Why Paul's not playing ball

It used to be called Murderball and apparently, Paul Carter is a shoe-in for stardom playing it. So why is he less than thrilled

During my time as a journalist I’ve been fortunate enough to be asked to do many different things, some exciting, some interesting, some only barely socially acceptable. From being invited to fire guns with the police at a firearms training day to being sent around the less salubrious areas of London’s Soho looking for certain ‘specialist’ films, the requests have been varied. Though even by those standards, I took a phone call a while back that surprised even me.

I was told that I’m a prime specimen (!) for playing wheelchair rugby. Apparently, people with impairments similar to mine are known as high point players, and are extremely valuable to the sport. By all accounts, I am precisely what they are looking for.

My already inflated ego was suitably massaged. Still, despite being quite au fait with most Paralympic sports, wheelchair rugby is admittedly one that I know least about. So, I did as most people do these days when faced with a knowledge gap, I ran straight to Google and Wikipedia, the lazy learner’s friends. I found videos of wheelchair rugby. Oh my God. One thing quickly became apparent ahead of all others – that I am going to get killed. The sport used to be called Murderball for goodness sake. Murderball! Don’t get me wrong, but anything, not necessarily just sport, with murder in the title doesn’t scream appeal. (Maybe scream isn’t the right word in this context but you get my meaning.) All the guys who play it look terrifyingly strong and it’s played in armoured wheelchairs.

I’m not really built for sport. Not nowadays anyhow. I used to swim competitively as a junior and was mildly successful, but threw my toys out of the pram for being disqualified on a technicality in a race when I was 15 and never swam again. I then made it my duty to live the life of an anti-athlete. Consuming as much debauchery as my little body can handle. Sweet, sweet debauchery.

Still, despite all this I’ve decided that I’m going to give it a go. Sadly I couldn’t make the training camp I was invited to as it clashed with the similarly violent party political conference season. Day jobs, hey? Still, there’s another one coming up in a few months time so I’ll get myself along to that and see if I have what it takes.I am slightly terrified by the fact that such high hopes are being pinned on me though. What if I throw like a girl? What if I’m as mobile in a wheelchair around a basketball court as a – well, as a bloke with no arms in a wheelchair around a basketball court?

The potential for humiliation here is worryingly high. Not that you lot will care about that though, seeing as the only upside to me getting smashed left right and centre is that at least I can write about it here.