes' with PE classes. I loved them. I always seemed to end up with classes of boys who definitely did not want to see me and would spend the first part of any please-take telling me how to organise the class so that they didn't have to spend the lesson sitting in a classroom. They were, of course, already in their PE kit - for that read, football kit.
The conversations always went the same way:
- (Smart kid) We could go to one of the gyms.
- Nah, there's classes in there.
- (Me suckered into it) So where would you be usually?
- In the hall. Miss, will I go and see if the hall's still empty?
- I suppose - (but he's already away - and back - in no time)
- It's empty.
They're already moving and I have to shout to stop them.
- What are you going to do? Remember, you have to referee it yourself - and it has to be safe!
Great consternation. Lots of arguments until finally:
- Bum football.
A ball and a whistle would appear from nowhere and we'd tumble out the door and along to the hall. Two teams were picked in seconds and the boys settled down. Me too, because I knew what was coming: boys who wouldn't give me or my subject the time of day sat down and got ready to play a game of football in which their bony bums never left the floor. They couldn't use their hands except for throw-ins but they kicked the ball along the hall floor, passed the ball overhead, shouted at poor passing, fouled outrageously, got told off by the referee and ended up red-faced, panting and happy.
And me, I just laughed for 40 minutes.
The finest compliment I ever got was after one of these please-takes:
- Miss, that was great.
- Glad you had a good time.
- Aye, best French lesson we've ever had!
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