Death by horse

The Rhinestone Cowboy has lived up to his name. An awkward conversation with him in the lunchroom led to the revelation that his arrival at the high school had seen him promoted to the head of the equestrian club. No surprise really I though, given that he has the petite frame and hardened calves of a jockey. However, it turned out that the poor kid was no jockey and had in fact never ridden a horse before in his life. He even admitted that he had a slight trepidation towards the beasts in question, hence the lack of equine skills.

Despite this, and the fact that he had coached basketball for the last three years, it was the horse club where he was placed. No question. The rule for Japanese high schools is that a new teacher must teach the club their predecessor taught, regardless of preference, ability or logic. My supervisor spends four hours a day coaching volleyball, even though he had never played it before in his life. At his last school, he conducted the school band and ran the music department.

Unfortunately, upon his arrival in our Gummo town he was informed that the musical department staff was already allocated, and so he was to coach the girls volleyball. Every day at 3pm, he heaves a mighty sigh and puts on his neon red bib. If a western actor had to play him at this precise moment, it would be Alan Rickman.

The whole situation reminds me of that scene in that Family Guy episode ‘Da Boom’ where the Griffins establish a new town after the world blows up. Every time a new person comes to the town, Peter makes them pick a job out of the ‘job hat’ so that a qualified doctor is given the role of village idiot and the dentist in a horse. In this society, that wouldn’t surprise me anymore.

Also, there are no sip top bottles in Japan. Why? No matter how many convenience stores and supermarkets I traipse through, I am cursed to settle for the runner’s worst enemy; the screw cap. As a result, Japanese treadmilling is a much more perilous experience than back in the west. Trying to get that damn cap unscrewed and then rescrewed takes both hands while your legs are whirling takes skills verging on amateur acrobatics. Oh, how I mourn the humble pump bottle.