Football Fiction

by Stilflat Shadow

  “Alright,” said Bullion. “There’s no need for smut.”

  “Come on, Frenchy, back you go. I’ll see to you in a minute,” he said, putting his frog down into the vivarium.

  “Right. What are the plans for this season if we don’t make it back up?” asked Bullion, moving his chair back to the table and sitting.

  “David, we won. It’s the first game of the season, what’s the problem?”

  “We barely nicked it. It wasn’t pretty, even you have to admit that.”

  “Yes, but we won. Let’s enjoy the moment.”

  “I don’t know Dee, it’s all well and good saying that, but we have to face facts. If we carry on like that throughout the season, we aren’t always going to get the rub of the green.”

  Gold smiled like he had heard it before. “You have to let the season run its course and give the team time, if that’s what you’re getting at. It’s a new season, and MyQuiche’s to put right, we won and I’m not listening to you anymore unless you have something positive to say.”

  Bullion sat back in his chair. “Okay, forget about MyQuiche. What are the travel plans for Wednesday?”

  “What’s happening Wednesday?” asked Gold.

  “It’s the second round of the League Cup, we’re away to Wackem.”

  “Oh, that I don’t care about. The quicker we’re out the better.”

  “Because?” asked Bullion.

  “Because it’s not important. Besides, we’ll never win it. The league’s the Holy Grail. Getting back to the Prem is all that matters.”

  “What? Didn’t we play in the cup final just a few years back and lose on penalties?”

  “David, you know as well as I do that we’re never going to win it. The big clubs have it sown up just like all the other competitions.”

  “Then there’s no point in having a club if you think like that? Is there Dee?”

  “Oh I don’t know David you can’t generalize like that when it comes to football, it’s a great media outlet.”

  Bullion was hoping his business partner would be taking the trip across Landen with him so they could discuss the new developments at the club this season.

  “So, should I get Ingot to pick you up on the way?”

  Gold was silent he hadn’t planned on going.

  “Well, I was hoping maybe you could cover the game.”

  “Oh no, those days are long gone. No more alternating fixtures. We’re either in this together or not. Ingot will be by your place at 4:45 p.m. That will give us enough time to get across the capital and do the usual meet and greet with the Chair Legs. Sound good?” he said firmly.

  “You can’t be serious, David? No one will be there. I don’t need to be there for this one surely?”

  “You need to be there.”

  “But who’s going to miss me?”

  “That’s not the point, Dee. You are chairman and need to be there. End of discussion.”

  Gold wasn’t happy with Bullion. He had a reggae evening planned for that night in Camden.

  “David I have a prior engagement for that evening.”

  “Well you can cancel it. The club is more important at the moment and you will be there. Ingot will be around your gaff at 4:45 p.m. Make sure you’re ready. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to give Frenchy a bath and clean his house before I leave.”

  Gold got up knowing Bullion was serious. “David, it’s a long season, forty-eight games minimum. One won’t matter.”

  Bullion pushed him towards the door. “Come on, out you go, I don’t have all day. I’d like to get home myself at a normal hour for once after a match day and take care of some of my domestic needs for a change. See you Wednesday.”

  Gold stopped. “Domestic needs? Like what?”

  “Never you mind, that’s my business. Now out.”

  Gold moved back towards the drinks cabinet. “I haven’t finished my drink.”

  “Suit yourself. I have to clean Frenchy. Don’t worry. He won’t be out for too long.”

  Gold shuddered at the thought. “Right. I’ll be off.”

  Bullion laughed at a strapping man like Gold being stressed out by the thought of holding his frog. He practiced his French on his pet.

  “Venez sur moi, bon petit homme, soyez un sport. Out you come,” he said, holding a fat juicy horse fly carefully by its pinned wings. “Come on, Frenchy, I know you want it.”

  The frog climbed up on top of the Vivarium and sat, waiting for his treat. Bullion picked him up with one hand and placed him down on the table. “It’s a good job he didn’t touch you isn’t it, Frenchy? Since you’re a slimy thing, aren’t you? Not at all like a toad—as they’re dry and warty to touch.”

  The frog leaped and clamped his mouth on the horse fly and Bullion’s fingers. “AWE YOU MOTHER,” he screamed, shaking the beast loose from his hand. He held his fingers tight and slowed the throbbing pain.

  “Grrr.” Bullion motioned to hit the frog. “Don’t do that again. That’s not nice. Now be still while I quickly change the substrate, then I’ll dump that whole box in your tank. Okay?”

  The frog sat in front of him and watched happily with Bullion’s words ringing in his ears, knowing a banquet awaited him.

  “Don’t worry, be happy,” sang Bullion. “Here you go Frenchy, a new, clean house.” He moved carefully towards the frog, mindful of what just happened. “Come on Frenchy back in you go.” Bullion watched the frog settle on his basking rock under the heat lamp.

  “Good, Frenchy. Now let’s have some fun and see those hind legs in action.”

  He massaged his inflamed fingers. “LETS GET READY TO RUMBLE in the red corner, the reigning champion, weighing in at four pounds four ounces FIGHTING FRENCH FRENCHY THE AFRICAN BULLFROG and in the blue corner from the plastic food container the Flying Allsorts.”

  Bullion opened the lid of the container inside the tank and a swarm of chaos began. Frenchy moved quickly and snared two flies with his long tongue and sat licking his eyes while the insects regrouped. He waited, motionless, for his next combination attack. Bullion watched and waited for his prize pet to mop up the rest. It didn’t happen. Frenchy just sat there. Bullion decided to throw the towel in and head home.

  CHAPTER SIX

  GOLD FINGER

  Ingot arrived on the Wednesday at Bullion’s Essex mansion at sixteen hundred hours. He was ready and waiting by the front door. Bullion dressed appropriately for the nights’ battle. He had a full-length traditional Soviet chenille woolen Army coat with matching ushanka fur hat and Paratrooper VDV Jack Boots.

  “Right on time, as usual Ingot. I like a man that understands military time.”

  Ingot nodded.

  “Do you think we can get over to Gold’s in forty five minutes? I told him we’d pick him up.”

  Ingot nodded. He took the M25 clockwise and made the journey in the allotted time.

  “I don’t know how his place is bigger than mine. It doesn’t look any bigger,” said Bullion as they pulled into the property. Ingot looked in the mirror and acknowledged his Boss but didn’t say anything.

  “I do like this area, though. What’s the name of this village again?” he asked.

  “I believe Mr. Gold calls it the melting pot Catoram in Goat Curry,” answered Ingot in deep patois.

  “I didn’t know you spoke patois,” answered Bullion.

  “Yiss Mahne.”

  Ingot was pleased his Boss had recognized his attempt.

  “Very nice. A lot better than round my manor. Don’t you think?” Bullion asked.

  Ingot kept quiet and pulled up to the house.

  “I was expecting you to answer me in that daft accent again but you didn’t. So I’ll ask the obvious question. Why are you talking like that?”

  “Because it’s what Dee talks, back in his homeland.”

  “What, Stepney?”

  “No, his homeland in Jamaica. He was born there.”

  “I know where he was born, Ingot. I’ve heard him talk
like that many times, but why are you talking like that?”

  Ingot shrugged his shoulders.

  I don’t listen to his gibberish anyway,” said Bullion, looking at the house.

  “He drifts into patois when he’s not focused. You don’t hear that?” asked Ingot.

  “I don’t hear shit unless it’s me talking,” answered Bullion unhappy with his partner not being visible on his arrival.

  “Pip the horn.”

  “Yiss Mahne,” answered Ingot.

  “And knock that crap off. Where the bloody hell is he? He’s never ready. We’ll end up getting caught in rush hour traffic and miss the kick off if he’s up to his tricks again.”

  Bullion got out of the car and rang the doorbell. The Saint theme music played. He looked over at Ingot, agitated, as he waited for someone to answer. He rang again.

  Gold stuck his head out of a wing bedroom window. “Hi, you here already? What time is it?”

  “Oh no, not again. Look, Ingot, its towel boy.”

  Gold smiled to Bullion’s chauffeur. “Hi Ingot.”

  “It’s ten to five. Why are you not dressed?” demanded Bullion.

  “I still have to finish tubbing.”

  “Dee, you knew we would be here at a quarter to sharp.”

  “I lost track of the time. You can’t have a tub in five minutes.”

  “Well, hurry up and throw some clothes on. We’re going to be late.”

  “But I haven’t finished.”

  “What on The Ar is there to finish?” asked Bullion in disbelief.

  “The ducks have yet to storm the pirate ship, David. I won’t have an unfinished bath for no one,” said Gold in a booming Jamaican accent.

  “You’re a twit,” shouted Bullion angrily.

  Gold rattled his chains like a wild Mr. T.

  “And you!” shouted Bullion. “I’m off.”

  Gold waited for Bullion to look back up at him before giving him the middle finger and shutting the window.

  “Let’s go,” said Bullion, getting into the car.

  Ingot drove off in silence. He missed most of the traffic until the last few miles, where the drive turned into a crawl.

  Bullion was optimistic about the game and the outcome but was still simmering over his altercation with Gold. He focused his energy on hoping to meet some of Wackem’s famous acting supporters after the game. The thought calmed him enough to engage in conversation with Ingot.

  “So who do you think MyQuiche will field tonight? Same as Saturday?”

  “No Boss, he’ll give Sir Arthur Conan a run out in goal; the back four will be Break a Leg, Inspector Parnaby, Ridgeback, and Sweet Stout; midfield The Shithouse, The Celeb, and Naftea; up front Cheffcokhead, Shagger and The Lightbulb.”

  Bullion rubbed his chin. “You think he’ll put Sir Arthur Conan in the sticks before The Mack?”

  Ingot nodded.

  “You do surprise me. I can’t see that,” said Bullion.

  They were ushered into the club grounds and greeted by their dignitaries at the reception hall.

  Bullion liked the close proximity of the venue and commented to Ingot that it would be nice to have a shorter distance to travel to see a game.

  The game was a non-event, and Wackem got just that. Bitominge’s new signing from the Russian mob, Quincy MD, scored on his debut and the Blues sauntered into the second round of the cup, the former Gooner who joined the club on loan until January curled a beauty in from the edge of the box to complete the rout. Naftea opened the scoring in the fourteenth minute with his first goal for the club. Shagger set up the midfielder and his twenty-yard pile driver flew across the chair-boys keeper and into the net.

  Wackem finally threatened to come into the game with a couple of efforts that tested Sir Arthur Conan, but that was all she wrote as the Blues finished the contest off with The Celeb dancing in the box as Zizane came on to claim the third and Quincy MD put the gloss on a four-star performance.

  “What did you think?” Bullion asked Ingot on the way home.

  “Good. It’s nice to have an emphatic victory once in a while. The team’s confidence will be sky high for the trip to the south coast on Saturday.”

  “Yes,” agreed Bullion. “It’s about time they turned it on, the amount I pay them each week,” he said, pulling his ushanka flaps down.

  “I’m much happier with things after tonight, Ingot. We looked fluid, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, it was a good solid all around performance, taking nothing away from Wackem, but they are a couple of leagues below us.”

  “And their team’s combined waged bill is less than one of our marquee players,” added Bullion.

  “Totally,” agreed Ingot.

  “Have you been peeking at the numbers again Ingot?”

  He smiled back to his Boss.

  “The wages, I don’t like, but I can deal with them for now as long as the results keep coming in. It’s the performances I’m concerned about. Saturday was dour again, just like the end of last season. I still don’t think we’ve shaken off the effects of relegations.”

  Ingot put the Bentley Continental Flyer in cruise as he got onto the open motorway and crossed his legs.

  “I think we missed the grit of the Antichrist in midfield on Saturday.”

  “Who, Damien?”

  “Yes, Boss. He breaks things up. As the Jolly Swagman liked to say, ‘Pound for pound best 50k we’ve ever spent.’”

  “Yes, shame they don’t all cost that. Then it would be a good game, good game,” said Bullion.

  “When The Jedi comes back, I think he’ll make a big difference too.”

  “Yes, he has a big influence in a match. The news on the scan was a bonus. Only two weeks? He must have been giving his light saber a polish when it happened.”

  “I’m not sure about that, Boss, but it would be a welcome blessing to have him back in contention.”

  Bullion nodded as he poured himself a Welsh tea from the drinks cabinet.

  Ingot agreed. “Yes we still haven’t solved that position yet, at least not in my eyes.”

  “That was a great movie. They don’t make them like that any more.”

  “What movie was that?”

  “The Omen, brilliant film,” said Bullion. “Gregory Peck and Lee Remick. Now, she was a looker.”

  Ingot nodded trying to remember if he saw it or not.

  “It had a plot, not like the rubbish they put out nowadays.”

  Ingot tried to move the conversation back to football and his match day duties. “What’s the travel plans for Saturday, Boss?”

  “I haven’t thought about it. We’re not picking up that nitwit though. Gold and his fingers can find their own way there and do some walking.”

  Ingot nodded.

  “Did you see him?” asked Bullion.

  “Yes, Boss.”

  Bullion played with his flaps and pulled them up and down.

  “I’m leaning towards leaving early Friday and having a boating lunch off the Isle of White and staying overnight in Cowes.”

  “Sounds great. Should I make reservations?” asked Ingot.

  “Maybe. What’s the weather forecast for the weekend?”

  Ingot pressed several dials on the dashboard, and the computer screen lit up.

  “Here we are, Boss. Friday, sunny periods, increasing clouds with rain in the evening. High of 16 degrees Celcius, low of 6 degrees Celcius. Saturday, rain and drizzle all day, occasionally heavy, clearing late evening. High of 14 degrees Celcius, low of 11 degrees Celcius.”

  “I love technology,” said Bullion.

  “Yes, it’s nice to have the answers at the touch of your fingers.”

  “I think we should enjoy the Friday bobbing about the waves, Ingot. Early start, 6:00 a.m. from the house, and we’ll be there for anchors aweigh before the end of breakfast TV. What a life we lead.”

  Ingot nodded as Bullion pulled his flaps down for the night.

  Southampton Dell ha
d a great history and had been a founding member in the football top tier, but, like many great institutions, it had fallen on hard times.

  After twenty-seven years of punching above their weight in topflight football, they had finally succumbed to relegation and financial troubles. They had their fairy tale success in the FA Cup in the seventies, beating all the odds, but recent events off the field had overshadowed the exploits on the field. They had embarked on a new nautical heading at the turn of the century and had moved from the Hollowed Dell to a state-of-the-art stadium named after the proximity to the church where the club was founded in 1885. A catalogue of gifted players had plied their trade for the club over the years to delight and entertain the fans, but that had somehow drained to a new, low depth. Things had become tough for the diehard faithful, and today’s result would be no different.

  The Hagiologists 1 Bitominge City 2

  It took The Lightbulb only fifty seconds after coming on to make his presence felt and fire his second goal in as many matches from the bench to hand Bitominge a narrow victory over The Saints. The veteran poacher, signed in the summer on a free from neighbours Brazalbion prodded home the difference in the seventy-seventh minute to extend an unbeaten start to the season for the visitors. The defeated Saints players were deservedly applauded off the pitch after an impressive and stylish display and was harshly handed a second consecutive defeat of the new season.

  If Bitominge were promotion favorites and The Saints relegation fodder, you wouldn’t have known the difference on this display. MyQuiche started the game with Shagger and Quincy MD up front over the summer million pound signing of How Many Clubs and his partner Cheffcokhead who didn’t even make it on the magistrates. The Saints started the brighter of the two teams and the old Blues favorite Strict Jack had a goal disallowed in the first ten minutes for offside. The home team justified their good play and took the lead two minutes before halftime from a set piece as their fermented alcoholic beverage rose unmarked to connect with a corner and register his first goal for the red and whites.

  The game changed after the break as Strict Jack had a great opportunity to increase the lead but spurned the chance. A minute later, The Saints failed to clear their lines and up popped Shagger to find space in the box and fire a crisp one home from close range. The game opened up after the goal, and it became a seesaw affair with both sides threatening. The tipping point came when MyQuiche introduced The Lightbulb to a storm of abuse from the yocals, and he made them pay for their rude behaviour within a minute as he put Bitominge ahead. A nice one-two between The Lightbulb and Enter McDragon led to How Many Clubs heading against the crossbar, and although the keeper did well to get to it, the former Saints marksman was on hand to poke home the winner. A crowd of 18,925 watched the game—about 10,000 less than the heady days when the ground first opened.