Knobble Hill Primary School’s annual Sports Day is known for its light-hearted atmosphere, with parents and children coming together for a day of fun and friendly competition. But this year, all eyes were on the Father’s Race, a showdown that quickly became the stuff of legend, thanks to an unexpected victor: Pastor Rob Bircher.
It was a race that had been hyped for weeks, with several fathers taking it far more seriously than perhaps necessary. Barry James, known to the community as BJ, had approached the event as if it were an Olympic final. Clad in full professional running gear- spikes, compression top, and moisture-wicking shorts- he had arrived early and spent much of the morning stretching and running sprints along the sidelines. His platinum blonde hair and deep tan shimmered in the midday sun as he eyed his competition with the quiet confidence of a man who had already written his victory speech.
Not to be outdone, Ivan Moorhouse was eager to prove that speed ran in the family. His son, Dale, had earlier in the day smashed every school sprint record, while his daughter, Carmen, had done the same in the girls’ events, dominating the track and rewriting the record books. With both his children showcasing blistering pace, Ivan saw it as his responsibility to uphold the family legacy, determined to cement their reputation as the fastest sporting family in Knobble Hill history.
On the other end of the field stood Pastor Rob Bircher, looking as though he had stumbled into the race by accident. Barefoot and dressed in long trousers and flowing priest’s robes, he looked more suited for a Sunday sermon than a sprint race. If there was anyone less prepared for a 100-meter dash, no one could find him.
Knobble Hill’s principal, Bryan Blumrick, took up his position at the finish line, smiling as he surveyed the eager competitors. Terry Dunstan-Smith and Brian Anderson, two longtime Knobble Hill dads who had wisely opted out of the race due to bad backs, stood nearby, chuckling at the dramatic contrast between the competitors.
“I think BJ might actually break the school record today,” Dunstan-Smith remarked, watching James do one last set of lunges. Anderson nodded in agreement. “And I think Pastor Bircher might break his dog collar.”
As the runners took their marks, a hush fell over the crowd. The whistle blew, and BJ exploded off the line, his legs pumping furiously as he surged ahead. Moorhouse kept pace, his arms flailing in sheer determination. The crowd roared as the two fathers pulled away- until, inexplicably, they didn’t.
From seemingly nowhere, Pastor Bircher glided past them both, his bare feet barely making a sound on the track. He moved effortlessly, his robes sailing behind him like Superman’s cape, his expression unchanged, as if he were simply strolling to the pulpit.
By the halfway mark, BJ had begun to realise that something was terribly wrong. His well-planned technique and expensive racing spikes seemed entirely useless against a man who had entered the race dressed for a funeral. As Bircher lengthened his stride, Barry pushed harder, his carefully quiffed hair now collapsing under the weight of sweat and desperation.
Meanwhile, Ivan was fighting his own battle, arms flailing, lungs burning, wondering how his son had made sprinting look so easy. But no amount of effort could change what was happening on the track—Pastor Bircher was floating towards the finish line, untouched, unchallenged, and utterly unbothered.
BJ, refusing to be beaten without a fight, launched himself forward in a desperate dive, as he crashed onto the finish line. It was glorious, dramatic, and entirely unnecessary, as Bircher had already crossed the line ten yards ahead of him.
Still catching his breath, Ivan Moorhouse groaned from his knees. “Must be divine intervention!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, while the other fathers gasped for breath behind him. BJ lay sprawled on the track, staring up at the sky. “How did he do that?” he panted.
Still catching his breath, Ivan Moorhouse groaned from his knees. “Must be divine intervention!”
Pastor Bircher, looking completely unbothered, dusted off his trousers, and turned to the crowd with a gentle smile.
“Sometimes,” he said with a wink, “you just have to have a little faith.”
Knobble Hill Primary’s Principal Blumrick could barely contain his laughter as he clapped from the finish line. Terry Dunstan-Smith and Brian Anderson, watching from the sidelines, shook their heads in disbelief.
With that, the victorious Pastor Bircher strolled off towards the snack tent, leaving behind a field of stunned fathers, an exhausted BJ, and a race that would be talked about at Knobble Hill for years to come.