Pulling Power – and Controversy
It is the season for Summer fetes, and John and I recently attended a village occasion. It was a lovely day, and John did the decent thing by opening the event, and people thronged and spent loose change and chatted and ate cream teas and smashed crockery, and looked at exhibition photos in the church. Numbers are up, a local worthy told me, and hopefully the income which the church needs will be too.
Then we had the finale, a tug of war, and yours truly was to start the event and present the trophy to the winning team. It’s only a bit of fun, they said! A novel twist was that this tug of war took place across a river, and the losing team were guaranteed an early bath! First of all the children had a go, on dry land, in the neighbouring field, and enjoyed it very much. Then the men – two teams of strapping, well honed, peak of physical perfection – lined up on both banks. Can you count? Nine on one side, eight on the other – Hey! The rope was duly picked up, and the strain taken. Pull! A load of grunting and cheering ended when one team found themselves pulled into the River Avon. Then the ladies teams had a go, and did equally well. Then men swapped sides, after sorting out the equal numbers a second time, the other team claimed a victory, one-all, and a deciding match. The ladies played their second pull, and the same team won.
So – the deciding pull for the men’s competition, and I gripped the trophy as the grunts and groans and battle cries rang out across the valley. Some slippage, but then a rally, and both teams were giving no ground, but after a while the heat, the pressure and the sheer effort pulled one of the teams into the water. Foul! went up from the losing team! Apparently one man on the winning team had found a foothold in the root system of a tree on the river bank, and this was claimed as an unfair advantage by the other team.
I was still holding the trophy, and the organisers and team captains remonstrated with one another. As the person holding the trophy, I went and suggested I had some ideas – a final deciding pull – with both teams in the field, on the level, where we could see all that was taking place. No – the “winning ” team could not agree to that, and my second suggestion that the trophy should stand in the club rooms for six months each, also found little grace – and the team captains walked off.
I will still holding the trophy! Should it come home with me? No. I walked across to the team captain of the winning ladies team, announced that these were the overall champions, planted the trophy in her hands, and a kiss on both cheeks, and declared honour still alive in the competition. I hope the English referee in the World Cup Final this afternoon has a little more fortune. They never told you about this in Theological College!
