falls, scabs and scary balls

I think I can summarise my childhood physical activity in to the above phrase.
I was never good at any sport, ever in my life - not even going down a children's slide. For inexplicable reasons, I would somehow manage to hurt myself and walk around like a sacrificial lamb who has been briefed regarding his grim future (yes, ok, my mother should not have paid so much attention). Take the slide for instance. I remember going to Lion's park in Calicut and getting stuck on the slide (usually I just freeze up at the top and gingerly go back down the steps, but that day there was one of those scary looking boys - freckles, missing front tooth, evil snigger, you know the type - breathing down my neck, so I had to at least pretend that I was planning to go down the slide in the near future). I remember lying down on the slide (when I sat up, the ground looked too far away and the slide looked too steep) and hoping for the best.
The slide was one of those fashionably curved ones and with me lying down, which the poor guy who designed the slide had not anticipated, I got stuck in the curve. So there I was, lying down on the slide, stuck about 2 feet from the ground while the boys behind me were getting more and more impatient by the minute. As I had closed my eyes at the point of departure, it didn't dawn on me till a few moments later that I had not touched the ground and that the ordeal was not over yet. I also realised that I did not have any momentum left to make my way down.

I calmly weighed up the options in my mind:

1. try and keep my eyes open for longer, look around me (and maybe even look down) and decide whether:
a. I should jerk myself loose by wiggling my bum
b. I should try to sit up and move down the slide
c. I should swing my leg over the side and chance a fall (yeah right!)

OR

2. listen to the advice +/- threats from the impatient boys waiting behind me such as:
a. 'curl up into a ball so that I can kick you down the slide' (very kind, but please don't trouble yourself)
b. 'stand up and run down the slide' (really guys, if I could do that, would I get stuck in the first place? honestly!)
c. 'get out of the way or I'll kick your head in' (hmm... that was clear enough)

OR

3. cling on to the sides of the slide, screw my eyes tight and cry out at the top of my voice till someone 'responsible' comes running

Strangely enough option 3 seemed the most sensible thing to do, so I did not waste any more time.

The end result was:
1. the boys above got frustrated and jumped on to the slide so that three of them bounced off my head, two plunged to the ground straight off the curve while the third rolled over me and cannonballed down the slide
2. I donated a significant portion of the skin from my palms and forearms to the slide trying to hold on for dear life
3. I lost one shoe and half my shirt pocket
4. Being of reputable character and of a friendly neighbourly disposition, the slide repayed my generosity in full, so that the whole of my back had a respectable coating of the slate grey top layer of the slide to replace the skin I had lost

The amazing thing was, all of this took no more than 48 seconds.

Like I said, it is all inexplicable

So I never bothered to attempt any sport whatsoever, but as my friends all liked sports, I HAD to go out and play in the evenings. It was only later (when we bought a TV) that I realised that there is no 'back goalie' in football or 'second wicky' in cricket. The truth was, knowing how 'good' I was at sports, my friends had devised a way of making me useful.

During a typical evening's play I would:
1. retrieve the football after a goal has been scored. The goal post was usually the space between two big boulders and the top bar of the goal post was an imaginary line above the goal keeper's head which is deemed reachable by the oldest boy in the group. This meant that if a goal is scored, the ball would shoot off into the undergrowth and then it was upto me to retrieve it (back goalie)

OR

2. retrieve the cricket ball if it goes wide and is too far for the wicketkeeper to reach (second wicky)

I must say I cannot blame my friends, for all kinds of balls scared me. I used to field at mid-on once upon a time (when I first moved into the neighbourhood, before my friends knew me), but I remember turning around and running away when the ball went up in the air and then came down straight on top of me (i.e., a catch). The football being bigger, you can imagine my response.

Nowadays, I just don't bother. I am quite happy sitting in a corner and picking my scabs.