…In PE we did Crab Football.
With a lot of team spirit and co-operation the final score was 10-1.
To the opposition…
Sarcasm alert!
I wonder, though, if there is anything more excruciating than knowing you’re no good at PE, yet having to wait to be picked by a team captain who is well aware, as soon as they’re landed with yours truly, their team has already as good as conceded half a dozen goals.
It had been over two months since I’d last had to play this painful, humiliating game, so obviously it was time to be stripped of my dignity all over again.
Still, at least our team got one goal. Despite me setting up at least a couple for the opposition.
Twenty-five years ago today 
I know your pain. I was picked after the person on crutches. It’s not a nice place to be. Still, I got my revenge.
Now that’s tantalising. Did you engineer some kind of sport-themed comeuppance in the dinner queue? Or was it a more subtle form of score-settling, perhaps 10 years after the event?
No such excitement. Thirty years on and I know I have done so much better than the sporty meanies who made PE a living hell.