Competitive table tennis—which is what I optimistically attempt to play—is a sport where the concept of latent learning plays a fascinating role in performance. Taking a temporary sabbatical gives the brain and nervous system vital space to consolidate newly acquired motor skills, frequently resulting in a sudden leap in form when you return to the court.
I am referring, of course, to a deliberate break of a few days or weeks—not months or years, for which there is an entirely different technical term: wishful thinking.
They say a change is as good as a rest, and perhaps that explains why my game abruptly hit a transcendent new altitude this morning.
“Wow, where on earth did that shot come from?” Eric gasped, as another lightning-fast ball clipped the edge of the table and whizzed straight past his outstretched paddle. He paused, squinting at his racket as if checking for a gaping hole in the rubber.
“I have honestly no idea what is happening this morning,” I confessed, as startled by the shot as he was. “It feels as though my game has been temporarily possessed by an ancient penholding table tennis ninja.”
“Don’t panic,” I added reassuringly. “Whatever dark magic has commandeered my technique will undoubtedly wear off shortly.”
Indeed, the ninja spell proved fleeting. Eric promptly beat me 3–1.
Nevertheless, the magic resurfaced several times throughout the morning, offering a genuine glimmer of hope that the subtle mechanics of latent learning are finally taking root.
“Are you two interested in having a game today?” I enquired of a couple of pupils loitering tentatively near the tables during the school lunchtime club.
I wasn’t necessarily expecting a fully articulated response, but was quietly hoping for a nod or a brief smile. Instead, I received a warm smile, an enthusiastic nod, and what sounded distinctly like a “Yes please, Sir.”
I have consistently noticed that the pupils at Pewsey Vale School are remarkably polite. I am fully aware that this runs counter to the dismal narrative often spun about ‘youth today’, but I am delighted to report that polite, cheerful, and respectful teenagers do very much exist—at least here in Pewsey.
I suspect their initial quietness around me stems from simply trying to figure out who this external adult is and how they ought to address me. I still find being called ‘Sir’ slightly surreal, but in the interest of maintaining school standards, I have been advised it is best to simply roll with it.
Naturally, they fool around, engage in fierce debates over edge balls and illegal serves, and dissolve into giggles about their after-school plans, but the atmosphere is always good-natured and friendly.
One of the lads proudly informed me today that he had overheard a intriguing new language being spoken in the local takeaway over the weekend and had decided to master it himself.
Apparently, the dialect in question is called ‘Kebabanese’.
It was completely hilarious, and a reminder that when coaching school clubs, you truly never know what to expect next.
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