I was mostly quite useless at the competitive sports I played growing up.
But what I lacked in the talent stakes compared to Julian, Anton, Auburn, Lawrence and other members of the motley crew I hung with, I more than made up for in determination and on-field (read: on-street) chirping.
Being reprimanded by Basil d’Oliveira at the Gelvandale cricket nets to “hit the bloody ball” after I’d repeatedly seen it whizz past off-stump (or, more correctly, hadn’t seen it…), remains an indelible, embarrassing reprimand decades later.
Although I think my left-handed cross-court tennis shots remain under-rated. Even today, they have both guile and venom. At least, that’s what I believe.
To discover that I had lived with a weak heart for a long, long time was both disconcerting and useful. I recall moments when it seemed the physical exertion on a court or a field would simply get the better of me and I might collapse in a heap. I don’t doubt that, over time, a compromised body subconsciously listens to itself and calibrates when it might be appropriate to push through an exertion threshold and when not to. That’s certainly been my experience.
It’s been a bit of a downer considering that, perhaps, I’m not a dinkum nerd – you know, the highly gifted, naturally brilliant, studious and single- minded individual. But more a nerd because I’m not a jock. Okay, I did actually know that I’m not naturally gifted and brilliant….
The point is that H2 has opened up marvelous new prospects in the sporting arena. A season of World Cup soccer, Wimbledon tennis and National Transplant Games is the best time to consider getting my tekkies out and hitting the road.