Another weekend passes in a blur of sporting action and tantrums. Whilst contemplating the futility of expecting one’s children to do anything asked of them and whilst searching for the basis of my next blog, it occurred to me that it’s one of those words that I just know, without knowing why I know. As ever, a quick recourse to Google and Wikipedia reveals the simple answer. It was originally a weblog (web log), which twenty years or so ago was bastardised to become “we blog” and thence “blog”, “bloggers’, “blogging” etc. So strictly speaking I am a Web Logger, which brings to mind those wonderful cold and frosty winter morns when the spiders’ overnight work is clear for all to see, strung between the trees. A slightly warped mind is essential for blogging!
Part of my sporting activity at the weekend, involved managing a team of young hockey players, that my daughter plays for, in the absence of the regular manager. Without five or six of our better players it was always going to be an uphill struggle against the best team in the League. In my finest Churchillian tones I recalled the great Europe-conquering Nottingham Forest side under manager Brian Clough that was far greater than the sum of its parts thanks to teamwork, discipline, and determination. Sir Winston would’ve been unimpressed, as the first two disappeared into the abyss of uncertainty, although full credit for their Dunkirkesque determination in the face of far superior ability. I must remember the Eden hat and thick Havana if asked again. (Unlikely. Ed.)
I’ve always been fascinated by the significance of teamwork. Right from the start of my military service its importance was drummed into us. From coping with the muck and bullets of battle, to guiding one’s entire squad over the line in a twenty five mile route march, selfless determination to put your body on the line, to put colleagues’ welfare first, was the invariable order of the day. One of the Army’s most successful and simple methods for achieving team cohesion was Arms Drill. My father always said that if morale was suffering during the war, a few hours on the Drill Square miraculously restored spirits. It sounds odd but to be part of a well oiled body of marching men, working in greater harmony than the Royal Ballet, can be tremendously uplifting. Most sports teams function better when everyone plays for each other. In my Richmond Hockey Club days, many moons ago, I recall a lovely man who would dribble and dribble until he disappeared up his own backside. One day I got so frustrated I screamed at him “Roger PLEASE pass the …… ball”. To which came the simple response, “why should I”! Ermmm…..
When it comes to selfishness, there are few to beat professional golfers. It’s a lonely and intensely demanding life on Tour and it’s you against the rest. Generally in life I suspect most folk like to be part of a herd. It’s not difficult to surmise the background and purpose of the smart gentleman in deerstalker, Norfolk jacket and plus fours, or the old -fashioned City gent in pinstripe suit, bowler hat and rolled umbrella. Beards are the latest manifestation of this desire. It’s weird how even the pro golfer follows this trend. Over the past year or three, more and more have discarded the Wilkinson Sword in favour of the grooming clippers. If you spot a clean-shaven player on the fairways of PGA and European Tour golf now it’s tempting to think they should be on the Ladies Tour. I’m so glad I don’t have to compete. Dulux on an oily wall dries faster that my beard grows and even after weeks of trying, it just looks like a dog with mange.
Talking of which, we’ve just walked Callie (the whippet) along the Prom here in Eastbourne. Compared with yesterday’s cloudless, icy blue sky, and flat calm in The Channel, the scene couldn’t be more different. A twenty mile an hour wind is whipping up the dirty white rollers amidst a sea of swirling, grubby, grey bleakness, where the horizon is indistinguishable and driving rain pierces the eyeballs. All the more surprising then to see a windsurfer out amongst the breakers. It merely confirms my previously held view that such creatures really are completely bonkers…..and definitely not team players.
ADayInTheStrifeOf 