Graham Butterworth
Fri 29 Dec 2023 05.00 EST
‘It’s not the most serious of sports’: Graham Butterworth at his allotment. Photograph: Peter Flude/The Guardian
I’m the eldest of four kids from Portsmouth, and, growing up, we’d all fight for our father’s attention by trying to impress him in our endeavours, whether that was playing sports or singing. That competitive nature stayed with me – I’ve always enjoyed boxing and rugby, and when I joined the Royal Naval Reserve, I took part in a field gun competition, racing with antique guns through a number of obstacles.
That’s where I met my friend Ginge, who holds the record for the fastest climb of every peak in Africa. He co-founded the Edgar Evans Club in 2015 for ex-service personnel to take part in eccentric events in sleepy towns across the UK and raise money for local charities. Perhaps the weirdest was the Elver Eating World Championships in Gloucestershire – the eels were cooked with butter and garlic, and were actually quite tasty. I came second, but I wanted to win, so I told Ginge I should compete in something more suited to my skills.
He suggested the World Pea Throwing Championships, which are held in a pub in Lewes, East Sussex – no one knows exactly when they began, but some say about 40 years ago. “With your boxing skills and the size of your limbs, you should be good at that,” Ginge said. So in 2015, when I was 33, I began researching how to get small objects to travel a long way, and how much velocity you can generate if you throw them. I practised with a ball bearing, as it could travel further than anything else I tried.
The competition takes place in a narrow cobbled street outside the pub, lined with pea spotters stood side by side for about 40 metres holding tape measures. There were around 30 to 40 competitors from all over the world: Welsh, Scottish, Irish, South African, German and Dutch. We each had to pick a pea from a glass. The landlady looked bemused as I took my time picking the one I wanted to throw, choosing a perfectly round pea.
The only rule is not to step beyond the throwing line. We had to beat the record of 26 metres. I was a bit nervous – Ginge had put pressure on me to win after I’d come second in the elver-eating championships.
Each competitor gets three attempts. My first throw came in at 24 metres, with my second at 26 metres. My third ended up being the winning throw, which came in at 28.6 metres. With that, I’d won the world championships, and came away with the infamous plaster of paris trophy – a gold hand holding a pea.
To my mind, if you throw a javelin, it’s very different from throwing a shot put, which is very different from skimming a stone. So there’s definitely a special technique to throwing peas – though I prefer to keep mine to myself as I want to win again. But it’s ultimately all about delivering the best velocity, having long limbs and generating a lot of power from your arm as quickly as possible. Because I’m 6ft 3in, with bloody long arms, I’ve got an unfair advantage. Cricketers, golfers, boxers and anyone who plays racket sports would do very well in pea throwing because it’s all about how quickly you can move your hand.
It’s not the most serious of sports, but winning felt like a minor achievement. I celebrated with a couple of pints of bitter. I now live by the maxim: “Give peas a chance.”
Two years later, after training a lot, I went to defend my title and was joined by an ex-navy mate who’s also a boxer. I thought he might beat me, but I was at an advantage in terms of having longer limbs to generate the power to throw. My second throw was the current pea-throwing record at 44 metres, which still stands today. I haven’t been able to attend the event since, but I fully intend to go back to win my third title.
I’ve also tried out other quirky competitions, like welly throwing, which I was terrible at. There’s a gravy-wrestling championship up north that I want to try. I love the element of theatre and playing to an audience while making a spectacle of myself – I just like the attention, really. But these things are always worth trying – you might go back home with a world championship under your belt, and that’s always a great story to tell over a pint.
Source (Archive)
Fri 29 Dec 2023 05.00 EST
‘It’s not the most serious of sports’: Graham Butterworth at his allotment. Photograph: Peter Flude/The Guardian
I’m the eldest of four kids from Portsmouth, and, growing up, we’d all fight for our father’s attention by trying to impress him in our endeavours, whether that was playing sports or singing. That competitive nature stayed with me – I’ve always enjoyed boxing and rugby, and when I joined the Royal Naval Reserve, I took part in a field gun competition, racing with antique guns through a number of obstacles.
That’s where I met my friend Ginge, who holds the record for the fastest climb of every peak in Africa. He co-founded the Edgar Evans Club in 2015 for ex-service personnel to take part in eccentric events in sleepy towns across the UK and raise money for local charities. Perhaps the weirdest was the Elver Eating World Championships in Gloucestershire – the eels were cooked with butter and garlic, and were actually quite tasty. I came second, but I wanted to win, so I told Ginge I should compete in something more suited to my skills.
He suggested the World Pea Throwing Championships, which are held in a pub in Lewes, East Sussex – no one knows exactly when they began, but some say about 40 years ago. “With your boxing skills and the size of your limbs, you should be good at that,” Ginge said. So in 2015, when I was 33, I began researching how to get small objects to travel a long way, and how much velocity you can generate if you throw them. I practised with a ball bearing, as it could travel further than anything else I tried.
The competition takes place in a narrow cobbled street outside the pub, lined with pea spotters stood side by side for about 40 metres holding tape measures. There were around 30 to 40 competitors from all over the world: Welsh, Scottish, Irish, South African, German and Dutch. We each had to pick a pea from a glass. The landlady looked bemused as I took my time picking the one I wanted to throw, choosing a perfectly round pea.
The only rule is not to step beyond the throwing line. We had to beat the record of 26 metres. I was a bit nervous – Ginge had put pressure on me to win after I’d come second in the elver-eating championships.
Each competitor gets three attempts. My first throw came in at 24 metres, with my second at 26 metres. My third ended up being the winning throw, which came in at 28.6 metres. With that, I’d won the world championships, and came away with the infamous plaster of paris trophy – a gold hand holding a pea.
To my mind, if you throw a javelin, it’s very different from throwing a shot put, which is very different from skimming a stone. So there’s definitely a special technique to throwing peas – though I prefer to keep mine to myself as I want to win again. But it’s ultimately all about delivering the best velocity, having long limbs and generating a lot of power from your arm as quickly as possible. Because I’m 6ft 3in, with bloody long arms, I’ve got an unfair advantage. Cricketers, golfers, boxers and anyone who plays racket sports would do very well in pea throwing because it’s all about how quickly you can move your hand.
It’s not the most serious of sports, but winning felt like a minor achievement. I celebrated with a couple of pints of bitter. I now live by the maxim: “Give peas a chance.”
Two years later, after training a lot, I went to defend my title and was joined by an ex-navy mate who’s also a boxer. I thought he might beat me, but I was at an advantage in terms of having longer limbs to generate the power to throw. My second throw was the current pea-throwing record at 44 metres, which still stands today. I haven’t been able to attend the event since, but I fully intend to go back to win my third title.
I’ve also tried out other quirky competitions, like welly throwing, which I was terrible at. There’s a gravy-wrestling championship up north that I want to try. I love the element of theatre and playing to an audience while making a spectacle of myself – I just like the attention, really. But these things are always worth trying – you might go back home with a world championship under your belt, and that’s always a great story to tell over a pint.
Source (Archive)
