Toad Rage - Morris Gleitzman [28]
“Three thousand times higher,” said Gavin proudly.
“Exactly,” said Limpy. “Now, that bloke who's the world-champion high jumper at the Games. Anyone know how many times his body height he can jump?”
The animals and insects looked at each other again, frowning.
“Three thousand and one?” said Goliath.
Limpy shook his head.
“About one,” said the woodworm. “The average human athlete is about two meters tall, and the world record for the human high jump isn't much more than that.”
“Exactly,” said Limpy.
He paused to let this sink in.
The animals and insects gazed up admiringly at Gavin the flea.
“Wow,” said the crocodile to Gavin. “You're three thousand times better than the human world-champion high jumper. You should compete in the Games.”
“We all should,” said Limpy quietly.
The animals and insects stared at Limpy, stunned.
“If the world-champion weight lifter at the Games,” said Limpy, “tried to lift as many times his own body weight as the average ant can lift, he'd be crushed.”
“Jeepers,” said an ant. “No wonder the humans wouldn't let me be a mascot. They were embarrassed.”
“Crocodiles are better swimmers than humans,” continued Limpy. “Lizards are better at marathons. Spiders are better sprinters. Kingfishers are better divers. Snakes are better climbers. Kangaroos are better at the hop, step, and jump. I've seen head lice do better gymnastics than the best human gymnasts. There's hardly an event at the Games that an animal or insect isn't better at than the human world-record holder.”
The drain echoed with cheers and yells of delight.
“Hang on,” shouted the kangaroo, suddenly frowning. “It's not that simple. The humans'll never let us compete in their Games.”
Slowly the drain fell silent.
Limpy took another deep breath. His heart was going faster than the pistons in an accelerating truck. This was the best idea he'd ever had.
“That's why,” said Limpy, “we're going to have our own Games. The Non-Human Games. When the telly networks get a squiz at our world records, they'll be broadcasting our Games quicker than you can say 'major sponsor.'“
The animals and insects stared at him, stunned again.
“That's brilliant,” squeaked Gavin the flea. “When human sports fans see what great athletes we are, we'll be heroes.”
“Or at least,” said Limpy quietly, “they might stop killing us.”
The drain erupted with cheers again, even louder than before.
Limpy looked around at the delighted animals and insects. He thought of Mum and Dad and Charm and how they'd soon be safe.
His warts tingled with happiness.
Then Limpy realized Goliath was staring at him, eyes shining.
“My own cousin,” said Goliath breathlessly. “A genius. Wait till they find out at home.”
Limpy couldn't stop himself from giving a happy smile.
“So,” continued Goliath, “what event will us cane toads be setting world records in?”
Limpy felt his smile fading.
It was a good question.
A worrying question.
Kangaroos were better hoppers.
Fleas were better jumpers.
Goliath was strong, but not as strong as an ant.
Eating mud worms and letting them crawl out your bottom wasn't an official event.
Limpy felt the happy tingle slowly disappearing from his warts.
“Well?” asked Goliath, eyes clouding with concern. “What's our special event?”
“There'll be one,” said Limpy, trying not to look too anxious. “There's got to be. We just have to find out what it is.”
“It's not water polo,” said Goliath, staggering out of the lake and coughing up pondweed. “Water polo stinks. Every time I catch the round thing, I sink.”
“We must be doing something wrong,” said Limpy, rubbing the painful lump on his head. “Maybe at the Games they play it with a ball instead of a rock.”
“I'm fed up,” said Goliath, flopping down in the grass at the edge of the lake. “I want to go home.”
Limpy sighed.
“We've got to come up with more events to try,” he said. “We've only tried eleven. Ten, not counting wrestling, which