sink or swim

I’ve been watching the World Swimming Championship in Rome. And by that I don’t mean I’m in Rome watching it. It’s not like I have the time or money to go to Rome anytime I like, and then waste it on watching swimming when I get there. That would be just mad. If I went to Rome I’d probably go and see some old ruins and eat pizza and drink wine, obviously. Maybe rent a scooter. Maybe wear dark glasses and eat ice cream by a fountain. Maybe

meet a sexy, young Italian woman. Eat ice cream together. Flick it at eachother. Flirt. Fall in love. Be fallen in love with.

Flick it at eachother?

But then I’d have to explain to my wife of 20 years’ marriage what I’m doing in Rome eating ice cream with an Italian woman. That could get ugly. And messy. What with all that flicking and stuff. Best stay at home after all.

No. I mean, as you well know, I’ve been watching it on telly at home, where I am – clearly - prepared to waste my time.

To be honest, I’ve never really watched swimming on telly. Not properly. Sure, every four years when the Olympics comes round, it’s on for ages and ages before the real sports come on with people running around in circles, throwing things and being very bendy on a large mat. For about a week there’s a lot of wet thrashing about with excitement over someone winning by a hundredth of a second, but I really didn’t get it until now. The strength and the way they now do most of their lengths bobbing about like Flipper.

For some reason, this time, without realising it, and without having to go to Rome and get caught up in a difficult love affair… (or die in a scooter accident - her jealous Italian lover drove into me at full speed head on. In his Fiat Punto. With no hub caps. That’s how bad he was. And he died, too, by the way. But not before mumbling his final words: I’ve got the best fridge magnet collection this side of Milan. Which was very odd. And just not true. He didn’t have a fridge magnet collection of any kind. In fact, he didn’t even have a fridge. What a loser)…I was very impressed with the way they swim now.

The last time I watched swimming on telly in any proper way, was when I was a kid. Probably Mark Spitz and the like, swimming up and down in plus-fours and eating a curly wurly just before diving in.

But now. Now they wear these shark skin suits, shave their fingernails and have oblong heads. I swear, yesterday, I saw a close up of a guy whose face looked exactly like that of a fish, gawping back at me. No two ways about it. The googly eyes, the open upside-down mouth. We have Sky HD and you can even see his gills.

And they win so many medals!

But we know why, don’t we?

It’s not just the cheating suits or because there are so many different types of swimming styles and distances. It’s because they have it too bloody easy. It’s because they get to swim in a straight line without some pensioner coming with opposite way at the speed of a metre per day and using up all the lane. Or some teenagers kicking them in the face and carrying on once you’ve ruined your chances of breaking the world record because you had to stop, take off your goggles, cough out spit and vomit to shout Watch what you’re doing will you? Jeez! Kids! I’m trying to swim! Go in the baby pool or something! Honest to god! Or some lifeguard blowing a whistle and making you stop because you think it's you in trouble. No running. No bombing. No petting.

And they get to swim in nice clean pools, too, free of the worry that it’s not full of kiddy snot, pee and acne. That’s why some of the contestants wear nose clips. We all should.

So, I could have been an medallist swimmer if I didn’t have all that baggage in my way. Anyone could. And besides, as I said, they have these special swimsuits (designed by NASA, I hear. What?! Eh?!! Space gear? For swimming? Duh. Someone needs to rethink that one)…instead of having to swim in your pyjamas like I had to.

Whenever things got serious at swimming lessons as a kids, like being tested or something, we suddenly had to do it in our pyjamas. What the hell was that all about? Scared the shit out of me, frankly. All I could think of when I went to bed was the real possibility of tons of water coming through my windows some night from somewhere, and my training (I use the term loosely) would have to save me.

Not only that.

I seemed to do a lot of swimming in my pyjamas, up and down, then tread water (or rather, simply trying not to sink whilst begging the instructor to help), then dive for a rubber brick. A rubber brick! I’m almost 46. I’ve never seen a rubber brick. Ever! And I certainly wouldn’t go looking for one above or below water. And certainly not in my pyjamas.

So come on, sports people. Get real. Do what we had to do and see how good you are. Do the 100m butterfly in your pyjamas and then see how good you are. Sink like a stone, you would. Or a brick. And when you do, sink like a brick, I mean, it’s people like me who are gonna have to put on jim jams and come and save you.