“Ridicule is nothing to be scared of!” So sang Adam and the Ants in the early 80s and it was a refrain that went through the heads of the dozen or so of us who had chosen ice skating as our sport of choice when we were allowed to choose whatever sports we wanted to do from the age of 14 at school. Little did our fellow pupils who had called us a “Bunch of poofs!” know as they continued to be hounded around wet and muddy pitches that we had discovered the most monumental skive ever.
As a child I had done a bit of skating and won a few awards. The school skating lessons merely went over old ground with the possibility of earning a few certificates that I had skipped having taken the highest level when I was five years old and missed the rest as I could do more than skate forwards and backwards. The instructors put me through my paces and realising that I could actually skate to almost professional standards more or less told me to stop wasting their time and bugger off and do what I wanted whilst they got on with teaching the rest of the class how to stand up and not get a wet arse. In my case doing what I wanted meant honing my talents on the video games and pinball tables and drinking vast amounts of Cola in the rink café as the master in charge of our school was an exceedingly deaf chap called Mr Jennings who was rapidly approaching retirement and who invariably fell asleep on one of the rink side seats.
Most weeks were the same. Turn up, put on skates, skate a few circuits, try for a high score whilst waiting for my mates to finish their fifteen minute lesson, play pinball and drink caffeinated beverages then all scarper long before Mr Jennings woke up. All in all it was a total and utter skive. However, one small object was to make things decidedly different.
It was Kev’ who decided to liven things up one week by dropping one of those high powered bouncy rubber balls onto the ice. Within minutes a game of ice football had begun and that is where things began to go a bit awry. We shared the rink with a number of other local schools, some of which were our rivals and some of which were the rivals of other schools. Despite its so called ‘Poof’ status skating was always an interestingly edgy affair and violence simmered just below the surface. The game of ice football gradually sucked in more pupils from other schools and began to get a bit more ‘competitive’. It began to resemble less of a school skating session and more an extra brutal real life version of the Action comic strip 'Death Game 1999' of a few years earlier. In fact it is very possible that the writers of the Amiga game ‘Speedball 2’ may have been at that very rink, witnesses to the carnage that was about to break out. There were 500 teenagers on the ice rink; most of them hyped up on cola and sweets from the vending machines and someone had dropped a ball in the midst of them. Blood was going to be spilt. All it needed was for someone to yell “Ice Cream! Ice Cream!”
The first casualties were a party from a local Catholic girls school. Whilst their mates tried to cop off with the lads from the local Catholic boys school a few of the ‘wallflowers’ had elected to stay on the ice and skate round holding hands and talking about ponies or something only to be violently cut down by Kev’ who was trying to get the ball from one of the pupils from our rival school by barging him into the side barriers. They went down like ninepins and this was followed seconds later by a St Trinians like scream as the rest of the girls leapt the barrier and went after Kev’. The ball rebounded off the barriers and smacked another lad in the forehead with a resounding ‘CLUNK’. He too went down like a sack of spuds dropped from a great height and at least four other kids went arse over tit over the top of him. The ball meanwhile rolled into the throng and with a few kicks gathered momentum as most of the skaters oblivious to the bodies littering the ice continued to circle menacingly. By now Kev’ was skating for his life pursued by several vengeful girls. Perhaps unluckily the ball chose its moment to return to him and hit his ice skate with some force. The impact caused him to wobble and slip, the resulting tumble propelled him into half a dozen young ladies from one of the more exclusive girls schools in the area…who hated the Catholic girls with a vengeance and thought they had pushed Kev’ into them. Within seconds a full on catfight had broken out and it did not take long for about fifty other kids all bearing grudges or just up for a scrap to pile into the fray. Soon it was like ‘Fight Club’ on ice.
Meanwhile, myself and two classmates had grabbed Kev’ from the midst of the brawl and dragged him back to the changing rooms as the rink security and skating instructors joined the battle. As Mr Jennings woke up, disturbed from his nap by the sound of combatants screaming, yelling and trying to batter each other we were standing behind him beaming angelically and pointing out that “We left the ice because some of the other schools were misbehaving and getting rather rough sir!”
A few weeks later I was called up on stage during assembly to be presented with a handful of skating certificates by the headmaster. Apparently I had done the school proud by winning so many and in a school that valued sporting achievement that was a high honour indeed. I didn’t have the nerve to tell the headmaster that they had really been earned for drinking cola, getting a high score at ‘Galaxians’ and being part of a near riot that had resulted in most of the local schools being banned from the ice rink for an indefinite period. Luckily we were not one of them and our skiving continued unabated.
As a child I had done a bit of skating and won a few awards. The school skating lessons merely went over old ground with the possibility of earning a few certificates that I had skipped having taken the highest level when I was five years old and missed the rest as I could do more than skate forwards and backwards. The instructors put me through my paces and realising that I could actually skate to almost professional standards more or less told me to stop wasting their time and bugger off and do what I wanted whilst they got on with teaching the rest of the class how to stand up and not get a wet arse. In my case doing what I wanted meant honing my talents on the video games and pinball tables and drinking vast amounts of Cola in the rink café as the master in charge of our school was an exceedingly deaf chap called Mr Jennings who was rapidly approaching retirement and who invariably fell asleep on one of the rink side seats.
Most weeks were the same. Turn up, put on skates, skate a few circuits, try for a high score whilst waiting for my mates to finish their fifteen minute lesson, play pinball and drink caffeinated beverages then all scarper long before Mr Jennings woke up. All in all it was a total and utter skive. However, one small object was to make things decidedly different.
It was Kev’ who decided to liven things up one week by dropping one of those high powered bouncy rubber balls onto the ice. Within minutes a game of ice football had begun and that is where things began to go a bit awry. We shared the rink with a number of other local schools, some of which were our rivals and some of which were the rivals of other schools. Despite its so called ‘Poof’ status skating was always an interestingly edgy affair and violence simmered just below the surface. The game of ice football gradually sucked in more pupils from other schools and began to get a bit more ‘competitive’. It began to resemble less of a school skating session and more an extra brutal real life version of the Action comic strip 'Death Game 1999' of a few years earlier. In fact it is very possible that the writers of the Amiga game ‘Speedball 2’ may have been at that very rink, witnesses to the carnage that was about to break out. There were 500 teenagers on the ice rink; most of them hyped up on cola and sweets from the vending machines and someone had dropped a ball in the midst of them. Blood was going to be spilt. All it needed was for someone to yell “Ice Cream! Ice Cream!”
The first casualties were a party from a local Catholic girls school. Whilst their mates tried to cop off with the lads from the local Catholic boys school a few of the ‘wallflowers’ had elected to stay on the ice and skate round holding hands and talking about ponies or something only to be violently cut down by Kev’ who was trying to get the ball from one of the pupils from our rival school by barging him into the side barriers. They went down like ninepins and this was followed seconds later by a St Trinians like scream as the rest of the girls leapt the barrier and went after Kev’. The ball rebounded off the barriers and smacked another lad in the forehead with a resounding ‘CLUNK’. He too went down like a sack of spuds dropped from a great height and at least four other kids went arse over tit over the top of him. The ball meanwhile rolled into the throng and with a few kicks gathered momentum as most of the skaters oblivious to the bodies littering the ice continued to circle menacingly. By now Kev’ was skating for his life pursued by several vengeful girls. Perhaps unluckily the ball chose its moment to return to him and hit his ice skate with some force. The impact caused him to wobble and slip, the resulting tumble propelled him into half a dozen young ladies from one of the more exclusive girls schools in the area…who hated the Catholic girls with a vengeance and thought they had pushed Kev’ into them. Within seconds a full on catfight had broken out and it did not take long for about fifty other kids all bearing grudges or just up for a scrap to pile into the fray. Soon it was like ‘Fight Club’ on ice.
Meanwhile, myself and two classmates had grabbed Kev’ from the midst of the brawl and dragged him back to the changing rooms as the rink security and skating instructors joined the battle. As Mr Jennings woke up, disturbed from his nap by the sound of combatants screaming, yelling and trying to batter each other we were standing behind him beaming angelically and pointing out that “We left the ice because some of the other schools were misbehaving and getting rather rough sir!”
A few weeks later I was called up on stage during assembly to be presented with a handful of skating certificates by the headmaster. Apparently I had done the school proud by winning so many and in a school that valued sporting achievement that was a high honour indeed. I didn’t have the nerve to tell the headmaster that they had really been earned for drinking cola, getting a high score at ‘Galaxians’ and being part of a near riot that had resulted in most of the local schools being banned from the ice rink for an indefinite period. Luckily we were not one of them and our skiving continued unabated.
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