The Greatest Game Ever Played

Last week’s Gunsmoke File about my new favorite pub, “The British Bulldog” took me back to my childhood. No smartypants, I don’t mean because I was hanging out in pubs as a child...I couldn’t afford it back then. No, it got me thinking about a game we played at primary school, the greatest game ever played. Which coinkidinkally, also happened to be called “British Bulldogs”.

“Huh?” I hear you ask (my hearing’s still good), “what kind of game is that?” No, I didn’t expect you to know. You see the funny thing is; I’ve never met anyone who played British Bulldogs, or has even heard of it. And by that, I don’t just mean Americans, even other Brits, even other Brits who grew up in the same town as me, and who were at school at the same time as me, never played it. I can’t believe it was unique to my primary school, but unless someone can set me straight, it certainly seems that way.

“So tell us Andrew,” you ask “how does one play British Bulldogs?”

Well, I’m glad you asked. First off you need a reasonable sized playing area. No indoor game this; you want a big field, yard or playground. 50 yards or so long, 25 or so wide should about do it. Next, you’re going to need a bucket load of kids. I’m not kidding; I’m talking about a lot of kids. At least 40, more is even better. If you can rustle up 60 plus, you’ve got the makings of a classic. You have all that? Alright, we’re ready to get started.

Pick a kid, any kid. His (Note: British Bulldogs was a boys game. The girls were in the other playground skipping and doing handstands and all those other weird things that girls do) his job is to stand in the middle of the playing area. Every other kid stands at one end. Now, at the given signal (a roar of “BRITISH BUUUUULLLLLDOGGGGS!!!!”) all the kids except the one in the middle run like the clappers from one end of the yard to the other. The one in the middle has to catch as many as he can. By ‘catch’ I do of course mean tackle, trip, block, drop-kick, head-butt, or otherwise arrest the progress of. If he’s good, he might catch one; if he’s really good, he might catch more. Any kids he does manage to catch now remain with him in the middle, while the others reassemble at the opposite end of the yard to which they started.

On to round 2. The remaining 98 or so repeat the battle cry and once more, charge from one end to the other, back to where they originally started. Except now there’s 2, or maybe 3 kids attempting to catch them. Between them, they might snag another 5 or 6. Which means that for round 3, there are 8 or 9 kids in the middle. By round 4, there could be 15 to 20. It’s getting much easier to catch the runners now. A couple more rounds and you’ve got more kids doing the catching than you have doing the running. This is where it gets really fun.

Before too long, you’ve only got 2 or 3 kids still running, and they have to jink their way through several dozen other kids, all with the sole intent of making sure they don’t make it. Eventually, there can be only one. By definition, one kid is the last to be caught.

So that one stands in the middle, while every other kid stands at one end. And the game begins all over again. And that’s it until the bell rings and with bloody noses, fat lips, torn sweaters and old scores settled, you make your way back to class.

As I said, other than people who went to my primary school, I’ve never met anyone who has ever played British Bulldogs. I can’t see it catching on today, what with our litigious society and cotton-wool parenting. (What if a child got hurt?) The horror, the horror.

Plus, it’s an unfashionable game. No uniforms, schedules, referees, or league tables. No Dads on the side lines yelling abuse at the coach because Junior didn’t get enough playing time. Instead, it was just a whole bunch of kids blowing off steam and having a helluva good time in the process.

The way games should be.