Ken, our BBC Unsung Hero

Ken Sykes, Head coach at Whitley Bay Barbarians Rugby League Club has been shortlisted to the final three for the North East BBC Sports Unsung hero 2009.

Ken was nominated for the award by Shiremoor Primary School in North Tyneside where he has delivered Rugby League for over five years.

Ken has worked in our school for over five years and has become a valuable asset to our school. His passion and enthusiasm for Rugby League makes him a credit to the sport,” said Miss Coulson, Year Four teacher at Shiremoor Primary School.

“He always goes that little bit further and is keen to raise participation by fund raising and acquiring grants to ensure children can attend his club on a free bus.

His commitment to delivery rugby league as a full time coach means that we have many children actively involved in the sport, as well as many teachers who have also become involved through gaining coaching awards as well as an interest and passion for the game!

Ken is a role model to our children and has shown many of them with low aspirations that they could make a career out of playing Rugby League. He teaches them important morals and values and the children are so enthusiastic about his sessions. Without a doubt, Ken is an inspiration.”

“It was a very pleasant surprise to be nominated for this award by Mrs Clegg, the head teacher of Shiremoor Primary School, but not at all a surprise that, if I was gong to be put forward for something like this, Mrs Clegg would do it. Shiremoor are very appreciative of their volunteers, which is probably why they have so many,” said Sykes.

“As far as the award is concerned I am delighted for rugby league that someone in the game is involved in this. It is a fantastic sport for everybody at all ages, from the U8s to the Masters Events, age not specified! If any of this serves to make Rugby League better known then I will be well pleased"

Jo Drapier, RFL North East Regional Manager, stated “I’d like to congratulate Ken for all his hard work, it’s great that the North East panel have recognised this and have shortlisted him to the final three. Ken is an active volunteer within rugby league in the north east and it’s great to see him getting recognised. He deserves every honour we can possibly give him. I’d also like to thank Shiremoor primary school for their support for Ken and Rugby League.”

BBC Look North have filmed and interviewed Ken delivering a Rugby League coaching session at Shiremoor primary school, and this will be shown on BBC Look North week commencing 23rd November 09.

A regional judging panel, made up of a cross-section of BBC North East sports staff and other local sports experts, will decide the winner of the BBC North East Sports Unsung Hero 2009, the winner will be announced on Sunday 29th November

All 15 BBC regional winners will then be invited to this year’s BBC Sports Personality of the Year show, broadcast live from the Sheffield Arena on Sunday, 13th December on BBC One, where an overall winner will be announced.

Click here for more information on volunteering in Rugby League or visit the www.whitleybaybarbarians.co.nr for more information on the club.

MY ( VERY BRIEF) BRUSH WITH TV

It’s not every day you are told you are going to be on the Beeb, so I think I can be forgiven for not taking the whole thing entirely seriously for a while. However, when the one woman production team that is Katie Golarno from the BBC turned up at Shiremoor Primary school recently there was  no denying that this was for real. It was too late to worry now about how I was going to look on the box, I would look how I looked, & I could always not watch, I deluded myself. Fortunately the experience was painless, Katie was a real professional & told me just to be myself, which helped, & to forget she was there. That wasn’t as easy as it sounded, when I was walking round coaching the kids it was hard to shut out the lens of a, very large, camera about six inches from your face.  All in all though, the filming of the coaching didn’t, from my point of view, at any rate, go too badly. The kids were brilliant, perfect behaviour, extremely good concentration, hardly any mistakes in whatever I asked them to do. I was a little disappointed that the Union Jack drill they did with two balls, never dropping a one, didn’t make it to air. They should have been given the chance to see themselves doing something very well, I felt.

So to the really nerve wracking bit, the interview, in close up. It took a couple of minutes to get my feet in the right place, & for Katie to get the camera lens high enough up to look me squarely in the face, while she stood on tip toe to operate it. As well as being an ace camerawoman she was also a very skilled interviewer with a really soothing, friendly voice that encouraged you to answer very penetrating questions with greater frankness than may be you would have wished, when you say the results on film. I mean, what man will talk about his feelings openly, anywhere? Fortunately though the air time was a fraction of the time spent filming the interview, & all the Victor Meldrew bits had been cut.  Having been calm & collected throughout (???!!!!), when the interview ended I started shaking, not very much, but I definitely did. Maybe that’s why some celebs need stimulants to get them through, it’s the tension that does it.

So, to the big day, airtime. Having resolutely decided I would not watch for fear of having the carefully cultivated self-image that I have painfully built up over a very long time, shattered in front of two viewers while they ate their tea, I found, to my surprise, that I was sat in front of the TV just before look North was due to run. Still, I wasn’t going to watch was I? Well, yes, actually, I was. Vanity triumphed over fear, & I sat there transfixed as the credits rolled & Katie spoke. How she managed to get so much of what I had said at some length into such a short film is a mystery to me,  but she did. The other surprise in the interview was how rational I seemed (!!!!) & how quiet my voice was. If that is how I sound normally I am amazed, I thought I shouted all the time.

Anyway, film in the can, normal life resumed, normal life that is until the big run-off between the three regional finalists, one from Carlisle, one from Teesside, & yours truly. The venue for the denouement was City Space at Sunderland University on a very cold very wet, Sunday evening. Fortunately I was accompanied by Emma Coulson from Shiremoor Primary School, responsible for my nomination in the first place, so it was only fitting that the school should be represented on the big day, well, evening then. Arriving in good time thank’s to Emma’s skilful use of her satnav, we sat in some sort of contemporarily furnished  basement, clutching our orange juices, like a pair of billy no-mates for a while. At this point I was under strict instructions from number one son to text him the results the instant it was known.

Then, joy  of joys, we were approached by a photographer, asking if we would mind being photographed. Well, we thought about it, of course, & reluctantly said yes, only to  be mortified on asking him what the photo was for,to be told the  University had just opened that particular area & wanted some pictures of their new furniture with someone sat on it. So much for celebrity. However, before we knew it the live group in the corner had started playing chamber music & people began to drift in. Helen Aimes, the producer of the slot came up & introduced herself & told us about the format for the evening which was just as well as I did not have a clue.

Then Jo Drapier the NERL Regional Development Manger turned up with her twin sister, Adele, on a working visit from Bradford, Chris Hood from Gateshead Thunder, the Region’s very own professional rugby league club & Ron, also from the Thunder. Naturally conversation focussed on rugby league, & Victor came out to play as he is distressingly inclined to do on these sort of occasions. What no one wanted to talk about was the chances of rugby league getting through to the national final, it was the gorilla in the corner of the room that everyone4 chose to ignore, or more particularly, the consequences of not getting to the national finals. That is, abrupt termination of TV coverage for the game & return to anonymity of KS

It has to be said that when you see TV behind the scenes so to speak, it is amazing how much effort is put in to very brief moments on that box in the corner of your living room. Briefly, the sports hall, well, half of it, at Sunderland Uni had been converted into a studio for the evening. That’s right, for the evening. At one end there was the seating for what must have been at least 300 spectators, banked up so high it would have done creditable service as a grandstand at many rugby league clubs. It had all been put together like a gigantic metallic leggo, of which more later. At the other end there was a podium, that’s a stage to the likes of me, dazzingly lit by what seemed about a million spotlights, the gantries for which went up to the roof of the hall, like some huge, black scaffolding.

Between the podium & the grandstand was what looked like about a mile of floor to cross to get to the podium from the seats. In my highly nervous, by now, state I was not looking forward to a walk down all those shiny, slippery, metal steps, & across that vast space with 4 cameras (one of them operated by Phill Dobson, dad of the Barbarians’ very own Jake of that ilk) focussed on me & everyone looking on. I should mention Emma & I were sat on the next to the back row, up in the gods. Alarmingly I had been given an aisle seat & was beginning to wonder if I was the one who was to be called upon to come on down. I needn’t have worried, all the finalists were in aisle seats, but I didn’t know that then.

So, studio lights dimmed, wonderful voice, full of timbre, colour, power, if only on quarter throttle booming out in the darkness, it’s beginning. So are the sweaty palms.  Lights come on slowly to reveal male & female presenters, sorry, but in my condition I never got their names although I think the girl was called Charlie, don’t ask. Swift smooth introduction & enter Spennymoor karate kids, not their real name , to perform some amazing, & I mean amazing feats of speed, strength agility, timing, teamwork & power. Then on to the celebs to present first award, recipient of which fell over on the  metallic stairs & gamely removed her stiletto heel & walked across the floor to thunderous cheers, holding stiletto in one hand, walked back with it still in one hand & award in other. That got the evening off to a lively start. On with the celebrities & the awards, with yours truly getting more nervous by the minute , never got the names of the celebs, but Glen McCrory sent a representative as he had just got back from the Far East & was jet lagged.

Presentations, celebs succeeded each other in rapid succession, all in great good humour, presenters keeping things moving along in right spirit. Basketball demo, presenters joining in to cheers. Cricket demonstration by group of youngsters from Chester le Street, & on to the highlight of the evening. Part of the cricket demo consisted of said youngsters whacking foam cricket balls into crowd, on basis that if you caught one you had to go down on to the highly exposed studio floor * join in. I gave Emma some coaching on how to catch the ball, should it come her way, remember we were on the next to the back row & the balls were foam, & the wicket was at the far end of the vast space I have described. I mean, how far could a skinny kid hit a foam ball, however hard he struck  it? Well…. as it happens, quite a long way actually. My words of wisdom were hardly out of my mouth when here was Emma sitting next to me clutching  a foam ball which had travelled so fast I never saw it, that’s the truth, until I saw it clasped in her hands. As can be imagined that brought the house down, especially as she was the only spectator to have caught a ball all night.

The cricketers beckoned her down to the floor, which she was most reluctant to do, but urged on by your truly, & the chanting & roaring of a crowd on the verge of exploding with excitement, Emma revealed the trouper she is, took off her six inch heels & negotiated the stairs in her stockinged feet. Despite her protests that she couldn’t play cricket she was press ganged in to bowling a delivery at the waiting batsman. Let us draw a veil over the style, one does try to be a gentleman, it was  interesting. More roars from the crowd by now eating out of Emma’s hand, when above the clamour everyone in the studio heard this tiny, plaintive voice, “Can I go now?” Imagine the universal transports of joy that this provoked & the applause as Emma was released from her ordeal, ran back up the stairs, still in her stockings. She could have had her pick of any man in the audience at that point if she had wanted it.

After that anything was bound to be an anti-climax, & so it proved. Next up, Unsung Hero item, film clips, self on huge screen, talking to camera about two feet away from my, hoping all Victor Meldrew remarks had remained cut. They had, thank goodness. Mercifully brief, then it was on to the other clips & the announcement of result, the disappointing result. I didn’t want to be famous, but I did want to win, but I didn’t & that’s life. Emma all solicitude. I think she was more upset than I was. Crowd started to disperse to canapés, & free bar, moving gingerly down the metallic leggo steps. At this point I was wondering how I was going to communicate the news to son Rob, who was, I just knew, going to be very disappointed. In the end, after dithering, & then having my resolve stiffened by words of wisdom from Emma, I sent Rob a text. I didn’t dare ring him. Instant, predictable reply, “You’re joking!” Well, no. Sadly, I wasn’t & it was all over bar the commiserations from the rugby league junkies there present & the eating of sour grapes. I was approached by both the other contestants & we shook hands & smiled in true sporting fashion, then it was out into the night, a cold, dark, wet, miserable night to the rest of my life as that bloke on the telly, but he didn’t win, did he?

Focussing on something other than myself for a moment, TV does that to you, you know, the whole experience was an amazing educational experience. There is a whole, vast, powerful world out there, of which, up to that point I had been almost entirely ignorant. It brought home to me with unavoidable clarity a number of things. The time & trouble taken over very ordinary TV programmes, what on earth goes into a Hollywood blockbuster with multi-million pound budgets & cosmic mega stars I can only wonder at

Then there is the power of the medium. Something that can pack a  large hall in Sunderland on a cold, wet, windy Sunday November night has to be taken seriously. I understand now why sport wants, needs, craves to be on TV. If you are not you don’t exist. That is a hard saying, but a true one. The mountain to climb for minority sports is how to get so many people to watch you that TV will come to you & want to film you, as opposed to having to fight for every second. In that regard the power of the audience was equally brought home to me, lots of football clips, lots of cricket, a bit of athletics & swimming, it helps to win something in the Olympics, & no rugby league whatsoever, apart from my 30 seconds. That was a bitter pill to swallow.

 However, it has to be acknowledged that if you are broadcasting programmes which people have the absolutely unfettered choice whether to watch or not, then it pays to have programmes about things that people know about & are interested in. Sadly rugby league is a secret that has been kept far too well for far too long. That is the challenge the game faces, especially in a food ball dominated area such as the North East. The good news is that it can be done, & by the Grace of God, it shall be done

Finally, there was the money, oodles of it. At the reception afterwards, live group tinkling discreetly away in background, free food & drink, umpteen waiters wandering round offering you things from huge trays, things I had never seen in my life before. Now, at least, I know what a canapé is, & what a quail egg tastes of, nothing, as it happens. They are so small, how on earth do they peel them after they are hard boiled? But all that for, with the performers of the demonstrations, camera crew, etc etc, what must have been four hundred people milling around all enjoying the hospitality of the BBC. What on earth is like for a prime time programme on national TV I wonder?

Ken Sykes

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