Average club Joe
Paddy Lewis3/02/2010 9:19:00 a.m.
AFTER the furore last week’s column created amongst all the sports administrators I have to deal with, I thought I’d take my death wish further and look at the various types of player and/or athlete your average club Joe has to deal with.
Luckily most of the players I know don’t bother reading anything other than a) the sports/racing page, and/or b) men’s magazines so I think I’m fairly safe. If I don’t have a column next week, you’ll know I’m completely wrong. Please leave donations to the IHC at the funeral service.
THE “SPARE A PENNY, GUV?” PLAYER: Despite having all the talent of a dead mollusc, this class of player will ring around all the clubs looking for a car, a weekly stipend, a flat, boots and so on. When told you can’t give them that, but can help them find a job, you are told “I’m focusing on my rugby/soccer/croquet this year, so I’m not working”. Unfortunately creates a bidding war as they will be playing in the only position where two or three clubs are desperately short of players.
THE ENERGIZER BUNNY: First to training, first to games, always runs around to help with club jobs, pays subs on time, helps out underprivileged kids with training sessions, and so on. This player falls into one of two classes – superbly talented, or a complete gumboot on the playing field. The former spends so much time on club stuff they get burnt out. The latter usually ends up in a conversation that goes along the lines of: “But I’ve given my life for this club. Why won’t you pick me?”
THE “OH HOW THE MIGHTY HAVE FALLEN” PLAYER: First XV at school, big for their age, naturally gifted, hard worker. Then they hit 20. Turn up to the season opener unfit. Excuse: “I’ll play my way into fitness.” Looking like a sperm whale, they threaten to leave after being dropped for not playing their way into fitness. As season continues, lack of fitness morphs into psychological disorder against coaches and general backstabbing and muttering. Will not leave club though due to free pie after game.
THE “CLINT EASTWOOD”: Tall, skinny, doesn’t say much (if anything). Trains well (without saying anything). Does everything asked of them without complaint but without unnecessary effort. Coaches scratch heads over player until the first game comes along and said player destroys the opposition. Never gets injured (lacerations from opposition boots are dismissed as “a scratch”). After each game, rides off into the sunset a la Clint in “Pale Rider”.
THE ULTIMATE CLUB MAN: May not be the best player, but when called on (say, with 10 minutes to go in a final and your XV is down to a XIII) will give their guts. Always knows where the cheapest beer is, and always the first to arrange for their mate with a van to give the lads a ride into town. Often has a “mate” in a band willing to play for free at the clubrooms.
THE BASKET CASE: No talent, no joie de vivre, talks to imaginary people, but wants to play and you need the numbers. Other players make them the butt of jokes until they discover at team bonding clay target shooting day that said Basket Case has a penchant for guns and a firearms license.
And so on, with variations on all the above. Next week: the Capital Times Guide to Supporters.
Luckily most of the players I know don’t bother reading anything other than a) the sports/racing page, and/or b) men’s magazines so I think I’m fairly safe. If I don’t have a column next week, you’ll know I’m completely wrong. Please leave donations to the IHC at the funeral service.
THE “SPARE A PENNY, GUV?” PLAYER: Despite having all the talent of a dead mollusc, this class of player will ring around all the clubs looking for a car, a weekly stipend, a flat, boots and so on. When told you can’t give them that, but can help them find a job, you are told “I’m focusing on my rugby/soccer/croquet this year, so I’m not working”. Unfortunately creates a bidding war as they will be playing in the only position where two or three clubs are desperately short of players.
THE ENERGIZER BUNNY: First to training, first to games, always runs around to help with club jobs, pays subs on time, helps out underprivileged kids with training sessions, and so on. This player falls into one of two classes – superbly talented, or a complete gumboot on the playing field. The former spends so much time on club stuff they get burnt out. The latter usually ends up in a conversation that goes along the lines of: “But I’ve given my life for this club. Why won’t you pick me?”
THE “OH HOW THE MIGHTY HAVE FALLEN” PLAYER: First XV at school, big for their age, naturally gifted, hard worker. Then they hit 20. Turn up to the season opener unfit. Excuse: “I’ll play my way into fitness.” Looking like a sperm whale, they threaten to leave after being dropped for not playing their way into fitness. As season continues, lack of fitness morphs into psychological disorder against coaches and general backstabbing and muttering. Will not leave club though due to free pie after game.
THE “CLINT EASTWOOD”: Tall, skinny, doesn’t say much (if anything). Trains well (without saying anything). Does everything asked of them without complaint but without unnecessary effort. Coaches scratch heads over player until the first game comes along and said player destroys the opposition. Never gets injured (lacerations from opposition boots are dismissed as “a scratch”). After each game, rides off into the sunset a la Clint in “Pale Rider”.
THE ULTIMATE CLUB MAN: May not be the best player, but when called on (say, with 10 minutes to go in a final and your XV is down to a XIII) will give their guts. Always knows where the cheapest beer is, and always the first to arrange for their mate with a van to give the lads a ride into town. Often has a “mate” in a band willing to play for free at the clubrooms.
THE BASKET CASE: No talent, no joie de vivre, talks to imaginary people, but wants to play and you need the numbers. Other players make them the butt of jokes until they discover at team bonding clay target shooting day that said Basket Case has a penchant for guns and a firearms license.
And so on, with variations on all the above. Next week: the Capital Times Guide to Supporters.
