How odd that my recent mutterings re. Dick Fosbury should find an echo in this poem by Milton Acorn.
When you’re caught in an eight-foot boat —seaworthy
though—
You’ve got to turn your back, for a man rows backwards
Taking direction from the sting of rain and spray.
How odd, when you think of it, that a man rows backwards!
It is always a pleasure to take a walk through Wood s Lot and find this kind of thing…
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
Mike Golby 04.01.04 at 1:18
Perhaps it’s even better read backwards? I’ll give it a bash… you might be on to something here. I mean, it was Spike Milligan who gave us “I’m walking backwards to Christmas, across the Irish Sea…” Understandably, it never caught on… few people go to Ireland at Christmas and those that do it backwards, frequently miss. But yes, doing things arse-about-face is generally considered a mug’s game. However, if detractors studied the method behind the madness of those pursuing things necessarily unseen, they might change their tune. “You do that with Led Zeppelin, you get to hear the Devil,” our headmaster told us, but we just laughed at him. We knew that climbing mountains, which is what school’s about, is done facing forward but, when descending (the dificult part), it’s done backward. Yes…
fp 04.01.04 at 6:03
I figured the biggest advantage of the Fosbury Flop was the fact that the male high-jumper no longer needed to drag his huge schlong across the bar. By going over on your back, the appendage is allowed to just lie there, like a kielbasa on a platter. Going over face first the thing knocks the bar off 9 times out of 10.