Team Clueless

I probably haven’t mentioned it before but I play netball for my company team. Yes, Nancy has many strings to her bow and shooting hoops in the summer with my colleagues is but one of these. We have t-shirts printed up and everything.

Now before I get too carried away and have you thinking I’ll be signing up for Team GB in the 2012 Olympics let me just be clear that this is not a high performing, hard core netball league. We actually play 15 minute games every fortnight in the summer at work against other companies. But it’s a good laugh and it gets me out of the office and away from these oddballs every now and then, plus of course the exercise etc etc.

This year I’ve offered to be joint-captain of the team with another of the players – Curly. Curly is one of those people who is VERY serious when it comes to work and then when you meet her out of work is totally the opposite. Threw me a bit last year when I was very scared of her for the first few games and then realised actually she was a good laugh on the pitch and off. So, we’re heading up the team and the past few days have been trying to recruit for this year’s season.

An email went out yesterday asking people to contact us if they were interested. We got (surprisingly) a good response from f a mixed bag of people and I was making my way through the replies this morning while I was eating my Coco Pops. The usual suspects who played last year – nice to see them back again – a couple of new faces including some lads – always good to have some testosterone on the team – and then…..what’s this? * sprays chocolate milk over monitor * An email from the head of finance (who quite frankly has his head up his own arse most of the time) asking us to put him and…….Moon Monkey down for the team?!!?


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OK. So this is either one big piss take or something very strange is happening here. I march round to the girl who sent out the email for me via the company social committee (who is also on the team) and tell her the situation. “Really?! Er, do you think they are being serious?” Now we have to find some way of deciphering if they are taking the Michael or if they want to run around the court in tiny shorts (eugh the mental images….) So I drop MM an email asking him if he’s aware Head up own arse man has put him forward for netball. The reply is swift “Go for it! Include these guys as well!” and then proceeds to list off the rest of the department management team. Again I am mystified. So I email them…..yep seems they’re all wanting to have a piece of the action! Freaker is one of these managers (he of losing out to me at the bowling fame) so at least we’ll have that competitive edge.

So now I’m torn, what do I do with 2 burly, clumsy, left footed Irish guys, the most competitive man ever and someone who will have to take his head out his butt hole to see where the ball is coming from? Do I put them in and see what carnage occurs? Maybe I bench them and try to find some excuses for them not to play. We’re not going on skills sets here, hell I hadn’t picked up a netball in 15 years up until last May, but I do want to avoid red carding and public embarrassment. Equal opps an all though, I probably have to let them play.

To be honest they probably won’t be in the country for 99% of the games anyway and when they are here they are generally in meetings all day so the likelihood of them actually being able to play is slim. Also, I am quite liking the idea of being able to tell them what to do, especially Moon Monkey. Can you imagine it? “Monkey boy – hit the bench! You’re just not cutting out there!” Ah the power…..

At least we’re bound to draw a crowd. When word gets out that MM and Head up own arse man are playing people will come to support if only to gawk and point at the spectacle. Heck I might even bench myself just so I have a spectator’s view of MM sweating and panting around the court, his arms flailing helplessly as the ball rockets past and he’s pushed to the ground by an aggressive 5’ 2” woman from the office across the road. This is going to be a good season.