It is another splendidly average day at Ballyforth comp and our hero Kevin McIntosh is in the process of being picked last for football. Dressed in the striped yellow and black kit he resembles an anaemic wasp. Wizards aren't built to wear shorts, they are meant to wear robes and pointy hats.
He doesn't blame his school chums for not wanting him on their team, he wouldn't pick him but the bartering system currently being operated is demeaning to all involved. While he isn't exactly nimble he knows in his heart of hearts he is worth more than current offer Fatty Jenkins and Wheezy Gibbs.
Eventually a deal is struck. Kevin is to play in defence, keep his hands by his sides at all times and only move when play is coming in his direction and then it is to be out of the way as quickly as possible. In return Darren Clarke gets Fatty, Wheezy and a two goal head start. Deal done Kevin trudges off to his assigned spot, the whistle is blown and the game commences.
For the first five minutes Kevin pays attention and even dutifully runs out of the way of Clarke as he blazes a trail down the wing and bags an easy goal. After that his mind starts to wander. He is thinking about how no self-respecting wizard should ever partake in sport, even if it is broom based and allegedly dangerous, when an errant ball from Speccy Tomkins's foot hits him square in the face.
"Jesus H Christ McIntosh, you can't even do nothing right can you?" Screams Mr Roberts the stereotypically unfit P.E teacher, "pick yourself up and kick the ball here, you useless wazzock."
Mr Roberts was of the old school mind-set that the more you shouted at your pupils the more they loved you. He was of course very wrong, the kids good at sport loved him; the ones like Kevin who were less than athletically blessed, despised him.
Kevin picks himself up off the floor, his face scarlet both from the impact and embarrassment and walks over to the ball.
"In your own time eh McIntosh, we don't mind waiting do we lads?" heckles the mean spirited teacher.
As he draws back his foot to kick the ball back to the baying mob, Roberts chimes in again "Take cover lads! Who knows where this is going to end up!" and theatrically dives for cover.
Turning an even deeper shade of red Kevin mutters "Sonic Boom" under his breath and boots the ball with all of his might.
It's hard to say if the ball catches fire as he kicks it or if it self-combusts from the speed it travels at. It is however far easier to say that the classic "drop and roll" technique of fire extinguishing is put to good use by all caught in the wake of the leather comet. Kevin knows he'll probably be expelled for this one but he is past caring anymore.