For Lucy, Isabel and Sophie
CONTENTS
Title Page
Dedication
INTRODUCTION A MOUSE AND AN OWL
SPORT OR SPOOF?
HOW IT ALL STARTED – A SHAGGY DOG STORY
1 ANIMALS
2 A FAMILY AFFAIR
3 BAGGY TROUSERS
4 INTO THE EXTREME
5 EXTREME SPEED
6 OUCH
7 FIGHT NIGHT
8 WALK ON WATER
9 OLYMPIC SPORTS
10 THE PARALYMPICS
11 RUNNING CRAZY
12 ON YOUR BIKE
13 ANYONE FOR TENNIS?
14 AROUND THE WORLD IN BIZARRE SPORTS
15 THE WEIRD AND WONDERFUL
16 THE NEXT BEST BITS
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Plates
Copyright
‘Hey, morning, how’s your dad?’ It was an odd question at 7.30 am in the shower block of a Dorset campsite. Half my face was covered in shaving foam, and my eyes were still hibernating.
‘He’s…err…fine thanks’. Perhaps the chirpy Cockney standing next to me had joined us at the campfire the night before, but a combination of the dark and cider had blurred my memory.
‘I have heard so much about his time at Chelsea, does he still go?’ came the next question, revealing the true reason for his curiosity. It certainly wasn’t the first time I had been asked about ‘Dad’s’ time at Stamford Bridge. It happened whenever I was mistaken for Chris Hollins, my former colleague at BBC Breakfast. His father John did used to play for Chelsea. However, my dad, also John, has been involved in education throughout his career. He still is.
Now Chris and I are roughly the same size. We both have two ears, two eyes, and our own hair, but that’s about it. Nevertheless, I have lost count of the number of times I have been congratulated for Chris’s ballroom success on Strictly Come Dancing. Despite my insistence that I am more Bambi on ice, I have had drinks bought for me and even been patted on the back at a party by a member of the Strictly casting team.
It also blew a date, when a chap who had met Chris at Ascot the week before was practically aggressive in his insistence that I was Chris Hollins, in front of the lady I had met for dinner. She started to wonder if I was a spy, or a serial liar who had a different identity for every date. I never saw her again.
It is of course flattering to be mistaken for Mr Hollins (not sure he feels quite the same when he gets called Mike…) but this was the first time there had been identity confusion in a shower block.
‘My dad, oh yes, well he’s still in education in Yorkshire, thanks,’ I replied with a smile. I could have predicted the next line, but it makes me giggle every time: ‘Ah yes, of course, sorry mate! You’re the guy who does all those different sports! My wife wakes me up every Saturday and says “come and see what he’s doing this week”. Me and the kids love it. It’s Mike, isn’t it?’
By the way, it’s always comforting to know that other people get up on a Saturday morning and enjoy their breakfast with us on the BBC. So please never hesitate to say hello.
As I wiped the last fluffy cloud from my chin, the man told me how he had tried indoor skydiving with his sons, having seen the feature I had done. He’d also bought himself a mountain bike.
‘We can’t believe what you get up to,’ he continued, ‘but you’re not very good at most of these sports, are you?’
We continued chatting as we gathered our toilet bags and tiptoed into the daylight, as the smell of cattle straw ushered our senses back to the holiday I was having with my daughters on Norden Farm at Corfe Castle. It was a fair question. Others have asked me: ‘Why are you rubbish at some of these sports you feature?’
I answer that beginners don’t normally excel at a sport in their first lesson. It can be a painful and humiliating baptism of fire. My role is the medieval everyman: your average bloke off the sofa. I realised at a young age that I didn’t have the size or balance to make it as a professional sportsman, or at least that’s what I was led to believe. However, that shouldn’t stop anyone from using the immense power of sport to enrich their lives. Lack of ability should never stop anyone from having fun, from playing, from getting involved and enjoying the enormous health and social benefits of whatever activity it may be.
Some people shy away from the pitch or sports hall because they feel ashamed, embarrassed, or out of their comfort zone. I hope this book will break down this barrier, and show that there really is something out there for everyone. If I was good at everything I profiled on a Saturday morning, it would appear horribly arrogant. I am merely the guinea pig lucky enough to represent other beginners, showing what a particular sport is like at first: reporting on how easy or difficult it is: how steep the learning curve may be, and whether there is any pain involved. I usually join other pioneers, often youngsters trying a sport for the first time, to get their perspective, and they would agree that compared to the experts and professionals, we do look complete amateurs.
Another aim of the Saturday morning pieces is to showcase how good the dedicated athletes, who have mastered their art, really are. So who cares if this presenter is not a natural at first? Giving something a go gives you the most liberating feeling of fun and excitement as you push the boundaries of your own personal world, and discover those muscles you never knew you had. Plus come on be honest, how many of you really enjoy seeing me with egg on my face, when taking a battering from a 13-year-old Muay Thai champion in Cornwall.
So, no apologies if some of the sports have challenged me and I have ended up flat on my face. Surely if a middle-aged bloke who likes a pint can get involved, so can you. I promise there is a sport for all.
Before we go on a journey of discovery beyond the world of sport you may know, the other common question I get asked is how I ended up doing what I do. There is no set way into broadcasting, because people come from all walks of life. I have worked with former teachers, policemen, lawyers, and actors who have made the switch. So there is no one answer, but I hope the following will be useful for those harbouring journalistic ambitions.
Are you nosey? That’s the first thing to ask yourself if you want to be a journalist. Are you interested in what others are doing? Do you care? Do you also get an enormous buzz from telling your friends in the playground, on the bus or down the pub all about it? If so, then perhaps there is a dormant reporter in you.
What you like when you were seven years old? The famous