Autobiography

It's been quite some time since I posted to my autobiography in verse. When last we left it I had just started secondary school.
At secondary school I was just about as useless at sports and games as it's humanly possible to be without actually being dead. And that, as you will see, is what this poem is all about.

Games Lessons

Part 1: Three Pitches

On the first pitch all the players
Were the ones who knew the game;
Could kick a ball about and show some skill.
On the second pitch the players
Still had little cause for shame.
Though lesser in ability, they had the heart and will.

On the small pitch in the corner,
Were the ones who thought it dumb;
Who'd rather eat a worm than kick a ball:
And hiding in the library
With a letter from my mum,
I sat and read a book, ignored it all.

Part 2: X-Country

The route had been explained.
He'd drawn it up in chalk.
We looked out through the doorway, at the rain.
"It should take about an hour,"
He'd told us in his talk,
"To get from here to there and back again."

"Why's it called cross-country,
When it's all through an estate?"
Asked Steven, as we set off down the street.
We jogged just past the houses
To the corner shop, to wait.
We couldn't see the use of wearing out our feet.

Part 3: Athletic Support

I was useless with a discus.
I was useless with a shot.
I was useless at the long jump and the high.
I was too slow for the track,
But worst of all the lot -
With a javelin I could kill the passers-by.

I couldn't throw them far,
The things I had to throw.
The direction that they'd go no one could guess.
I might just achieve a zero,
If I dropped them on my toe,
Or throw them behind my back and score much less.