Readers will have already
realized it was my Englishman who won the toss and kicked off this article
with the above lines. Initially he set the ball rolling by: ‘Even though
absolutely no doubt whatsoever may possibly be entertained as to the English
origins of all popular sports…,’ but was crunchingly tackled on this by his
left-wing French team mate. My Gallic vehemently protested that, contrary to
general belief on the English side of the Channel, well-known sports such as
football, rugby, or tennis are, in fact, of French origin. He went on to insist
that if his English alter ego were to remain true to the principle of
fair play he claimed for himself and his compatriots, the very least he could
do was to admit the existence of doubt on this score.
My French left winger then proceeded
to declare that, though English history maintains that the game of rugby was
inspired by a certain William Webb Ellis, a pupil at the Public School of the
same sporting name who, in November 1823, during a game of soccer, hit on the
brilliant idea of picking up the ball and running with it towards the opposing
goal, this sport can actually be traced much further back in time to the
ancient French game of la soule. This contest, apparently originating in
Brittany, took the form of what was little more than a mass punch-up between
two gangs of young men from rival villages, with few, if any rules - the goal
being to carry a bran-filled pig’s bladder over a predetermined line. ‘If no
rules existed,’ retorted my Englishman, ‘then I grant you it must have come
from France!’
Similarly, again according to my Frenchman, tennis has its origins in the French jeu de paume. For him,
indisputable proof of this is provided by the word ‘love’, signifying ‘nought’
in this sport only, and which is, in fact, a corruption of the French word oeuf,
meaning ‘egg’– an egg having much the same shape as the figure nought. Imagine my Englishman’s stupefied indignation, however, when his French alter tried
to bowl him over by declaring that even the quintessential English game of
cricket was of Gallic inspiration. So silly was this point that my Englishman
was stumped for a reply. After a few seconds, however, he creased himself with
laughter but, realizing they were playing on a sticky wicket* here, he made an appeal
to call off play.
My Frenchman then served for
the match by announcing that even the concept of ‘fair play’ was of French
inspiration. The Englishman in me managed to get the ball back into the other
half of the court by arguing that proof of its English origins would seem to be
provided by the fact that no linguistic equivalent exists in the French
language (the Gallics readily use the English expression), and even less in the
French mentality. To this, my Gallic was unable to hit back a winner, and
after a protracted rally my Englishman finally managed to win his point.
In all justice, however, it has
to be admitted that, though my rosbif remains unshakeably convinced
that the spirit of fair play left the shores of Albion in unadulterated form,
only to arrive on the Continent considerably diluted (perhaps it got dropped in
the water on the way), he is fair-minded enough to concede that the actual
level of playing ability of sports, reputedly English in origin, is often considerably
improved upon when exported abroad.
* For the benefit of my non-English readers ‘to
play on a sticky wicket’ means to find oneself in a difficult or delicate
situation. Derived from the game of cricket, a better understanding of this
commonly-used expression pre-supposes an elementary knowledge of this
quintessentially English sport – if, indeed, the word ‘sport’ may be used to
qualify an activity which my Frenchman describes as ‘more akin to ritualized
loafing’. The ‘wicket’ is the name given to the narrow strip of grass where,
again according to my Frenchman, ‘most of the little action which
characterizes the game’ takes place. On it, a bowler pitches a ball at a hitter
who will attempt to strike it with his bat. Unlike baseball, the cricket ball
is usually pitched in such a way that it bounces in front of the batter, and when
the wicket is ‘sticky’ (i.e. drying out after a fall of rain) the ball can
rebound in a frequently unpredictable way, thereby placing the batter in a
perilous situation.
