Hamish McShanks

Hamish McShanks Secret Diary w/e 14^th November 2004

‘Good afternoon ladies and gentleman this is the captain speaking’, ‘You may have noticed we are experiencing a little bit of turbulence at the moment so if you could just return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts we’ll try and find some smooth air’

‘Aaaaaaaahhhhh were all going to die!’, ‘No no no noooooo were not going to make it noooooooooo!’ I sighed, folded the corner of the page over and lifted my head from my book. A quick glance around the cabin did not reveal any gaping holes in the fuselage of the aircraft. A cursory examination of the engines through my starboard window did not reveal any flames licking up the side of the aeroplane and we didn’t seem to have been hijacked my a group of extremists armed with nail scissors. I tried to settle back down to my book ‘Sweet Jesus we’ve got minutes to live Aaarggghhh!’

I was in transit to Vienna and ‘had’ been enjoying a good book ‘Eats shits and leaves’ I had intended to buy a text on the zero tolerance approach to punctuation but an overly hasty journey through WH Smiths had left me with a totally different book (only two vowels out but a world apart) Gorilla nutrition isn’t nearly as interesting as you would imagine. The incessant screaming of my neighbour was getting on my nerves though so I felt compelled to try and appease the man.

I pointed out that he was more likely to be knocked down crossing the road getting to the airport than being involved in an air crash. ‘There’s no point in worrying where your nearest exit is’ I said ‘because when you plough into the side of a mountain at 700 miles an hour in a large aluminium coffin exits aren’t an issue’ he just mumbled as I continued ‘Your more likely to be trapped in a car than stall on take off and plunge to earth in a fireball of death’, ‘Hmmm do you see?’ his face was frozen in a rictus of terror now. ‘Look it’s just like a fly hitting a windscreen’ I continued ‘you wouldn’t feel a thing! vroooooaaaamm whump! kaboooom and your gone’ tears were flowing down his cheeks and he started rocking gently in his seat. I shook my head and turned away ‘You try your best but there’s no helping some people’

Clearly we didn’t die but when we got to Vienna airport I had the most surreal experience.I was waiting patiently for the shuttle bus to take me to the hotel. Being a Scotsman ‘on tour’ I was naturally wearing my kilt. My tartan is the ‘Hunting Rose’ a fetching darkish blue tartan with red, green and white lines crossing horizontally and vertically giving the whole ensemble a definite tartan feel. I was also sporting the traditional sporran made from a freshly clubbed baby seal. So to the outsider one might say quintessentially Scottish.

You can imagine my surprise therefore when I was asked for directions twice whilst standing outside the terminal. I was texting on my phone when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I looked up and a slight olive skinned looking man was facing me ‘Excusa me, ahh do yooo know dee way to thee ahhh Hotel Thththth’ I gave him blank stare ‘Deee hotel Aththth’ he continued. I gave him another quizzical look before making a further exaggerated display of examining my own attire. ‘Excusaa-‘ I cut him off ‘Do I look Austrian?’ I enquired. I think my thick Scottish accent may have hampered his understanding but after a couple of minutes of me sticking my tongue inside my cheek and going ‘nmuuuhhh’ he seemed to get the message and wandered off.

The shuttle bus arrived and whisked me off to my hotel. The accommodation was rather classy, and more importantly, right next to the sports centre where I would be making my debut in the racketlon world championships. I grabbed my bags out of the bus, thanked the driver and thrust a couple of notes in his hand before striding inside. I had to be quick before he realised they were Bank of Scotland pound notes ‘thought I’d never get rid of them’ I muttered. I did hear him shouting as the sliding doors closed behind me but I don’t know what the words meant something like ‘schweinhund’.

The hotel reception was magnificent with large crystal chandeliers and polished mirrored walls. A particularly impressive brass bell sat atop the reception counter. I headed straight for it and gave the top a good wallop; kaching! Kaching! KACHING! A hand shot out and covered the bell. Disappointed my toy had been removed I glared at the owner of the hand.

A tall angular man with a face like an axe greeted me ‘Guten Abend Mein….. Herr’ He was slightly taken aback by my attire. ‘Guten Whut?’ He switched smoothly into English ‘Good evening Sir I assume you are here for the racketlon?’, ‘Aye that’s right Fritz noo gies ma room key ah’m going oot on the lash’, ‘Indeed sir, would you like a smoking room?’, ‘No I’d like one that’s out ha ha …’ I guessed by the withering glare and the tumbleweed blowing past he’s heard that one before. ‘Your in room 436 Mr Shanks, breakfast is served 6:30 till 10:00am’, ‘Oh Aye right …. eh cheers’ I slunk away towards the elevator.

My room was indeed ‘out’ and completely devoid of flames. It was also very well equipped; TV, bed, mini bar, shower, mini bar, toilet, mini bar, table and chairs, and a mini bar. I decided to have a wee snifter from the mini bar as I got changed. Although ‘getting changed’ is probably a bit of a grand title for opening a beer and spraying some Lynx ‘voodoo’ under yer kilt. Voodoo was a good name cos it did feel like someone was shoving pins into ma baws, I wish I’d read the bit that said don’t spray on broken or sensitive skin.

I hobbled across to the sports centre to see who else was kicking about. The first person I saw when I walked in the door was the ladies No3 seed and good friend of mine Kathy Buchanananana. She was propped up against the bar (no surprise there) ‘Alright Katy how did the team competition go?’ She looked up bleary eyed from her beer ‘mmmm’ she grunted. Oh dear I thought, didn’t go so well then , I better cheer her up. I started jovially prodding her in the arm ‘you didn’t lose to England did you?’ ‘eeeh eeeh’ more playful jabbing of the finger ‘Ooooh no you didn’t lose to England did yooooooo’ now I’m pulling a stupid face and using a high pitched voice as well as prodding her with my finger (yes well hindsight is 20:20)

Katy rose up from her seat ‘it’s a bit difficult to put into words’ she said ‘Oh? how do you meaoooompppff’ She would have made a good footballer Katy, she managed to connect with both balls in one strike. I collapsed on the floor and curled up in the foetal position my hands covering (a fraction late) my swelling plums ‘gmmmmpfff’ She sat back down and took a sip of her beer ‘Yes that’s pretty much what it was like’

After a brief rest examining the pattern on the carpet I managed to pull myself up on to a bar stool. I caught the attention of the barmaid ‘Ein beer bitte …… oh and some ice if you have it’ I decided not to press Katy any further on the results of the team competition. Conversation can be a bit stilted after a kick in the happy sack, luckily a few more of the Scotland team arrived and I went about introducing myself.

That night was a blur of bars and beers. I vaguely remember being in an Irish pub inside a shopping centre. They do say Guinness doesn’t travel well and up until now I would have said it’s been ok everywhere I’ve been. Free advice – don’t drink Austrian Guinness, the worst pint of Guinness in the world bar none, the only thing to compete with it was the pint of Kilkenny’s I had afterwards. I think that’s why I was so hungover the next day, a bad pint …….

My first match was at 10:00am on Friday morning, I wasn’t well. Racketlon starts with table tennis, I was sweating buckets in the warm up. The four Austrian bratwurst I’d had for breakfast weren’t sitting well either. I lost 21:12 but was just pleased I didn’t become the player remembered for chundering on a table tennis table during the world championships. It would be a bit difficult to get effective topspin with diced carrot clinging to your bat. Suffice to say I didn’t prevail and elected to spend the rest of the day watching the ‘Pros’.

Racketlon is still a relatively young sport so there are a lot of regulars on the tour. A few players have ‘reputations’ be it for stamina, skill, sportsmanship or excitement. One of the players who shall remain nameless has a bit of a reputation for being a ‘bad boy’. I read somewhere he was described as the John McEnroe of racketlon.

I should explain racketlon is table tennis followed by squash followed by badminton followed by tennis. Each game to 21 points and the winner is the one with the highest aggregate score. Well ‘Mr McEnroe’ was going into the final sport (tennis) of his match needing to restrict his opponent to 14 points to win overall. The game was fairly tense and tight. ‘John’ was playing his usual games but stretching away with the game. He served at 20:14 and won the point ‘YEEEESSSS .. YEESSS YAAAA Yaa’ etc etc much celebration and a whooping and a hollering (very gracious in victory). Sadly he had ‘slightly’ miscalculated and in fact he had to restrict his opponent to 13 points to win. What he had achieved was a draw …… John John John ….. tut tut tut

But there are no draws in racketlon you must have a result. This means we were set for a sudden death one point winner takes all scenario. No second serves, no second chances (ooooh can you feel the tension) it’s actually called ‘Gummiarm’. A Swedish word which translates as ‘rubber arm’ i.e. lots of tension and your losing control because of the pressure, hence the rubbery arm, or sphincter as the case may be. Can you guess what happened? ….. now stop your sniggering ….. the place erupted and his opponent just shook his hand and walked off with a grin like a Cheshire cat. Every silver lining has a cloud ‘John’…..

But Mr McEnroe is very much the exception. What I did find at the championship was an awful lot of ‘bloody nice’ people. For a new boy like me everyone was very welcoming and friendly. There was a great atmosphere all weekend with all the ‘home nations’ cheering each other on – great craic and camaraderie.

There was almost a ‘diplomatic incident’ at a group meal though. We were in a cracking authentic Austrian restaurant having snitzels and beers. Everything was going swimmingly until we came to the desserts. A couple of the girls had been coveting a slice of chocolate cake on the sweet trolley. I say covet when I really mean they had bagsee’d this bit of cake. We were all left in no doubt as to the life shortening repercussions of eating that particular piece of cake …….

One of our Party ‘Big Ray’ a very funny and genial Englishman happens to speak fluent German (which was handy ….. or so we thought) he was dealing with the waiter as the rest of our German knowledge consisted of saying ‘For you Tommy ze War is ooofaaah’ in a nasal German accent and holding one finger under our nose. Which let’s be honest isn’t that useful and unlikely to ingratiate us with our hosts.

‘Remember and get that bit of cake’ Carolyn reminded him for the umpteenth time ‘No problem leave it with me’ ….. and the waiter did. Fair play to him though he still managed to scoff the lot with Carolyn hanging on to his back trying to pull his head off and Jane biting his legs. Girls are so emotional ………

The final day was great, really tense finals and superb racket skills. Bonnie Scotland did not too bad at all. Two world champions in fact and a host of other medals, everything was hunky dory ….. until the prize giving ceremony ……

The Junior (under 20) world championship was won by ‘Young Calum’. Named thus as there are two Calums in the Scottish squad, the other one of course being ‘Tall Calum’. Anyway he received his medal and climbed on to the top of the rostrum a very proud and happy man. The organiser seemed to have had a humour bypass though because when the national anthem struck up it was ‘God Save the Queen’. As you can imagine there was a chorus of dissent from the watching Jocks and Calum looked like he had been licking piss off a lemon.

Thankfully they only played one verse as the fierce glares from the watching Jocks made the gentleman playing the PA wilt somewhat. We moved on a few classes and came to the Ladies Open. Two Scots winners this time Katy got third and Sarah had won the whole shooting match – World Champion number two – Woo Hoo!

Katy had a quiet word with the organiser suggesting that he may want to pull his head out of his rectum and that if they didn’t have the proper anthem not to play anything at all (she may have put it more diplomatically but I believe that was the gist of the conversation) But he would be smart wouldn’t he and he piped up on the microphone ‘Ve don’t have zee correct anseem so perhaps all zee Scots could sing it themselves’ and he sniggered ……. He snig-fecking-gered …… oh ma baldy heid….

Twenty years at Murrayfield has given me a good set of lungs and I couldn’t even hear the rest of the Scots singing (and they were) People four rows in front of me were drenched with spittle and a poor girl two to my left had blood coming out of her ears. I think they called the fire brigade as my heid went a dangerous crimson colour. When I finished there was a swathe of emptiness in front of me – I like to think of it as ground zero ……..

Same again next year? ………………. Doei