(This is a sequel to The ‘Sporting’ Spirit: Part 1).
Well. My misadventures with sports continued as I grew up.
This time, though, I was in fourth grade. It was the semis of a inter-class friendly shuttle relay competition(I had been selected solely due to the hard work of my team and no credit goes to me). The sun burnt our backs as we stood waiting, surveying the opponent. We had just drunk barrels of glucose and were ready to steamroll the opponent.
I am sure all of you must have heard of shuttle relay. There will be two teams, consisting of eight or ten members each. four will be on one side and the remaining four on the other. The shuttle has to be passed from one person to another. The team in which all the players have reached the opposite side first will be the winner. Such a simple game. A piece of cake for me, I thought.
I was standing at the front, ready to roll. The referee blew the whistle. I moved like lightening, defeating even Usain Bolt (or so I felt). While I was busy day-dreaming, the girl who was supposed to receive the shuttle was hitting her head. As soon as she got the shuttle, she wasted a precious second and spat at me. Must be crazy, I thought. She moved fast, but not fast enough, I thought.
The next five minutes was a blur of sand and sun. As the dust storm cleared up, I looked up, eagerly awaiting the results. I entered into another day dream, people lifting me on their shoulders and carrying me, triumphant, back to our class. What a bitter disappointment.
Our team had an epic defeat. Seems that I had moved even slower than a sloth (leading to one of my nicknames, ‘Sloth Aunty’). Though all the others tried to make up my speed by running like the mind, my slowness cost them all. “Thin doesn’t always mean fast,” they remarked spitefully. Well, I still take consolation from the fact that our opponent lost in the finals.
Like they say in America, ‘you can’t win ’em all’.
I have just found out one thing.
I. HAVE. LOST.