My worst class.
I felt well prepared beforehand, notes demonstrating how major sporting events can instigate societal changes using the 1995 Rugby World Cup in South Africa as the best example. Mandela and all that.
I also had last week as leverage and the killer opening line as the class simmered down to a gathered hush.
"So, quiet week in sport. Nothing to see here."
It got the requisite laugh and I asked them all to commit their thoughts on the Ireland match itself, coupled with the media response, to paper. Some good impromptu pieces but it left me with an hour and a half to kill and the ill-will to switch to the rugby topic.
It all went so-so until my monumental fuck up.
"So, you see that when Mandela mentioned the fact that he was more tense before this iconic rugby game than at any other stage in his life, it was because this event, this 70 minutes, was the tipping point of all that he had strived for throughout his..."
I heard some sniggering and immediately realised what I'd said.
"80 minutes. Fuck. 80 minutes. I was thinking of... I'm tired. It's the weather. It's... Oh shut up. No you shut up..."
My cover blown, I let them off early, waiting until they'd left the room to take a long and hard look at my reflection in the window. Soul searching completed I legged it, got into a taxi and caught the end of the Liverpool match. More humiliation and not a drop of whiskey in the flat.