Both players and watchers,. No-one knows the rules. That's what makes the game so great. "Just get out there. And slug your opponent!". That's what makes the game so great.
Yuppies, I've been taught,. Are keen on sport. Two slices wholemeal loaf. Into towelette jogging suit. Once round the park. Quick game of squash. Staving off a heart attack.
Complete control of mind and matter. Concentration, manipulation. Movements swift, deadly, graceful. Applying oneself with dedication. Martial arts, an ancient skill.
Three steps forward, two steps back. Oblivious to all around. Psyching up for the big jump. Breathing getting deeper. Then charging down the track. Hitting the board just right.
We'll be singing, when we're winning. We'll be singing. . I get knocked down but I get up again. You're never going to keep me down. I get knocked down but I get up again.
England's goalkeeper since Gordon Banks. Consistent, reliable, a safe pair of hands. But despite all his saves and all his acrobatics. I can't help recalling something more dramatic.
I got a skateboard. Oo-ee-oo!. I'm skating down the street. With my trucks all new. Here comes the NME. Coming into view. Looking for a gimmick. That it can screw.
Watch Ben Johnson on TV. Or try to beat your own PB. The choice is yours. You decide. Get square eyes. Or get outside!.
Birds strung on barbed wire hanging in the sun. Grouse moors trampled to the crack of guns. Greyhounds snapping at a hare on the run. Corpse of a fox when the day is done.
Bing played golf. Do-be-do-be-do. In the rain. Do-be-do-be-do. Struck by lightning. Do-be-do-be-do. Never again Do-be-do-be-do-be-do-be-do.
Every one of them, one in a million. Blaze a trail and tear up the past. Thank heaven for devils and sporting rebels. Count the black sheep, and stuff the rest.
The evolution of humankind. An opposing digit, the use of tools. Inventing the wheel, exploring space. Brain size still developing. Two men and a referee.
Jos Naylor of Wasdale. Greatest fell runner of our time. Running the mountains. And working the farm. Cutting the bracken. Constructing walls. Studded farm boots.
Compass, whistle, cagoul, map. Count your steps along the track. To checkpoint one. Checkpoint two. Checkpoint three and back. Compass bearing sou-sou-west.
Let's face it lads, you're really crap!. But you're exciting to watch, I'll give you that. Not for a wage, not for fame. Not for directors. For the love of the game.
The ancient sport of face-jumping. Involved a skill unknown. A jump onto a partner's face. With ne'er a crack of bone. Tom McSmee, a champion,. In several tests of skill.
Na then!. Get another drink!. And get yourself sat down. We'll have a game of shave ha'penny. And loser gets next round. Get another drink!. And get your arrows out.
"So, Greavsie, well, what about the black lads gettin' bananas thrown at em?". "Well, it seems a bit unfortunate, I mean, uh, uh". Sitting on the bench, he starts another drink.
You like to make investments in your favorite sports. Competition pays, talent can be bought. So you made it your business. To make it a business. Now it's all about getting the check.
They call it hopscotch!. Now this is where it all begins. A piece of chalk and a boot-polish tin. Hit the streets, no time to wait. Draw them squares out, 1 to 8.