Showing posts with label boxing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label boxing. Show all posts

Wednesday, 30 December 2009

Sporting metaphors


Recently I was thinking about sporting metaphors, as you do, and I was struck by how many of them have passed into common parlance. Apparently English (and I mean English English, not American or Australian English) has more of these than any other language. I’m not talking about clichés – game of two halves; sick as a parrot; bulging the auld onion bag (or indeed anything by Tommy Smyth ‘with a y’ – yes, why are you on my television?) – but actual metaphors.

It’s no surprise that we have a load from football; score an own goal; on a level playing field; from the kick-off; moving the goalposts; back of the net. It amuses me that the ones from rugby generally imply defeat or incompetence; kicked into touch; blind-sided; drop the ball. And then there’s the insidious way they creep into business speak as those around the boardroom try to make their meaningless drivel sound more entertaining – pick up the ball and run with it, anyone?

I also find it amusing that many of the metaphors derived from cricket relate to complete and utter bemusement; bowled over; stumped; hit for six; caught and bowled; sticky wicket. Apart from being forever linked with confusion (Americans don’t even understand these expressions, let alone the game), cricket is also associated with ‘fair play’; itself a term to which any number of sports can lay claim. I like ‘it’s just not cricket’ and ‘he/she had a good innings’. It generally shows initiative to do something off your own bat (not back, which is a common misapprehension).



Horse-racing also provides a host of metaphors; first past the post; also-ran; neck and neck; down to the wire; win hands down; by a nose; ringer/ring-in; flogging a dead horse. Motor racing gives us pole position and pit stops, while it could be any kind of racing that supplies the home stretch, first out of the blocks, front runner and false starts.

Some sporting metaphors have no definitive origin. Crying foul, grand-standing, being on the bench, getting the ball rolling, and keeping your eye on the ball could come from a variety of sports.

Other metaphors are clearly derived from one source. Golfers were the only ones originally under par and it was only those playing bowls who need concern themselves with the rub of the green. Touché was a cry reserved for fencers; high-jumpers (and potentially pole-vaulters) raised the bar; and those scoring card games, particularly cribbage, were level pegging. Chess players had opening gambits, end-games and reached stalemates; tennis players knew the ball was in their court; wrestlers were told there were no holds barred; and there are no prizes for guessing who was snookered.

If you consider sailing a sport, rather than merely an extravagant waste of money, there are numerous metaphors, frequently involving drinking and other states less than top-hole (bar billiards). So you can be on an uneven keel, three sheets to the wind, chock-a-block, be taken down a peg or two, or have the wind taken out of your sails. To avoid such trouble you may have to change tack, batten down the hatches and get all hands on deck.

It surprises me that we employ so many baseball metaphors in English – a sport that we don’t even play. However, these are generally used in the business world (dominated by American capitalism) and the sexual sphere (heavily influenced by the American film industry).

So pointless management meetings will be all about touching base, stepping up to the plate, throwing curve balls, knocking things out of the park, covering all the bases, playing hardball (as opposed to softball), hitting a home run, coming out of left field, three strikes and you’re out, pinch hitters and taking rain checks. Meanwhile testosterone-challenged teenagers (the same ones who will [arguably] grow up to spout this boardroom bingo) will be trying to get first base.

Perhaps most surprising, however, is the clear ruler of the sporting metaphor kingdom: boxing. For a sport that many people claim to disdain, it racks up (snooker?) more common phrases than any other. Here are some:

Against the ropes
Beat someone to the punch
Below the belt
Best foot forward
Blow-by-blow account
Boxing clever
Come out swinging
Down and out
Fancy footwork
Gloves are off
Have someone in your corner
No stomach for the fight
On the back foot
Out for the count
Pull one’s punches
Punch above your weight
Punching bag
Punch-drunk
Ringside seat
Roll with the punches
Saved by the bell
Sparring partner
Square-off
Sucker punch
Take a dive
Take it on the chin
Throw in the towel
Throw your hat into the ring

Thursday, 20 August 2009

Right hook like a lady


There has been a lot of consternation recently because women’s boxing has been included in the next Olympic games in London. I can’t see what the problem is. I’m more concerned about the addition of golf – that’s not a sport. It’s a game at best, and not even a very good one at that. It doesn’t display strength, agility, or fitness – although I concede there is technique involved. The fact that some 59-year-old bloke can lead the British Open proves my point – it’s darts for the rich and corporate.

So; back to women’s boxing. One of the complaints I’ve heard is that it is dangerous. How so? How is it more dangerous for women than for men? In amateur boxing there is no hitting of the chest area and they wear headgear. I would have thought all the other martial sports included (judo, taekwondo, wrestling) were equally ‘dangerous’. They all have female categories – boxing has been, until now, the only sport reserved for men only.

I think people may be confusing it with professional boxing – often slugfests organised by unscrupulous sleaze-merchants. Compared with that, amateur boxing is technical and tactical, and as fencing is to pub brawls. It has dignity and grace and should be rescued from the corrupt and dubious underground pit dominated by men who like to watch women hurt each other.

I used to train at a boxing gym. I was the fittest and fastest I have ever been in my life. The speed, agility, discipline, and quick-decision-making the sport teaches is second to none. And it wasn’t aggressive. We weren’t there to punch each other’s lights out but to get on with the sport. Of course it’s combative and competitive, but it wasn’t brutal or violent.

One day walking home from the gym after such a gruelling workout I could hardly lift my arms, I was attacked and mugged in an underpass. The next day my instructor (the flyweight champion of the northwest region) taught me how best to defend myself. His words of advice? Run away. He showed me a few moves that could be used to disable an opponent, but stressed these were never to be used in the ring, only in cases of extreme necessity.

The other accusation is that it is un-ladylike. The people (okay, let’s be honest, men) who complain thus are probably the same ones who think it is acceptable to watch jelly wrestling or beach volleyball. Crotch-slicing Lycra isn’t what I would consider ladylike personally, but they seem happy to wear it and be ogled doing so. It’s their choice and I don’t see outraged comments about it – funny that.