Why I Don't Do Sports.
So as a child I was diagnosed with Dyspraxia. Dyspraxia is a developmental disorder of the brain in childhood leading to trouble with things like coordination and movement. Because in life, that's what you need...
This lead me to struggle with simple tasks such as tying my shoelaces and throwing or catching a ball. It also affects the immune system (possible reason as to why a particularly bad bout of tonsillitis caused my diabetes?) and can be attributed to phobias apparently, the most common being an irrational fear of the unknown. I struggle with this exact fear. Not so much in day to day life but more when it comes to things like deep water (combined with my early struggle of learning to swim due to the Dyspraxia as well) or rollercoasters. I did manage to overcome my fear of rollercoasters back in 2014 when I visited Alton Towers and was so determined to ride every coaster I could. What better way to conquer a fear than go head on at it? I did this in the form of The Smiler. You know, the one that then crashed in 2016 nearly killing its riders and leading to at least one limb amputation, yeah that ride. I loved it and can't wait to get to Disneyland Paris in May this year to prove that it wasn't a one off for me.
Dyspraxia meant that while at school, during sports lessons, I would be in a room throwing a tennis ball back and forth with someone after my year 5 teacher, the late Mr Pierce had recognised the symptoms after my year 3 teacher had just proclaimed I was lazy. This lead to some pretty blatant exclusion and being picked last for teams at break time and another step towards my hatred for sports in general.
One particular memory of sports and possibly the root cause of my dislike toward football is quite a hilarious one looking back on it.
It was lunchtime, I was in year 5 or 6, all the boys had gathered together for their daily football match on the concrete playground. The bags and jumpers were down as goalposts, the teams were being picked, I was second from last which was a standout moment for me, pride raced through my smile as I smugly grinned while strutting to my teammates who just picked me as the lesser of the two awful athletes in our year. We took our places, and someone shouted "Game on!" That was it, I sprang into action. I had everything to prove and nothing to lose. I raced around the playground shouting "Man on!" or "That's a hack!" and "To me!" like a Chuckle brother, not having a damn clue what any of it meant. I barely touched the ball during the first half.
Even though we were young, there were big boys in our year, who each team seemed to use like a tank. Elbows were thrown, children were barged and trouser knees were torn. It was a battlefield out there! Half time approached and we had a few minutes to grab a drink and laugh about the events of the last ten minutes.
After suitably refreshing myself, we got back into the second half.
I was determined to see more of the action this time. I darted around trying shake of my mark and free myself to allow a safe passage for the ball. A few goals were scored by both teams and insults were thrown about somebodies Mum because they'd tackled someone.
I had somehow managed to get myself next to the goal but trying to avoid being labelled a 'goalhanger', I had managed to lose the kid who was intent on preventing me any form of glory but sticking with me the entire time. This was it. This was my big moment. My time to shine and prove I could play football! The ball was coming my way, the other boys shouting my name to take it from the lad who currently possessed it. I wasted no time, I grabbed the moment by the balls and charged at the guy. I took the ball from him, someone on my team grabbing his shirt and preventing him from destroying my only chance. I eyed up the goal, everything seemed to slow down, the guys were yelling, the goalkeeper was eyeing me intently, almost asking for the ball. I lined up my shot and hammered the ball away. It found its target! I had done the impossible. I had scored! Groans were heard from one team and cheers from the other. I yelled in ecstatic fury at my achievement. The moaning team were not happy!
Then it hit me, like a football to the face. The goalkeeper who looked like he was asking for the ball was doing just that, asking for the ball. My team were yelling at me to get rid of the ball before the opposition could score. Yes, I had scored a goal but an own goal.
'How?' you ask?
Nobody told me we had swapped ends at half time. If you want to know what it feels like to be loved, hated and ridiculed all at once, score an own goal. From that day forward I never even tried to be picked for football let alone picked second from last. I was happy doing art, playing music and being creative instead.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is part one of 'Why I Don't Do Sports'. I hope you enjoyed the first part of this series. Please share by clicking the relevant button below this post. If you or somebody you know has a child and you think they may suffer from Dyspraxia, this link should offer more information: http://dyspraxiafoundation.org.uk/about-dyspraxia/
Thanks for reading,
Matt.