The great Paralympic wobble

“Failed Paralympian” are two words which now dog Paul Carter. But have they made him bitter? No, he’s up for a whole new challenge

Hello again Backlashers. That’s my pet name for you all by the way. Don’t be offended, it’s a compliment.

Anyway Backlashers (I quite like it, sorry), as I may have mentioned before, I often receive my fair share of (frankly bizarre) requests, invitations and offers in my Disability Now inbox.

In fact, over the course of my life I’ve been asked to take part in all forms of weird and wonderful activities. Someone asked me if I’d ever tried mouth painting the other day, which was particularly random.

However, one arrived yesterday that raised more than a smirk – the subject was “Win a Professional Football Contract”. They clearly don’t know me. Mind you, the club in question was Swindon Town, so maybe I did have a chance of at least making the bench.

Anyhow, after my recent brush with nearly being roped into playing Murderball, it got me thinking about my own sporting failures.

You see, but for one tired arm movement back in the halcyon days of the mid 1990s, I could have made the Paralympics. Yep, believe it or not, before I succumbed to the temptations of cheap lager, microwave ready meals for one, and the delights of spending endless hours sat in front of pointless television, I used to swim competitively, and would have probably made the Atlanta Games had I not been disqualified for finishing my final stroke incorrectly.

It’s a story I regularly bore people with in the pub, how I was cruelly denied my sporting dreams by an over-officious jobsworth.

Looking back though, I’m actually acutely relieved, as the thought of getting out of bed at the crack of sparrow’s farts in the morning to do physical exercise is now so alien to me that I almost cannot comprehend why anyone would choose to do it.

The more I think about it, the more I reckon they should have a proper Paralympics for people like me who are too lazy to bother training for things that are far too much effort, like running or pushing a wheelchair about. Sample events off the top of my head – how fast you can put on and take off an artificial leg? The 30m wobble while carrying a hot kettle, with penalties for any spillage. That kind of thing. It would give the great unfit like me a chance to taste success rather than the daily dose of abject failure and underachievement. We could call it the Idleympics. In fact, nobody steal it, I’m off to patent it now. Sky will take it on. I’m sure I’m onto a winner.