fights.

I was talking some nerd rubbish when i heard a shout and looked around. lying on the ground was a short adolesant boy, his eyebrows high in his face with darwins universal expression of fear. His focus was on the boy who stood over him pulling at his shirt with one hand, with the other hand balled in a fist.

Am a policeman? if only for a whistle and a cudgel. i shout and run over anyway. he reluctantly leaves his prey prostrate on the astroturf. my yapping is incessant and not even i am listening. he moves to rejoin the game. his face is red and sweaty. he tries to push past me. my 93 kilos stop his movements and he gets louder and angrier at me telling him to leave the situation. He runs off and clumsily kicks at the ball. i pick up ball and halt play. now i have the attention of two dozen adolescent boys. I demand that he leaves.

now he is really mad and i am wondering if one of those fists is coming for me and he dances back and forth shouting and swearing at me. I can feel my legs jitter. other students rush him and pull him off the field. where he shouts and raves until told off by my line manager.

he calms and appologises and i give him lecture 38; on the depravity of adrenaline.