As some of you know (and mercilessly taunt me for), I sometimes move off my fat ass and partake in physical exercise. To be more precise, I sometimes play floorball with colleagues. I do it as much for the social aspect as for the exercise, and the worst thing that happens is usually that I get a little stiff in the morning the day after a game.
Todays game, however, almost ended in tragedy. Yours truly is no athlete - I tend to start wheezing after running five yards - but I'm fairly decent at filling up the space between the goalposts and today was no exception. Now, one of the players on the opposing team is a huge, bulky guy, infamous for his hard drives. When he fires off a shot, people tend to scatter in all directions. And this particular afternoon he fired of a shot of epic force about ten feet away from me, hitting me square in the holiest of holies. Needless to say, I went down like a sack o' taters and stayed down for a while.
Yet, even in my hour of excruciating pain I managed to keep my calm and fire off a remark. As the others gathered around me, inquiring about my status (dead or alive?) I managed to whisper hoarsely: "I'm fine guys... I'm fine... but I've got this sudden urge to go out and buy shoes..."
Now THAT'S calm under fire.
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2 comments:
So...were you still a little stiff the morning after the game? ;)
Dear man from the land of Grieg:
Doesn't Norway have a monarchy? Please consider in the future, when the jock urge hits, that they will not lend you their family jewels as replacements.
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