Last month I was introduced to not one but two new spectator sports.
The first – rowing – is hardly a surprise in this town, but I initially dismissed it as little more than toffs in tubs.
Yet anyone who braves 6am training in freezing water deserves respect. And there’s no denying the strength and stamina needed to move a boat at pace – we had to sprint to glimpse our friend Hollie, star of the Lincoln College crew.
The speed is partly thanks to ultra-light boats – but these demand poise as well as power. This much I know from experience: my only attempt at proper rowing was a few sessions on the Clyde. And believe me, the Glaswegian water is quite an incentive to keep your balance.
But it’s the co-ordination which really impresses – when individuals work so tightly a team it is an stirring sight, and the synchronized movements of body and oar are undeniably graceful. As with most of Oxford, there’s a strong incentive to conform – get the stroke a millisecond out or the angle a few degrees short and you risk wood in your face or a paddle in the water.
The second sport – ice hockey – was even more novel. The nearest I’d come was a (field) hockey-playing friend, famous for his talented goalkeeping and for having the best student summer job of all: testing padding. Is it entirely ethical to rate protective sports equipment by the wince volume of an impoverished student?
The pads are also there on ice, along with helmets. This time we followed Hollie’s Canadian boyfriend Tyler, who comes home battered and bruised each week despite the protection. But all that padding makes punch-ups look a bit like handbags: if you want to see fat boys fighting (and why would you?) then Oxford offers an irritatingly high infection of rugger-buggers despoiling parks and pubs alike.
What really made me laugh was that as soon as a player smashed an opponent into the boards they were instantly substituted – an infuriating lack of payback! And what a lot of subs: 6 a side is tiring, but a lot easier with a squad of over a dozen…
But there was plenty to admire. Ice hockey is fast, sometimes furious, and at its best skillful and athletic. Like 5-a-side football, control, passing and movement are all key, and when a player is sin-binned it is impressive how the attackers press their advantage through a ‘power play’.
Some things were strange: handballs are allowed, refs dress as magpies, and it’s damn cold. Others were irksome: the tiny puck is barely visible through the thick nets around the rink, and frequent stoppages are filled with dodgy rock music. But overall it was great fun, despite an 11pm start: a party atmosphere with as much action off the ice as on.
Both rowing and ice-hockey took place in bitter cold, at unsociable hours, and are probably more fun to do than to watch. But these days, where else will you get such flashes of excitement, impressive teamwork and weekend entertainment for free?
