Poetry in motion

Tess Tims, 30+ year association with the Crows Nest Centre

Sorry – not able to give a glimpse of my sports prowess – because I can’t run, can’t jump, can’t throw or kick, can’t toss a ball, nor swing a racquet or hockey stick.

Reminiscing of school days, long gone by, indignantly I often wondered ‘why’ no captain would ever dream of picking me for her sports team.

My younger sister put me to shame, the sporting arena was her domain. Academically she failed every test. As an athlete, she was up there with the best.

Green with envy I would squirm, slink into my hole like a silly old worm, but when she basked in glory, all trophies a glitter, my claim to fame was “She’s my sister”.

My friends included Terry Noronha on the badminton scene. An ace performer at our local club, he smelt trouble as he was teamed with me in tournament doubles.

Gallantly he proclaimed it was his lot, while the crowd roared hilariously at my every missed shot.

Cheeky young onlooker adding to the fun, shouted: “When all this is said and done, congratulations Terry! Unlucky runner-up! Had you played solo, you’d have won the cup.”

With my young son, I watched the world series cricket, was enlightened re maidens, overs, stumps and wicket.

In footy it was scrums #B@&!!! And other schoolboy slang, which he delivered in his acquired Aussie twang. Exasperated he would let out a mighty sigh, in answer to my How? When? Where? and Why?

“Aussie! Aussie! Aussie! Oi, oi, oi” infiltrated my lingo. “C’mon Aussie C’mon C’mon” was my new singo.

Finally, after so many years on the earth, I admit there must be something of worth in all the antics the world calls ‘sport’. And because of that I will report, when ‘Olympics 2000’ came south of the equator, I was thrilled to take part, as a spectator!

For Tess, watching the Sydney Olympics was truly a spectator sport.