This week I have been flattered by the request of my brother to go and play 5-a-side football with him on Friday. It’s nothing really to make a song and dance about, but I’m flattered mainly because I’m rarely asked to pitch up for a 5-a-side team. The main reason for this is that I’m quite shit. Thankfully, my ordinary 5-a-side team is made up predominately of retards so in that sense I get to look pretty average. I shan’t worry too much about Friday night’s match though, as my brother is about as good as me. I like to think of myself as a Gary Neville type player, only without any legs. That’s about my level.
This new found thoughtfulness from my brother is actually a bit of a surprise given how much it seemed he hated me when we were kids. He’s older than me and pretty much the opposite – he’s short, fat and ugly… but he always seemed to enjoy beating me. Back in the day when we used to share a bedroom, we had to share bunk beds too. Naturally, with him being the elder he got to choose the top bunk. So as I lay at night trying to get my weary head off to sleep, my delightful brother thought it’d be a ‘laugh’ to spit on the wall and let it trickle all the way down to my bunk (or at least, I thought it was spit). The dirty sod. Being a clever lad, I decided to get my revenge so I spat up the wall at him… only for it to trickle back down at me as well. Now there’s a lovely image. Sorry Mum.
I could probably write all day about the various beatings that my brother gave me as I grew up. My brother used to love dropping me off the top bunk of our beds, only for me to get told off by my parents because I, and I quote “made the bang”. Yep, you’re right Mum, that was entirely my fault. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my brother got taught to use pressure points. He wouldn’t just apply them momentarily though, nope. He’d jab his finger into my neck until I passed out only for me to regain consciousness some fifteen minutes later. I really wish I was making this stuff up, but sadly I’m not. Have you ever played the game ‘Bomb’, where you throw a ball to each other and if you don’t catch it you lose a limb? It’s not a complicated game and playing it with my brother, nor is it very fun. When I was about eight I failed to catch the ball meaning that I lost a limb, so put an arm behind my back leaving only one hand to catch it with. I then lost a leg, so had to hop around. Slowly but surely I ended up on my knees with one hand, then on my stomach, before laying on the ground unable to use either my hands or legs to catch the ball. This is exactly the point in the game where you’d ordinarily lose… but not if you’re playing with my brother. This is the point where he comes and kicks you as you lay helpless on the floor in a foetal position. Charming.
My brother’s always made a big impression on me growing up. When I say impression, I mean quite literally. My worst beating to date was when my brother decided he’d enact a scene from Mortal Kombat. We’d just finished having a bash on it on the Mega Drive and he thought he’d rather like to try a move he’d seen Jax do. So, he picked me aloft his head and launched me across the room head first where I smashed into the brick wall. I’d like to tell you that it didn’t hurt, but it fucking did. The wall had a pretty bad dint where my head had been. What topped it off was when I went crying to my parents for sympathy only to get told I ought to “bloody well fix it”, after all it was, and I quote, my “head that made the hole in the wall”. Unbelievable. That boy got away with murder (almost) whilst my shitty parents blamed me.
In fairness to him though, he’d guided me into being the fine young man that I am and more than he probably realises. All by simply doing the opposite of him, like; being slim, passing my GCSE’s and not marrying my first girlfriend. Thanks for inspiring me Andy. You dick.
You can find even more witticisms from Eddie over at the Calm Down Dearest page on Facebook. Just make sure you dash back over here every Wednesday, ok?