From fist pump to red faced chump

Here it comes… I love this song. Bob Sinclair’s Rock This Party blasts out of the iPod dock in the corner of the sports hall. I could feel it bursting through my veins as I gazed into the eyes of my delightfully brace faced year 11 crush, the drop was coming and my hovering hand was poised for the perfectly timed fist pump that my beloved Mr Sinclair so rightfully demanded.

As the lyrics “Sweet boy, you’re rocking your body Cause I’m gonna make you mine tonight” blasted around the room I dared to dream that I was only a well timed fist pump away from securing my desired lips for the evening. I pumped my fist into the air with Tysonesque power, I bellowed at the top of my voice “Everybody Dance Now!” and for a whole ten milliseconds I was Rugby School’s answer to my Jersey Shore alter ego, DJ Pauly D.

And then my world came crashing down. My life was over and as the crowds of people began to disperse and the dancing simmered down, the laughter began. I had done what a very unfortunate percentage of the human race have also done before, I’d fist pumped the unfistpumpable and not only that, I had publicly declared at serious amplitude that I had got the words wrong to a song that was loved and known by many in my peer group.

Was it the over excitement? Was it the nervousness? Was it the two cans of dusty Fosters that I’d stolen from the garage at home? Whatever it was, it left me purple faced, rejected by my ‘year-above crush’ and facing the haunting potential of having to try and remove the mental scars that blemished the rest of my teenage years.

If you are one of the before mentioned percentage of the human race that have committed this distressing act of dance floor violence then, for you, I apologise. Writing this article alone has left me pale-faced, shaking and living in fear of my next confrontation with the neon lights of Tup Tup Palace on a Wednesday night.

For the remaining smug percentage, F**k Y**. You have never felt the pain of humiliation in your life, not true humiliation, not humiliation that can turn your teenage musical hero into a man whose mere mention of his name brings wide eyes, white cheeks and inflamed nostrils.You are the ones who point and laugh, who chant “WHEEEYY MATE” or mockingly tease “I remember my first Fist Pump”. You are the ones who fail to see that people may prefer original works to dirty dubstep remixes, who stand casually on the dance floor clicking your fingers with the odd head bob rather than rapping your way through Tinie Tempah or twerking it like a diva with Destiny’s Child booming out. Now you may detect a slight tinge of bitterness in this narrative and you could be forgiven for this razor sharp instinct but I have served my time in the jails of the smoking area and am ready to return to a dance floor near you, albeit with a couple of lessons learnt from the time I’ve spent reflecting on the crime I committed that evening.

How to avoid the embarrassment

Lesson number 1 is to always be wary of the DJ. Has he been remixing some old school classics? Does he thrive on a bit of self-indulgent MCing? It is always important to keep your wits about you with a suspect DJ and never commit too much to that sacred drop. Secondly, try and relate the enthusiasm of your shapes to the amount of alcohol you may have consumed. When the blood is rushing through your limbs and the euphoria of a Fat Boy Slim tune begins to build, try and remember that judgments are always unreliable and your clenched fist you find by your hip should possibly be put on ice. Lastly it is crucial to have an exit strategy.

If you think you’ve fallen victim to a misplaced fist pump, exit the scene fast. Slip into a boisterous group of sporty jocks, dart into the smoking area, jump into the passenger seat of a taxi if you need to but GET OUT OF THERE because you’re only advantage is the level of intoxication of the average club goer alongside you and a quick escape may mean that all is forgotten the morning after, standard rules apply.

I don’t mean to scar any readers of this article from ‘giving it the biggun’, ‘smashing the d flo’ or ‘tearing up a tune’, I just mean to warn you all of the possible consequences of doing so. Ladies and gentleman, boys and girls you have been warned and if you don’t believe me, believe this guy…