HARRY PEARSON
THE BIG TEES
Teesside’s best columnist Harry Pearson takes a running leap into the
debate around the activity levels of 21st-century children…
I
’m excited by the news that The Great
North City Games are coming to
Stockton in September, bringing top-
class athletes to Teesside to compete in a
range of events - including the 100 metres
hopefully starring Stockton’s own sprint
champion Richard Kilty.
Though it may seem like sprinting is all
physical, the most important part of the race
is actually in the head. That, at least, was
the opinion of an old Middlesbrough-born
mate of mine, whose ambitions of winning
the English schoolboy 800 metres title
back in the 1970s was ended only when he
was beaten into second place by a certain
Sebastian Coe.
According to my pal, the winner of the
Olympic 100 metres final is determined
before the runners drop into their blocks.
In his view, the critical moment of the race
comes before it has begun, in a place where
even the hundreds of TV cameras present at
such great sporting events will not be able to
capture it – between the ears of the sprinters.
“It’s all psychology,” he insisted.
That was certainly true at my school sports
day. It wasn’t because of any complex mind
games, mind you. It was just because there
was one of those massive, prematurely hairy
boys in my year who hated to lose: the 100
metres, the sack race, the egg-and-spoon, it
didn’t matter.
Anyone who beat him would be collared
in the changing rooms afterwards and have
his head stuck in the toilet. I don’t suppose
this is a worry for people like Usain Bolt. At
least, I hope not, though you wouldn’t put
anything past some of those Americans. I
bet a few of them would glue the egg to the
spoon.
By the time my daughter was taking
part in school sports days everything had
changed. Sports pundits are always assuring
us that “You get nothing for coming second.”
At my daughter’s school you did. You also
got something for coming third, fourth and
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All in the mind – Teesside sprinter Richard Kilty, pictured talking to local schoolchildren,
is expected to star in The Great North CityGames in his Stockton hometown.
every other position down to last.
“It’s not about winning, it’s about taking
part,” the head teacher informed winners
and losers alike. And if it stops a generation
of kids living in terror of getting the old
changing room toilet-hair-wash then that is a
good thing as far as I’m concerned.
Whether it’s good for the health of the
young is another matter. According to
recent reports, the government is seriously
concerned about the present generation of
school children.
Apparently, today’s kids are the most
overweight and inactive in history. They
prefer to come home from a hard day of
continual assessment and slump in front of
a smartphone or Xbox rather than engaging
in the sort of outdoor pursuits that kept
previous generations such as mine sharp in
body and mind – such as ringing people’s
doorbells and running away, lurking round
the back of the chip shop firing catapults
at stray cats and riding a bike down the
pavement at top speed while making
machine-gun noises at alarmed passers-by,
yelling “Take that Fritz!”
The fact that the current school generation
is heavy and sluggish is indeed alarming.
Children, after all, are the future. Not least of
our state pension. We must ensure they are
healthy and vigorous enough to pay income
tax, or we risk spending our retirement years
eating dog food.
My own plan for tackling child obesity
is simplicity itself – switch off social media
and re-establish the traditional childhood
activities that once made UK sportspeople
the envy of the globe: British Bulldog,
potato-picking week and clearing fields of
nettles armed only with your granddad’s
walking stick.
I certainly did my bit with my daughter.
She was not sporty but I managed to get her
involved in physical exercise by inventing
the school holiday triathlon, a test of
nerve, stamina and skill involving games
of Buckaroo, French cricket and Barbie
gymnastics.
The latter is an event in which an
unfeasibly shaped doll is hurled high in the
air to see how many somersaults she can do
before landing head first in a courgette plant.
Fifteen was the record, if you want to have a
go next half-term.