Badminton Playing Quotes

When I was a junior, my school introduced badminton, which was clearly a P.E. department ploy to get me away from the wrestling room, and it worked, since the first time I played badminton was like the first time I tasted sushi or heard the Beatles or read Wordsworth. This was a sport? This counted for gym requirements?

Over the years our mother has beaten us with belts, shoes, rulers, extension cords, hair brushes, a wooden spoon, a fly swatter, a toilet brush, wire coat hangers, wooden coat hangers and sometimes one of our own toys. When you get whacked by your own paddleball paddle or you have to watch your sister getting spanked with a badminton racquet that she asked Santa Claus (AKA Grandma) to bring, you don't feel much like playing with those things ever again.

He’s so outta my league, we’re not even playing the same sport… He’s professional soccer in Europe and I’m intramural badminton in the States.

In any game, the game itself is the prize, no matter who wins, ultimately both lose the game.

Okay, so English settlers brought rabbits with them to Australia to breed for food and stuff, right? But they escaped and basically started destroying the country, eating the vegetation, that kind of thing. So by the early 1900s, the government was trying to figure out a way to get rid of all the rabbits. Want to hear what their genius plan was? The rabbit-proof fence. Worked out great for the rabbits. Once they learned how to play badminton and got the hang of tennis on grass, they couldn’t remember how they ever lived without it. Supposedly there was something like six hundred million rabbits by 1950. But you’re missing the point. The point is that even though it was pretty obvious from the beginning it wasn’t working, they kept right on building it—two thousand miles of it.

De Villiers was shortlisted for the South African national hockey squad,’ the article says. True or false? False. In truth, I played hockey for one year at high school and was a member of the Afrikaanse Hoër Seunskool Under-16A team that beat our near neighbours and rivals at Pretoria Boys’ High for the first time, but I was never shortlisted for the national hockey squad, or ever came remotely close to that level. ‘De Villiers was shortlisted for the South African national football squad,’ the article says. True or false? False. I have never played any organised football (soccer). We used to kick a ball around during break at school and the game has become part of the Proteas’ warm-up routine. That is all. ‘De Villiers was the captain of South Africa junior rugby,’ the article says. True or false? False. I played rugby at primary school and high school, and enjoyed every minute, but I never represented South Africa at any level, either at SA Schools or SA Under-20, and was never captain. ‘De Villiers is still the holder of six national school swimming records,’ the article says. True or false? False. As far as I recall, I did set an Under-9 breaststroke record at Warmbaths Primary School but I have never held any national school swimming records, not even for a day. ‘De Villiers has the record fastest 100 metres time among South African junior sprinters,’ the article says. True or false? False. I did not sprint at all at school. Elsewhere on the Internet, to my embarrassment, there are articles in which the great sprinter Usain Bolt is asked which cricketer could beat him in a sprint and he replies ‘AB de Villiers’. Maybe, just maybe, I would beat him if I were riding a motorbike. ‘De Villiers was a member of the national junior Davis Cup tennis team,’ the article says. True or false? Almost true. As far as I know, there was no such entity as the national junior Davis Cup team, but I did play tennis as a youngster, loved the game and was occasionally ranked as the national No. 1 in my age group. ‘De Villiers was a national Under-19 badminton

Oh well, that’s what he did. He’s very interested in boys. He used to go down to the club in the evening and chat to the boys; he taught them to play badminton and helped them to produce plays. They did carpentry and photography—all that sort of thing, you know,’ said Mr. Baird vaguely. ‘Of course latterly, when he was ill, he wasn’t able to go, but I managed to find a man to run the place for him and I hear things are going on quite satisfactorily.

Pickleball is a sport most people have never heard of but is a big deal in Florida's retirement communities. It is a geriatric version of tennis played with Ping-Pong paddles and a Whiffle Ball on a court similar to a badminton court... Jeff Laughlin, a North Carolina sportswriter, visited a pickleball match and reported that "the absurdity of the name can only be rivaled by the absurdity of the sport itself." Because the rackets are pretty lightweight and the Whiffle Ball is, well, a Whiffle Ball, no on can hit the ball hard enough to get it past an opposing player. The result is a game featuring "long, arduous volleys" that seem to end mainly once someone gets tired of swinging the racket or it's time for lunch. Laughlin characterizes the sport as "incredibly easy and boring," but to aficionados, apparently, it is a great way to work up a thirst for an afternoon martini.

The quality of any author’s effort at personal writing and thematic commentary hinges upon the author’s intrinsic limitations, personal vantage point, and personal capacity for tapping into their bedrock of repressed memories. Writing effectively also demands logical resources and facility for language. Plunging headlong into the murky unknown of self-discovery, one seeks to scoop out a rendering of their soul, clasp an expressive illusion of what teasingly lies beyond their grasp. Playing badminton with an idea that haunts their serenity, a writer swats the elusive birdie back and forth along the corpus callosum, the bundle of nerves that comprises the hemispheric neural highway that connects the left and right brain fiber. An author’s ameliorative depictions on paper are a byproduct of inter-hemispheric dialogue carried out between the two rival parts of the brain’s interlocking neuroplasticity. The resultant succored scribbling reflects a tentative truce reached between these split-brain fractions hosting tangled sentiment. The resulting manuscript marks the author’s laborious chore of assembling scattered thoughts and fastening jumbled memories into a lacquered illustrative depiction.

It was too embarrassing to admit that a young woman was the most popular politician in the Islamic Republic. In the official tally she came in second, with slightly fewer votes than the older cleric—an injustice that must have riled Hashemi, given the nature of her platform. Hashemi had made her debut in politics by challenging conservative clerics who opposed women’s right to exercise in public. Using her standing as Rafsanjani’s daughter, she argued that there was nothing wrong with fully covered women exercising. An increasing number of old and young women already crowded parks to jog or play volleyball or badminton. But the Basij often harassed and intimidated them to discourage women from exercising. As part of her campaign to defend and expand women’s right to exercise, Hashemi built a bike path for women, increased women’s access to sports facilities such as golf courses and tennis courts, and set up the first women’s soccer and, eventually, rugby teams since the revolution. She also founded the Islamic Women’s Sport Foundation, through which she held games in Tehran involving Iranian athletes and Muslim women invited from other countries.

He was a little monster,” Bob said, laughing, about Steve as a child. The main difficulty wasn’t unruly behavior. It was Steve’s insatiable curiosity about the bush and the wildlife in it. “For the first few months, when he was a baby, I could put Steve down and he would stay where I put him,” Lyn told me. “But after he started to get around on his own, it was all over. I would find him either on the roof or up in some tree.” When the family headed off on a trip, usually to North Queensland on wildlife jaunts, Steve could always be counted on to be elsewhere when they were ready to go. They would find him next to the nearest stream, snagging yabbies or turning over bits of wood to see what was hidden underneath. “He was never where we wanted him to be,” Lyn recalled with a laugh. Steve’s childhood was “family, wildlife, and sport,” he told me. He played rugby league for the Caloundra Sharks in high school and was picked to play rugby for the Queensland Schoolboys and represent the state, but he chose to go on a field trip with his dad to catch reptiles instead. Sometimes sport and wildlife mixed in unexpected ways. Both was an expert badminton player, and a preteen Steve decided to layout a badminton court in the family’s backyard one day. He had a brolga as a friend, a large bird that he called Brolly. Brolly objected to Steve rearranging her territory. She waited until his back was turned and then attacked. Wham! A brolga’s beak is a fearsome weapon, and Brolly’s slammed into the back of little Stevo’s head. His bird friend knocked him out cold. “Go ahead, feel it,” Steve said after regaling me with this story. He bent his head. I could still feel a knot of scar tissue, a souvenir of the brolga attack years earlier.

I’d spent our marriage on high alert for the sex kittens, the glamour queens, the pinup models masquerading as pencil pushers. I’d known his type—leggy brunettes with great bodies—and had blocked every potential threat with precise accuracy. He was a sexual man, one who appealed to practically every woman out there, and I’d spent the first few years of our marriage playing badminton with beauties until I’d

Dialogue is hard. We need to imagine how the characters would react and ask questions, to wait for person A to say something interesting that can elicit an interesting response from person B. It's like playing badminton, you need a back and forth. But even something like a text message is hard to write. Sometimes I'd reminisce about a time I spent on a group chat where no one had anything to say, and I don't even know what I was reminiscing about. The group would be all memes, photos, jokes, and insults. Then I'd realise that it'd been a long time since we actually talked about our lives. We were just shouting about our lives on our social media walls, and then a few hours later a friend would see it and then go make a few jokes or jabs on our group. I think modern dialogue is more like squash, we spike the ball at a wall with all our might, and then the other person hits it back against the wall. Before our feelings arrive, they are beaten black and blue, covered in likes.

Hi, Judy!” she called to the little girl, who was playing in the yard with a midget badminton set.

my badminton club and learn to play?” I shrugged off the B&B lady’s

There's a tiny wee shop in Paddington Where they serve cups of tea with a lamington With a friend I went there He said it's not fair They make me too fat to play badminton

I don’t believe in heaven, and even if I did I’d hope nonexistent-god they don’t have fucking twitter there. It’s heaven! Go play chocolate badminton on a cloud with Jerry Orbach and your childhood cat.

At the weekends when the two of you played badminton in the yard and the shuttlecock inevitably flew over the wall and onto the building site, your game of rock-paper-scissors to decide which of you would go and fetch it never failed to make me smile.

previous evening.  badly off in an unfavorable situation: her belief that children are worse off when their parents divorce.  having little money.   See usage at BAD. Linked entries: BAD bad·min·ton   n. a game with rackets in which a shuttlecock is played back and forth across a net.  named after Badminton, a country home in southwestern England. bad-mouth   v. [trans.] INFORMAL criticize (someone or something); speak disloyally of: no one wants to hire an individual who bad-mouths a prior employer. bad news   n. INFORMAL an unpleasant or undesirable person or thing: dry weather is always bad news for gardeners. bad-tem·pered   adj. easily annoyed or made angry: in a heat wave, many people become increasingly bad-tempered.  characterized by anger or ungraciousness: Mary was feeling very bad-tempered;a bad-tempered exchange.   bad-tem·pered·lyadv. Bae·de·ker   Karl (1801-59), German publisher of travel guidebooks. He is remembered chiefly for the series of guidebooks to which

If you want to know, read my mind,’ Helen said. ‘Besides, badminton’s for pussies who can’t play tennis.

Embassy grounds,” Toby said as the headlights flashed over steep woods falling away to the right. “That’s where Grigorieva plays her volley-ball, gives political instruction to the kids. George, believe me, that’s a very distorting woman. Embassy kindergarten, the indoctrination classes, the Ping-Pong club, women’s badminton—that woman runs the whole show. Don’t take my word for it, hear my boys talk about her.” As they turned out of the cul-de-sac, Smiley lifted his glance towards the upper window of the corner house and saw a light go out, and then come on again. “And that’s Pauli Skordeno saying ‘Welcome to Berne,’” said Toby. “We managed to rent the top floor last week. Pauli’s a Reuters stringer. We even faked a press pass for him. Cable cards, everything.