Muggles Should Not Play Quidditch ...unless they want an epic story to tell at Thanksgiving
“Why are you limping?” “I got impaled at a Quidditch Match”
Now, normally readers of The Bra Street Rambler can expect little life lessons and the wisdom of a young female without any sort of psychology degree to be heard of. Not this week. Sometimes something so insanely absurd happens that you simply have to put everything aside and say;
"Gather round dear bros and bras and listen as I tell you the story of a Muggle who tried to play a magical little sport called Quidditch.”
Yes, if you haven’t already gathered as much from my previous posts, I am a nerd and proud of it! Now lucky for me, and quite unfortunately for her as you will soon discover, my new roommate is also a nerd.
Recently, I volunteered at a Harry Potter event and played the fun role of a potions professor, other activities available to the public included house designation by means of Sorting Hat, face painting, wizard dueling, wand and banner decorating, and of course the main event of this particular Harry Potter themed afternoon: a Muggle adaptation of Quidditch.
Now, take a moment if you will to think of Harry Potter’s experiences playing Quidditch. Seems like a fun sport, yes? Until you begin to calculate the number of injuries suffered in this brutal game. A fact that would not be neglected in the Muggle adaptation despite being made into a non-contact sport.
Another matter to point out; the weather. Any member of an outdoor sports team will tell you, rain or shine, the game must go on. Such was the case this fateful day. Thankfully, the heavy rain had taken a break to watch the game with us.
So there goes my roommate who had decided to join me in the nerdy festivities, she runs out onto the field and sets herself up in front of the hoops, a brave Keeper waiting to face the onset of Quaffle charges as the potions professor cheered from the sidelines.
The game commences and players run back with brooms between their legs as they toss the Quaffle back and forth to one another, from one end of the field to the next.
The other team makes a play for my roommates goals… and down she goes, victim to the wet grass below her feet.
She gets back up, checks her hand, and to me and any other onlooker, she looks fine. Perhaps she had scraped her hand? No, she then makes her way off the field. It seems I alone can tell something is wrong.
I make my way to my poor crying roommate and see no damage, until she speaks of blood.
As it turns out, her posterior had located the one spot that could have caused her injury in this non contact rendition, the spike that keeps the hoops in the ground. She had been impaled and there was no Madam Pomfrey in sight. The potions professor and a first aid kit would have to suffice while a car was brought around.
Now of course, once the initial shock had worn off and my roommate’s character was proven as one of stoic bravery despite not having been housed in Gryffindor, I daresay the humour of the misadventure found its way to us and many jokes and puns ensued as we did a temporary patch up job and made our way to the hospital to spend the day waiting for stitches.
Once we arrived at the hospital, after a car ride in a laying down hugging position shared by the two of us that was certainly entertaining in its own right, I looked my roommate in the eyes and told her: "No matter what happens once we get in there, just remember, you’re standing beside a girl who is in full witch garb." Throughout everything, as I took care of my roommate back at the event, the others had changed out of their costumes leaving me the only one still in my costume; hat, cloak, extravagant blouse and skirt, witch buckle shoes and all.
The next few hours were spent standing and waiting around as my roommate was incapable of sitting and I certainly wasn’t going to leave her alone in that. Nevertheless, as the hours ticked by in the waiting room, we joked, we punned, we laughed, I braided her hair, and we focused on the hilarity of how the injury had occurred rather than thinking about the three inch deep hole where there ought naught be a hole.
Recently, I volunteered at a Harry Potter event and played the fun role of a potions professor, other activities available to the public included house designation by means of Sorting Hat, face painting, wizard dueling, wand and banner decorating, and of course the main event of this particular Harry Potter themed afternoon: a Muggle adaptation of Quidditch.
Now, take a moment if you will to think of Harry Potter’s experiences playing Quidditch. Seems like a fun sport, yes? Until you begin to calculate the number of injuries suffered in this brutal game. A fact that would not be neglected in the Muggle adaptation despite being made into a non-contact sport.
Another matter to point out; the weather. Any member of an outdoor sports team will tell you, rain or shine, the game must go on. Such was the case this fateful day. Thankfully, the heavy rain had taken a break to watch the game with us.
So there goes my roommate who had decided to join me in the nerdy festivities, she runs out onto the field and sets herself up in front of the hoops, a brave Keeper waiting to face the onset of Quaffle charges as the potions professor cheered from the sidelines.
The game commences and players run back with brooms between their legs as they toss the Quaffle back and forth to one another, from one end of the field to the next.
The other team makes a play for my roommates goals… and down she goes, victim to the wet grass below her feet.
She gets back up, checks her hand, and to me and any other onlooker, she looks fine. Perhaps she had scraped her hand? No, she then makes her way off the field. It seems I alone can tell something is wrong.
I make my way to my poor crying roommate and see no damage, until she speaks of blood.
As it turns out, her posterior had located the one spot that could have caused her injury in this non contact rendition, the spike that keeps the hoops in the ground. She had been impaled and there was no Madam Pomfrey in sight. The potions professor and a first aid kit would have to suffice while a car was brought around.
Now of course, once the initial shock had worn off and my roommate’s character was proven as one of stoic bravery despite not having been housed in Gryffindor, I daresay the humour of the misadventure found its way to us and many jokes and puns ensued as we did a temporary patch up job and made our way to the hospital to spend the day waiting for stitches.
Once we arrived at the hospital, after a car ride in a laying down hugging position shared by the two of us that was certainly entertaining in its own right, I looked my roommate in the eyes and told her: "No matter what happens once we get in there, just remember, you’re standing beside a girl who is in full witch garb." Throughout everything, as I took care of my roommate back at the event, the others had changed out of their costumes leaving me the only one still in my costume; hat, cloak, extravagant blouse and skirt, witch buckle shoes and all.
The next few hours were spent standing and waiting around as my roommate was incapable of sitting and I certainly wasn’t going to leave her alone in that. Nevertheless, as the hours ticked by in the waiting room, we joked, we punned, we laughed, I braided her hair, and we focused on the hilarity of how the injury had occurred rather than thinking about the three inch deep hole where there ought naught be a hole.
Yes, my roommate did end up needing seven stitches, and the recovery over the next couple weeks will certainly not be without pain or discomfort, but overall, our nerdy morbid selves had a great bonding experience and now have quite the epic story to tell at the next family dinner.
To every cloud its silver lining. Sometimes that silver lining has a sense of humour.
To every cloud its silver lining. Sometimes that silver lining has a sense of humour.
Cheers!
The Bra Street Rambler
P.S. When we got home, we watched Harry Potter. We’re that committed to being fans.
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