> > Quite amazing how much venom the kids seemed to have built-up.
Thing about any contact sport staff/student confrontation was that there
were scores to settle.
I thought I was pretty clean, given that I hadn't as far as I knew screwed
anyone over marks or shafted anyone or all the usual crap, and I was pretty
deep-running with a link into the third-level of the student pols, where but
no one staff side was supposed to even have an inkling of what was
happening.
I was sitting in the JCR paring my nails once when I realised that I was in
the middle of an editorial conference of the Luf Anguish and Trauma scandal
sheet, and they'd, not from me, picked up a stunningly lethal piece of
gossip.
"Um," I said, "Look, folks, I know I'm not officially here but I don't
think it would be an absolutely clever idea to run that."
They didn't like my advice but they were actually rather deferential, so
they killed it.
But, price to pay, they brought out the sheet with a front page overprinted
in Large Red Letters, "This article has been censored by Robin Hamilton"
Bastards.
So I knew bloody well better than to get involved in a staff/student rugby
match.
What I hadn't realised was just how many scores the kids were out to settle.
The first off the field, with a broken leg, was the Robot Rabbit, then they
began working their way down the line.
Dunno why I was that surprised.
They were a clever bunch, the brat pack, and they managed it without even
one getting a red-card.
Restrained, too -- they stopped when they had hospitalised fifty percent of
the staff who were silly enough to take the field.
Clever little buggers, they were, and I was rather proud of them.
I was less happy when I realised that with half the staff in hospital, my
teaching-load had temporarily trebled.
Way it went.
Da Thing
|