Event No. 12: Dodgeball
The games were drawing to a close. It was time for another
unusual sport, Dodgeball. A sport often disparaged, known more for the plight
of a moustachioed Ben Stiller than for its Olympic pedigree.
O’Callaghan with his experience gave Oxford a tactical edge.
First to five games. Dodging and catching, good. Getting hit, bad. First team
to eliminate the other wins.
Abingdon took a blow early on. Specifically, on Todd’s
finger. She was ruled out from further play. Abingdon had lost their most
experienced ball handler.
Oxford dominated the first game. It was a quick, clean game
with a disorientated Abingdon side barely landing a hit. Cooper was left on his
own, looking around with an expression that said “hey, where‘d everybody go?”.
1-0. Oxford did not let up, 2-0, 3-0. There was an obliteration on the cards.
Oxford had powerful throwers in Erskine and Measures with
some quick feet from O’Callaghan and Berry. This combination of survivability
and lethality was, well, lethal.
Eventually the gears began to turn for Abingdon, and their
slow-starting tactical machine began to run smooth. Two wins on the trot. Abingdon
were on a roll, and managed to peg Oxford back to 4-3.
In the next game Abingdon struck early, and held a lead of 4
players to 3. One more shot would all but secure a deciding game. One more.
O’Callaghan went on the defensive, using his favourite tactic of curling up
like an armadillo in the corner. Almost impossible to remove. Oxford came back
to win. At 5-3, the day was won.
Dodgeball is certainly a fun, freeing game. One imagines
that it would make a fair replacement for anger management classes. Not many
games allow such a deliberate and targeted assault on the body. Like boxing,
but for those who value personal space and clean eyebrows.
However behind it lays a layer of strategy. Positioning and
coordination of your team is as valuable as a rocket arm. A good team will hunt
as one, picking off the slowest, the weakest, like a pack of merciless wolves.
Like I said, a fun game.
Event No. 13: Obstacle Course
The closing event of this inaugural games had to be
something special. It had to be a crowning moment, it had to be wild. Enter the
eccentric impresario Robson, who devised a unique, similarly eccentric,
obstacle course. The obstacle course (which I now declare shall be named
Robson’s Run) bridged the gap between childhood sports day, drunk student parties
and SAS training. A gap that had been begging to be filled.
Measures and Litherland-Smith led the teams off with the
first task, spinning the head on a baseball bat, into a 20 yard dash. Across
the teams we saw fast spins, slow spins, and every manner of swaying and
staggering. Bookless employed the ground-breaking strategy of counter-spinning
before dashing. This event demanded creativity.
The dash led into a cargo net crawl. This was not quite the muddy
‘face in the dirt’ kind of crawl you may picture. This task is a bit more
bearable when snaking yourself along a well-kept Oxfordshire lawn. Out the other end the runners were led into the bean bag
throw. Referee Quirk, the Nigel Owens of underarm throws, kept order; eyeing up
for foot faults.
The egg and spoon walk afterwards tripped a few up - the
plastic egg sailing away in the wind like it thought it was a bird. A balance
beam walk, using some rough cut planks, got competitors to the end of the
course. But they were not done yet.
A full paced sprint homeward led to the final challenge. A nerf
gun shot. To a target strung between two trees. Hit it, and you’re done.
A highlight was D Morgan veering halfway to Wales after his
spinning. As well as Bookless sinking the beanbag at the first attempt. Or
Erskine, finding the bucket on his tenth. As with other events, the distance
between the teams was nigh on smaller than a molecule of tritium.
The final pairing was Oxford’s O’Callaghan against Abingdon’s
Robson. The fastest graduate against the creator. It had all come down to this.
Both raced through the course efficiently, with O’Callaghan slightly ahead.
The sprint gave the Oxford resident a lead enough for a free
shot. A nerf gun shot to the bullseye for victory. It was a big target. Not
many had had trouble. But they didn’t have the pressure.
He missed.
Robson, the creator lined up alongside him. They locked and
loaded in unison like a spaghetti western duel. This was it.
Both, missed.
Cries of anguish from both sides as the players scrambled
for another bullet. The tension could not have been higher…
One player was quicker on the draw. One player hit the
target. It was Robson.
Aftermath
Who would have thought on that mild afternoon in March that
this is where we would end.
141 days.
15 events.
255 appearances from 28 people.
Gripping drama, controversy, hours of sporting triumph and
painful shortcoming, with two groups that less than a year ago, had never even
met one another. Try that for a team building exercise.
Anyone who has tried to arrange a trip to the pub with some
old friends knows that by any measure this was a remarkable achievement of
commitment and organisation.
We could scarcely have asked for a more enthralling competition,
as full of the ups and downs as any Olympics. A final score of 7-6 to Oxford. A
Games well fought. A Games well won.
Given that the teams were squared up basically on their
postcode we can really only credit dumb luck itself for the competitiveness of the sporting exercise we have witnessed. That, and a commitment from both teams to
fight for their town week on week. No walkovers, no no-shows.
All was closed out at the after-party with incredible Gradlympic-themed
cakes courtesy of Todd. Reward for our wonderful founder and organiser Measures
and most importantly the trophy. Awarded to Oxford, who managed to look so rigid
in their celebration photo anyone might think the scores were reversed.
Take a moment please to appreciate the glorious trophy,
MASCOT holding the cup aloft, 3D printed. A testament to the innovation of the
site, the quest for new ideas, and of course, the inspirational work of
Measures.
They may think it’s all over. They may think the game is
done. History has been made. But could it be that the Gradlympics has borne out
of it not just an event, but a tradition? Only time will tell. Stay tuned...
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