Oh, Camogie!

Not even as a child I was good at sport. And not good at sport in this case means not good at any sport at all. I was a child that fell over his own feet and was expelled from the ballet class where I stumbled across the little and delicate elves I admired so much, even it was clear that I never ever would be one of them. When teams were put together I was the last one to be chosen and then I stopped going to school. The dear former companion F. was an athlete, playing soccer, running like a thunderbolt and starting every day with push-ups. I admired this from a safe distance and soon I learned that there are truly people, sitting on the couch, wearing their favorite team jumper and shouting enthusiastically at a TV screen. I watched from an even safer distance, because even the very dear F. would have been sad about me laughing out loud at such moments of emotional upheavals. And I learnt later on, whenF. already left and shouted „goal“ somewhere else, that those who sit on the couch know always best and I found this even more funny but remained the only one. Sport seems to be truly a serious business. I drag myself to two yoga classes twice a week, where my steady mantra is: Read On no one ever died from yoga and try not to think of my ballet class disaster, even if this is not easy at all, because grown-up ballet elves are all doing yoga. They look gorgeous after class, whereas I look like a heavy breathing walrus, trying to get back into water. In summer I swim, obviously water seems to be the most appropriate surrounding for a walrus with some human touch. And you would laugh how such an athletic catastrophe as me spends so many weekends on some sports fields as I do. But I do. Still most of the time I have no clue what it is all about. At least I learned that soccer needs eleven people in a team, but when asked how many play in a basketball team I could just shrug my shoulders helplessly,  I have no idea what handball is about and can’t believe that there must exist somewhere outside people who know the difference between Rugby and American football. But anyway I classified sports after their most commonly occurring injuries. Boxing is the number one for nose-bleeds, whereas soccer is categorized under strains and sprains, hockey players ( whatever they play for ) are facing muscle cramps and whenever someone shouts „medic“ on a rugby pitch, I already break an ice-pack.  Since I came to Ireland things got even more complicated. In Ireland they do sports, I never knew they were even existing. This weekend I found myself thrown into a Camogie game. You have to imagine two female teams, all of them helding a wooden bat, called hurley, looking like Getafix’s wooden soup ladle, but in opposite to him they don’t mix magic waters but chase a small ball up and down a field. This sounds harmless enough but it isn’t.If you hear the wooden bats smash at each other and see the tangled and twisted teams you don’t even dare to breathe. I am sure the Romans never invaded Ireland for one single reason, they saw a Camogie game and decided to better not get involved. So after a weekend of Camogie I still do not know how this games works, but this sort of sports has to be filed under: injuries of any kind. Probably the most dangerous game in the world. Better stay safe on the couch.

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