Football Fiction

by Stilflat Shadow

  “Come on David, let’s catch the Fake Tans upstairs and have a laugh before they disappear.”

  “Righto Dee. What did you think today? Better?”

  “Somewhat. The first half, yes, but thank goodness Shagger was on hand to slap the loose ball in the net after Spumanti spilled it.”

  Bitominge City 3 Shrove Tuesday 1

  Saturday afternoon saw the mighty Tuesday come to town. Tuesdayites are a rabid bunch that even one of their owners noted in public after many an unfulfilled return to the Promised Land. The club is one of the oldest in football and was named after their ritual of playing football on a Tuesday and tossing pancakes after the game. They continue to toss pancakes to this day, or at least it looked that way from the stands. How the mighty fall. While the away supporters were quick to mock the home attendance for this game, they didn’t see the funny side at the end, when the Blues fans waved goodbye with three fingers to one in an Agincourt moment.

  Shagger grabbed a brace and The Lightbulb got the other. Tuesday briefly got level at 1-1 but was never really in this one, and the Blues’ march to the top of the table continued. The only sour notes were The Celeb and Enter McDragon getting booked.

  QPRSTUVWXYZ 1 Bitominge City 0

  As the saying goes, all good things must come to an end—the Blues threw the towel in on the championship lead and their unbeaten away record.

  The Blues started well for a change (two on the trot) and should have taken the lead but both efforts by Zizane and The Lightbulb were denied and to be fair that was really it. QPRSTUVWXYZ had a player sent off by phantom goal ref so you would have thought that this favored the Blues for the rest of the game. This was far from the truth and as the conditions worsened, so did the Blues, and it was only a matter of time before the defence made a mistake and was punished by a quality strike from one of FlavoFlav’s Italian import boys.

  “I’m depressed. I can’t stand this weather.”

  “Don’t start,” answered Gold.

  “I should have put my waterproof over my ushanka tonight. What rotten weather. Not your normal capital weather, Dee?” said Bullion.

  “Bloody wet and cold and that was just the performance, an embarrassment to the club.”

  “I should dock a few wages, maybe that would make a few of them turn up next game,” said Bullion, wringing out his coat.

  “Maybe FlavoFlav could have a word with them?” said Dee.

  “I don’t think we need to go that route, Dee. We can handle things in house ourselves.”

  “I like FlavoFlav. He’s got the same mentality as me: if he’s not happy, he fixes it. Simple really,” said Gold entering the boardroom.

  FlavoFlav was sitting down at a table, playing cards with four others directors.

  “I see he’s cleaning up again,” said Gold.

  “Yes, and the match only finished ten minutes ago.”

  “You’d better have a word Dee, before he ends up in hot water again.”

  Bitominge City 0 Leofric City 1

  Bitominge were found out again and came up short against their local rivals. Had it ended 3-3 it would have been a fair result, but goals and near misses are the difference between going up and languishing in the quagmire of the Championship—ask Leofric. The visitors had been playing for thirty-four years in the top flight of football until seven years ago and have struggled to get back to their perch ever since. It’s a tough league, and anyone can beat anyone on the day. The Sky Blues probably edged it from a neutral point of view, but they took the biscuit when ex-Blues player Hubert popped up to head the winning argument in their direction.

  Leofric had been on a bit of a slippery slope since their fall from grace and advancement from any quarter was a welcome boost, especially a scalp from up the road.

  Roy Ransack was the chairman and had got himself a better deal than his counterparts, with picking up his club minutes before it went into administration but on the strength of present things moving forward and up back to where they once belonged for Leofric City will prove a tough nut to crack. Congratulations Sky Blues.

  Snot Forest 1 Bitominge City 1

  Bullion had been a member of the Ribbon Hood Society from his early twenties and had made the annual meeting every year. This year was no different, and, with luck, the computer had picked the Forest game for that weekend.

  “Perfect,” he smiled in the mirror, as he eased himself into his tights. “Ingot, pass me my outlaw shirt.”

  “Good Sire, thou fittest well,” said Ingot.

  “Yes, yes Ingot, I know you’re excited about going to your first Sherwood shindig, but you don’t have to be talking old English all the time. It’s annoying.”

  “Does thou want me to tie thine Lockslee’s?”

  “Ingot, I said, enough. Why don’t you go and get dressed? We’ve only got an hour before the limo arrives.”

  Ingot nodded. “Sire, a kingdom for your blessings.”

  “Good grief, I hope you’re not going to be doing this all night.”

  The night was starting to chill, and Bullion was unsure about wearing a full gambeson. “I think I’ll go with a thin suede doublet. No need for the armor thingy. After all these years, it’s not like there’s a price on my head,” he said, peering into the mirror.

  By the time he had made it down to the hotel lobby, Ingot was there dressed in his full attire. Bullion was uncomfortable to see Ingot’s legs again as they looked better than the last time. He let out a rasping cough to let Ingot know he was behind him.

  “Good eve, great sire what hearty night lies before our journey.”

  “Will you cut that crap out? Nobody talks like that at these gatherings. It’s all on the QT. You’ll find there’s more to the handshake and the hat than the nonsense talk, Ingot.”

  Bullion raised his purple ribbon hood. “What do you think? I had this one custom made, finest merino wool and hand-dyed.”

  Ingot put his hand out and felt the softness of the snood. He nodded in appreciation. Bullion engaged in conference with the concierge as to where their limo was.

  “What kind of an outfit are you running?” he asked.

  “Well, where the bloody hell is it?”

  The hotel staffer quickly dialed a number and waited for an answer. Bullion looked around the lobby at the other guests and Ingot in his tight, green leggings.

  Dear Lord, those are not men’s legs, he thought to himself.

  Dee Gold walked in with his entourage and zeroed in on Bullion at the front desk.

  “My God, man, what are you wearing?” he boomed.

  Bullion cringed in humiliation at his partner’s acknowledgement.

  “Hello Dee. I didn’t know you were staying here.”

  “Neither did we. What are you doing, man? You’re dressed carefree and showy for a Friday night, aren’t you, man?”

  Bullion was silent for a moment.

  “It’s not what you think Dee,” he defended.

  Gold looked him up and down. “You can do whatever you want in your own time David, but this is a mecca for me and the boys. Four to one, I tell you, and you want to dress up in tights? I don’t get it.”

  Bullion watched Gold’s posse surround Ingot and make pleasantries. The lady at the front desk informed Bullion that his car was outside.

  “Erm… Ingot! Ingot! The car… it’s here,” he said.

  Gold wanted to delve deeper into what was going on, but Bullion was off.

  “See you tomorrow,” he waved, walking out arm in arm with his chauffeur.

  Gold studied the pair leaving the foyer. He worried about what Bullion was wearing, and his concerns were confirmed when he noticed Bullion had padded his calves.

  “What the? Man, I don’t like it when this kind of shit happens.”

  He got back in amongst his posse. “You know, that was a man,” he said talking about Ingot.

  “No, Boss, no man. She smelt like woman and looked like woman.”

  Gold was beginning to
wonder whether this was such a good idea bringing all his mates for a weekend to shag city. They were chasing anything in tights—including blokes. It wasn’t panning out how he expected.

  However in Snot on a Friday night it doesn’t matter whether you plan or not, because with a little bit of old English luck, you can still get laid. What a great City for the Blues, lots of opportunities but no money shots—other than the thirteenth minute one from Enter Mc Dragon.

  We hung on like a wet bugger at a Christening. If we are to receive ablution and get back up at first attempt, then MyQuiche must help by picking a team that makes sense to the 30,000 plus travelling Blues fans. His line up was great, until you examined it fully.

  1 The Dressmaker

  2 Mike Hunt

  3 Jedi May the force be with you

  4 Break A Leg

  5 The Ridgeback

  11 The Celeb

  7 Kermit The Clog

  8 Almost in Italian

  26 The Shithouse

  23 How Many Clubs?

  16 Enter McDragon

  4-4-2 or 4-5-1 or whatever it was? It didn’t work and most of the happy bands of travelling men were quick to let MyQuiche know it from the stand. Admittedly, MyQuiche wasn’t helped at all by Fat Phil’s consistent inconsistent decisions, but that had nothing to do with playing three center halves at the back and starting a right-winger on the left and vice-versa on the right. Strange, but, there you go, a bit like the weekend.

  Bitominge City 3 The Addicts 2

  Addiction is, by definition, a physical and psychological dependence on psychoactive substances like booze and drugs, which cross the blood-brain barrier once ingested and alter the circuitry of the motherboard. There is also the other form of addiction, which involves the abnormal psychological dependency on seeking reward rush. For example, gambling—looking for the big win; food—makes you feel good; sex—blowing your load. It is a chronic disease that, left unchecked, can develop into a void where dysfunctional cravings diminish recognition of life.

  You can tell a lot by a name. The Addicts were a gambling bunch and nearly pulled off the big one at the Quattro Fianco. The Blues hung on with ten men and were lucky to. If nothing else, this was an entertaining game that gave the neutral fans the full football rush.

  Happy days, and back to winning again. The highlights of this match were goals, and lots of them, The Blues first was Enter McDragon two in two now, The Lightbulb to level, and How Many Clubs to go ahead and stay there.

  200,000 odd turned up, as Bullion pointed out to Gold after the match. There were 50,000 that still didn’t believe and may not be coming back? Was MyQuiche as good as they thought? It was a pressing question that hadn’t disappeared from last year’s table.

  West Glamorgan 2 Bitominge City 3

  “Yaki Da Boyo,” shouted Bullion, happy to be back in his homeland. “Now, Ingot, this is a trip down memory lane.”

  Ingot nodded into the car mirror. He liked it when his boss was happy, as everyone else was happy.

  “I’m thinking as it’s a Friday night game, we could have an early one after it’s finished, for a change, and get up at the crack of dawn and stroll the beaches and clear our lungs—out or even better, rent some surf gear if the weather’s okay? What do you think, Ingot? I could teach you how to surf.”

  Ingot nodded. The early night sounded great; as for surfing the Bristoll Channel in November—not a chance. The walk might still be on if and only if it’s not pissing down and too cold in the morning.

  “Ingot, I’ve just had a brainstorm. What about I introduce you to a Welshman’s breakfast?”

  Ingot didn’t know what his boss meant but had a few ideas and wasn’t feeling warm and fuzzy with his thoughts. Bullion had booked a B&B a stone’s throw from Three Cliffs Bay and was keen to introduce Ingot to a traditional Welsh breakfast.

  “S’mae? Mrs. Bennett?” he said down the phone.

  “Ydw?”

  “David Bullion. I want to order two full Welsh breakfasts for the morning.”

  “Oh Shwmae, Sut ydych chi?”

  “Da, da. I’d like to make sure we get two Welsh breakfasts tomorrow. You know the bara lawr and fried bacon and cockles?”

  “Oh Ydw. Dim trafferth.”

  “Eich gweld yn fuan,” said Bullion pleased.

  “You’ll love this stuff Ingot. Welshman’s caviar.”

  Ingot had heard the cockles and fried bacon bit and thought, oh well, two out of three ain’t bad. He smiled to his content boss.

  Swonzi must have thought that this game was theirs when they went in at halftime one up, but the Blues came back out with intent, and The Lightbulb showed his shining qualities again by coming on with twenty-five minutes left to bag a brace and the points for the Blues. Diolch yn fawr nos da Myfanwy.

  Bitominge City 2 Gyppeswyck 1

  “No noise from the tractor boys,” sung Bullion as he made it up the stairs to the boardroom.

  “Oye, Goldie, another win? I guess MyQuiche is better than a few of us thought.”

  “I didn’t question our manager. That was you, after the Addicts game.”

  “Oh. You might be right. Didn’t look a lot here today did there? What was the attendance?”

  Gold pulled on his goatie before answering. “Nearly a hundred and sixty thousand.”

  “What a load of crap. Seriously, how do they expect us to run the club and balance the books with support like that?”

  “Umm, well,” said Gold.

  “I can’t wait to get the fuck out of this shit hole,” said Bullion, vexed. “How is that coming along? Where are we? Does he have the money or not? ‘Cause I’m fed up of waiting.”

  “No, David, there’s no change with Carstolen Young. We play the waiting game.”

  “Well, if you don’t mind me saying, it’s a shit game.”

  “David, we picked up another three points. Let’s try and enjoy it and make sure our guests enjoy it.”

  “Yes, that old chestnut. Who are the owners anyway?”

  “David, didn’t you try and buy this club last year?”

  “So?”

  “Well, surely you have some interest in the on-going welfare of it and who owns it?”

  Bullion stared at him blankly. “No, why would I?”

  “Because you tried to take over the reins, no?”

  “Yes, but I didn’t, so why should I care now?”

  Gold shook his head. “ Yes, David, that would make perfect sense. Come on let’s go find Morris Ivans.”

  “Who’s that, then?” asked Bullion, intrigued.

  “He’s the owner of Gyppeswyck.”

  “Oh, do you know him?” asked Bullion.

  “No, I don’t even know what he looks like,” said Gold.

  “So, how the bloody hell do we find him?”

  “I don’t know, I hadn’t really thought about it,” answered Gold.

  “I’ve got an idea. We’ll get Ingot to page him over the Tannoy for an important phone call and see who goes to answer the phone. No?”

  Gold smiled at Bullion. “There’s no flies on you David, is there?”

  Gold and Bullion sat up near Ingot, waiting for someone to appear and answer the call.

  “Dee, nobody moved,” said Bullion.

  Gold nodded. “Wait.”

  “Maybe he didn’t hear it. I’m going to tell Ingot to page him again.”

  Gold took a sip of his gin and juice and nodded approvingly.

  “Can Morris Ivans please make himself known to the staff for an important phone call?”

  Nothing.

  Gold sat still, waiting like a praying mantis, ready to introduce himself to his peer.

  “This is ridiculous,” said Bullion. “We’ve got more chance of Lord Lucan identifying himself than this bloke.”

  “Wait,” said Gold.

  “You can wait all night. I’m off to feed my frog some meat, and then I’m outta here. Toodaloo,” answered Bullion.

 
CHAPTER TEN

  FROGS, SNAILS, AND PUPPY DOG TAILS

  Frogs are a full-time responsibility and owning one should not be overlooked. For one thing frogs can live a long time—up to thirty-five years. Toads have the edge in the captive longevity pond. A European Bufo bufo can live up to forty years. African bullfrogs live almost as long as their Bufo bufo cousins if they are cared for properly. The one thing that diminishes their existence rapidly is obesity.

  Bullion had fed Kingson insects since he’d had him. Today was a new dawn in his life.

  “Bonjour ma petite fleur” said Bullion, shaking a bag in front of his pet.

  Kingson’s eye focused and zoomed in.

  “Finally, thank fuck he’s realized I eat other things besides flies,” said Kingson, maneuvering his colossal frame towards the glory hole.

  “Look what I’ve got for you,” said Bullion.

  He took out the unsuspecting mice and quickly placed them in the vivarium and closed the lid down.

  Bullion had learned his lesson the first time he fed Kingson not to dither around in the tank, as everything that moved was fair game and fingers were no exception.

  Kingson was like any other large African bullfrog—he had a vigorous feeding action and the one friendly mouse that ventured too close disappeared in an instant.

  “Bloody hell, Frenchy, I was going to say I got you a couple of steaks for the weekend but I guess you know that already. Well, I’d love to stop and chat while you dine, but the Mrs. is up to her tricks again and having another wild theme party with her mates at the mansion,” he said, tapping his nose.

  “Goodnight, Frenchy. Wish me luck or call me Rocco. See you Monday.”

  Bullion turned the light off in his office and closed the door.

  Dogheads 1 Bitominge City 1