The stick connected with a dull crack and the ball took flight rising quickly. It was beautiful, and I stood back with the sort of deep satisfaction that can only come through knowing one has created magnificence, watching the white ball ascend into the crisp wintery air on its way to where I sent it. The ball raced to the goal net, an arrow straight missile of destruction destined for the back of the net. I have to say...It felt good being at the top of my game.
The year was 1981 and an eleven year-old me stood basking in the glory of my magnificent shot. Back to the story.
I was on the school oval with my field-hockey buddies at lunch time, practising - serious business. We were shooting goals and everything was coming up galenkp. I mean I was killin' it! out there...But killin it, and the heady scent of success, soon descended to almost being killed with that one glorious strike of that ball. Back to the story. src
A few minutes before the glorious shot I'd been padded up and in the goals as "goalie". All was well, but an ill-favoured wind was blowing through. Enter the soon-to-be-Cyclops.
Ruprecht [name changed] was a lad at school who suffered mental disability, I know not what. He was big, almost adult-sized, a strong dude and, due to his disability, somewhat of a loose cannon. Most kids were a little afraid of him. He had a reputation.
The big unit strode over on gargantuan legs and in a manly voice said "Ruprecht want to play goals," or some such thing. I tried to explain the danger but the giant Ruprecht was having none of it. I was a little cowed by his looming over me and so I relented and started de-padding.
I offered him many other options that wouldn't put this slow-moving jolly frightening giant in harms way, but in fear of having my life crushed out of me by one humungous hand I relented. Back to the story.
The brobdingnagian Ruprecht was not about to play along with getting padded up which meant chest, leg and head protection...No, me Ruprecht, me invincible. Well, as it turns out, not...So off I go, out onto the field to fire some shots his way with the rest of the lads.
The monumental Ruprecht stood in the goal area, arms hanging lamely by his sides, holding the hockey stick in both hands. "Ok King Kong, it's on like Donkey Kong," I thought like a complete and utter idiot. I grabbed my stick, set up a shot and fired like a damned howitzer letting off a salvo across no mans land...The perfect strike I refer to in paragraph one.
I'll fast forward here and not linger on the magnificence of my strike which was heading towards its target, and move to the lamentable results of it. Back to the story.
The ball struck. It struck the towering Ruprecht right above his eye at about three billion miles an hour, four litres of blood gooshed forth like Niagra Falls on a good day. Oops.
Time froze, along with the monumental Ruprecht and the now shitting himself galenkp of course. But time unfroze. The colossal Ruprecht shook his head like a grizzly bear, realised he'd lost 45% of his total life's-blood, and started scanning for the source of his pain. Little old me.
He was lightening-quick, but fear put the strength of ye gods into me and whilst an Apollo versus Cyclops battle [Me, Apollo, as the victor] might have made a better story, I decided discretion really was the better part of valour and a withdrawal was a more healthy option.
Withdrawal...It was more of a general flee for your life, the Saxon's are coming type of withdrawal really. Back to the story.
I fled. I ran way to the sounds of "ruuuuunnnnnnnnn" echoing behind me; Team-mates offering enthusiastic encouragement and rather sound, if obvious, advice. I heard the grunts of pain and determination from Ruprecht the Cyclops, the wailing and his thunderous footsteps hot on my heels also. I ran, over hill and dale, my brother 
I dared a glance over my shoulder once; The enormous figure of Ruprecht-man-mountain gaining on me, hockey stick waved overhead like the rotors on an Apache helicopter diving in for the kill spurred me on (image below). "If he captures me he will pummel me to death", I thought, and set to running with renewed vigour...But my energy was flagging; The adrenalin from the most magnificent ball-strike of my hockey career, and fear of being pummelled into a bloody, ragged mess by Ruprecht-the-strong, was wearing off. Despair set in...I was going to die. I knew it then. I was going to die an eleven year-old virgin. [Ok, I didn't think that last bit at the time but it's funny now right?] helo im src
I still recall the faces of my school peers, astonished, grinning and yet other's simply curious or eager to watch the public hockey-stick-bashing of the little-brown-kid that was about to ensue. A blur of colour, the movie-reel of my life flashing before my eyes. This is what people felt when they heard the words "release the Kraken." Back to the story.
I slowed; Legs wobbly with fatigue were a fitting companion for lungs gasping for life-saving air. Resignation of my impending doom settled upon me. I wondered if my mum would be able to have an open casket at my funeral. Damn you doom and your impending ways.
But hark...What is this...A lucid thought? The spark of a plan I could nurture to a flame? I could feel it formulating, growing in my soon-to-be-crushed-like-a-melon noggin. "Run like a mofo into the teachers staff room." Simply sagacious of me. Wise beyond my eleven years, but could my jelly-legs carry me that far before the brobdingnagian-Krakenish-King-Kong-sized-Cyclops-Godzilla-Apache-helicopter-hockey-stick-weilding-Ruprecht cleft my noggin in twain with one of my own hockey sticks?
I burst forth into the staff room like a one-boy-herd-of-wild-horses to the amazement of a bunch of teachers, spied the head-master and made directly for him. Mere seconds later the brobdingnagian-Krakenish-King-Kong-sized-Cyclops-Godzilla-Blackhawk-helicopter-hockey-stick-weilding-grizzly-bear-Ruprecht burst through the door as well. Would he wade through the intervening educators like a Titan, laying about left and right with the hockey stick in his attempt to reach me? Thankfully not. I was safe.
The teachers calmed the situation down, got the story from me and what they could from the now-calmer Ruprecht, obviously after first-aid was administered. He ended up with nine stitches to a pretty vicious cut above his eye and is probably scarred to this day. Both sets of parents were called and Ruprecht was sent home. My mum took me home also as I was pretty shaken up. I've made light of it here but I was really quite frightened as you may imagine.
Several of my team-mates would attest later that I made many attempts to dissuade Ruprecht from being goalie and that he was impossible to reason with, which everyone knew anyway. Of course I could have made better decisions also...Not fired in that ball in so cruise-missiley-hard. I was eleven and just a kid though; Logic wasn't a strong-point at that stage.
Ruprecht didn't come back to school for a couple of weeks although his father came back to see me. He sat me down patiently explaining that his son was different to the rest of us and was unable to apply logic, restraint, balanced thought...I can't recall the words but I recall him being very patient, kind and understanding with me. Comforting. He was not mad with me in the least bit. It was nice, and a valuable lesson I took into later life. The incident began a reasonable friendship between the two sets of parents but I'm afraid I couldn't bring myself to trust Ruprecht after that, and probably him me. He didn't seek King-Kong-style vengeance when he returned; It was almost like he had forgotten but I don't think he did.
There you have it, a not very glorious sporting story from my younger days. I was prompted to tell it on the back of my post yesterday about failure which you can read here. I mentioned how I've failed over and over all my life, like most, and that failure paved the way to success.
I failed that day at school, made a stupid decision, but it taught me many things, some I learned right then, some much later because of that event. I laugh now but at the time it wasn't a joke; The ball could have killed that lad, taken an eye maybe. But now, knowing that didn't happen I can sort of laugh at it. I hope you were a little entertained...At my stupidity, and hockey-ball-hitting-magnificence.
Design and create your ideal life, don't live it by default
