Sochi’s Olympic torch arrived in Tomsk today and was
gleefully paraded around the city. The setting sun was obscured by snowflakes
as the Siberian weather finally obliged to give us some serious snow on the
first day of winter. I headed to Novosobornaya Square, where hoards of people
had gathered to witness Russia’s flame. The format was almost identical to the
British torch relay from 2012, with police, running guards and coca-cola
giveaways the main highlights. The vast crowds and fireworks displays created
an excitable atmosphere in which I was only happy to indulge.
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| Excitable Russians and the torch |
Other sporting escapades have come thick and fast for me. And
as the UK Snooker Championship has kicked off in the last couple of days, what
better time than to inform you of Russian billiards. This is an unusual game.
The balls are numbered, but I haven’t yet worked out what they mean. The object
of the game is to be the first to pot eight balls. You can use any as the cue
ball and pot as many as you want in one go. This leads to a rather marvellous
shot called the свояк (svoyak),
involving the deflection of your chosen cue ball off a stationary ball and into
the pocket. I have managed one thus far, but endeavour to improve. The major
problem with this game is that the pockets are only just big enough for the
balls. As a result, games can last for a while and the players’ patience can be
tested. Fortunately, I have recently discovered that there is one English
snooker table in Tomsk. I shall shortly be hunting it down…
As well as two trips to Tomsk’s organ hall (enjoying a
magnificent Bach concert last night), I have managed to squeeze in a football
session in the past week, leaving me a struggling mess of sore muscles and
blistered feet. My lack of exercise has arguably been my fault, although I did
join a gym to combat the issue. Unfortunately, the gym owners clearly
considered a running machine unnecessary, meaning that cardio exercise has been
difficult. Nevertheless, I am not one to be thwarted and regularly find myself
sprinting home past bemused Russians, not in an effort to exercise, but to
avoid being locked out by the babushka and having to spend the night on a snowy
bench.
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| A snowy scene, hopefully not a sleeping spot. |
But perhaps my most ambitious sporting mission has been
attempting to teach by elementary level English students the rules of cricket.
Even fluent English speakers, such as Americans, have difficulty understanding
the rules of this sport, but for some reason I thought that my students could
cope with it, despite the fact that many of the cricketing terms don’t even
exist in Russian. I had envisaged an interactive role play about Trott’s
departure, sledging and Bell’s potential rise up the batting order to number 3.
Instead, the hour and a half was painful and torturous for all parties
involved. I see this as yet another mistake that I can learn from.
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