Football Fiction

by Stilflat Shadow

  Bullion did admit in public the wait was worth it, and, in his eyes, his best times at the club were during the first four years of Digger’s rein. So good were the times that Bullion had put a seven million pound price tag on Digger’s head to deter bigger clubs from stealing him.

  “I think we did the right thing at the time,” he said.

  “Of course we did, David. You can’t second guess in this game.”

  Moreham nodded as he eased himself back into the conversation and asked the eternal question.

  “So, what do you think of AJ?”

  Gold looked at Bullion, and Bullion shrugged his shoulders.

  “Erm… well, Dee, maybe you can answer that?”

  “I thought he was okay,” said Gold.

  “Okay?” asked Friedegg.

  “Well, yes okay,” Gold repeated.

  Moreham thought the answer was a bit strange considering he was going to be investing 10 million on the player.

  “So, would you spend ten million on him in today’s market?”

  “Back to you, David.”

  Bullion wouldn’t spend ten million on any player in any market. He thought it was an obscene amount of money for a player. And don’t get him started on the wages and image rights. He muttered something under his breath and passed the question back to Gold.

  “No, this is definitely your area Dee.”

  Gold took a sip of his rum and coke. “I think if you’re going to take a chance on a younger striker with an eye for goals, then AJ would definitely fit into that category.”

  “I understand that I’ve seen him play many times when he was down at the Palace, but as a chairman, the same as you, I don’t want to be wasting a large amount of money on one player and have it not work out. You know what happens then?” said Friedegg.

  Bullion nodded.

  “The fans get on your case for buying a dud and want you to come up with another 10 million from the bottomless pit for another forward,” continued Friedegg.

  “Oh, don’t I know it,” said Bullion. “My name is shit, because I won’t cough up an extra few million here and there to sign someone new.”

  Friedegg leaned into them and lowered his voice. “I spent eleven and a half million and broke the club transfer record to sign one player a manager wanted and all I got was, ‘You don’t know what you’re doing’ from the terraces. It’s not pleasant when you’ve done your best. Mind you, off the record I still think I was stitched up like a kipper on that deal.”

  Bullion nodded. “Oh we’ve been held up by the highwaymen ourselves on a few occasions. Haven’t we Dee?”

  Gold looked at Bullion like he wasn’t all there. It was a bit late to change his partner now though.

  “Yes, David.” He smiled, turning to Friedegg.

  “What do you mean Moreham?”

  “I can’t say too much but I took The Iguana to court over the exuberant fee.”

  “And?” asked Bullion, interested.

  “I had to drop it quickly.”

  “Why?” Gold asked.

  “Because it was a matter of opinions. The Iguana thought he was worth it, and I shelled out the money. At the end of the day, try proving it in court. Just because The Iguana had previous ties to Olympic Mayonnaise doesn’t mean in a court of law that he did anything underhand? Does it?”

  Gold looked at Bullion.

  “How much did you pay again?”

  “I paid eleven and a half million cash! He played about fifty games for us. You do the maths.”

  “I don’t think we’ve ever screwed up that bad. Have we Dee?”

  “No, David. On the whole, we’ve done quite well.”

  Moreham nodded a smile to Gold. “Anyway, it’s all water under the bridge these days. Let’s get back to AJ. Should we sign him?”

  “I guess he merits a large transfer figure. He’s an international!” answered Gold, diplomatically.

  “Yes, but in your opinion, having seen him firsthand, is he worth it?” asked Friedegg.

  “I don’t think so,” said Bullion. “It’s a lot of money for someone.”

  Gold rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him Moreham. He scores goals especially against us. So if you’re asking me whether I would sign him back? Then, yes, I would.”

  “Not for ten million. Over my dead body, you will. Those days are long gone,” said Bullion sternly.

  “I didn’t mean… oh, forget it,” said Gold.

  Moreham nodded to Gold as though he knew.

  “Ivanhoe was the last big transfer I will ever sign off on at this club,” said Bullion.

  Gold got back on the subject matter. “Well we couldn’t afford the transfer fee for a start but as a player I liked him. Something always happened when AJ was on the pitch, plenty of energy.”

  “Yes, we could have done with his goals last year. If you don’t score in the premier, you won’t stay up,” said Bullion.

  Friedegg listened to the presupposition.

  “I’m going to make a new offer this week and get the lad on board. I trust Woy’s judgment so…” He crossed his fingers.

  “Hopefully, this dish won’t turn out like an Iguana and Mayonnaise mess.”

  “Talking of reptiles, anyone interested in seeing my frog?” asked Bullion hopeful.

  Friedegg looked at Gold for some enlightenment.

  “He’s got an African bullfrog in his office, Moreham.”

  “Oh.”

  “Bloody big one too. One of these days we’re going to come into work and find David missing and a large frog sitting in his chair,” said Gold.

  “Frenchy wouldn’t bite the hand that feeds him. He’s not that daft. Not like these bloody, ungrateful footballers.”

  Moreham nodded.

  “Right, I’m off Dee. When you’ve finished entertaining our guest would you be so kind as to drop by my office before you leave? I have a couple of outstanding matters to discuss.”

  “Certainly David. I’ll be in in a while,” answered Gold.

  Bullion thanked Friedegg for his delightful company and asked Gold to see about a future preseason fixture.

  “Thanks, Moreham.”

  “Thanks, David.”

  Bullion left to attend to his pet.

  “Do you have any other signings lined up before the start of the season?” asked Friedegg.

  “Well, we just signed a young Dutch lad, and we are trying to get Quincy MD on loan from a Russian mob. And that should be it for the time being. Our wage bill is horrendous this year as we tried to keep most of our instrumental staff in hope of an early return to the premiership.”

  “How do you think you’ll do this year?”

  “Well, we have the highest wage bill in the league so I would hope we’ll come straight back up, but you can never tell.”

  “Is the football better under MyQuiche?”

  “You saw it today. What do you think?” asked Gold, keen to get an independent view.

  “No. It was crap,” said Friedegg honestly.

  “That’s what I thought. But he’s got a two-year contract left so we’ve got to persevere. He says all the things you want to hear as a chairman and is watchful of the purse strings. Which is what you expect from a Sweaty, so I have no problem with him seeing out the contract. It’s the natives I fear. They are not happy with relegation. Two years on the trot, so I don’t think they’ll give him much rope. We’ll see early days, if we stay in the top three all season then they might give him another chance, but I wouldn’t bank on it. They smell blood.”

  “Fortunately, we don’t have much of a rabid section at the cottage, which makes things a little easier,” said Moreham.

  “Where do you think you’ll finish this year?” asked Gold.

  “I have no idea. I hope well away from the relegation zone, so I can enjoy a few games this season. I’m going to give Onyourheadson my full backing.”

  “Yes, he’s done his time all over Europe and got an epic record. He certainly pulled your
turkey out of the oven last year, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, I felt like my goose was cooked until he turned up. Good man, very thorough. And knows his players. He’s the best manager I’ve signed to date,” said Friedegg.

  “Well, Moreham, it’s been lovely, but the Chumpionship beckons and so does my partner so I’d better go find out what he wants. Great chatting. We’ll see you in a year.”

  “Yes I’ll look forward to that,” said Friedegg. “And good luck with your season.”

  “You too,” said Gold.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BLADES OPENING DAY BLUES

  Bitominge City opened their season up with the visit of fellow Chumpionship favorite Cheffield Disjointed. It was not a classic encounter and looked to be heading towards a frustrating stalemate until the introduction of The Lightbulb, who waited until the ninety-third minute to make the difference in this characterless clash.

  The result was harsh on a Disjointed side that battled the whole game and looked up for it and worthy of a pie and a point. Bitominge enjoyed the majority of the possession in what can only be described as dismal conditions but couldn’t find the net. The Disjointed boss had to start the game without Betty and Girlspee because of injury and handed debuts to Sun Geehi, Alford, and Hans Christian. Both teams began eagerly with How Many Clubs and Enter McDragon linking up well, as the latter saw a dramatic penalty appeal waved away by the referee Shroud of Turin.

  Cheffield pressed forward and managed three corners. The last one by Tongue was cleared to the veteran Amphetamine Sulphate who volleyed it back at goal only for Dressmaker to tip over the bar. The hosts were now threatening dominance, but it was Disjointed through Medicine Woman and S. Harp that peppered shots at Mack’s onion sack.

  Now it was Blues’s turn again as Enter McDragon hit the ball to the far post to find How Many Clubs alone who should have scored when he rose three feet but ducked four to somehow get his head under the ball and fail to connect. The Celeb then had a twenty-five-yard free kick drilled over the bar and the half petered out with another How Many Clubs effort blocked.

  Cheffield looked to have started the second half the better of the two teams but for the linesman’s consistent flag waving. This raised Bitominge’s tempo and The Celeb almost got on the end of an Enter McDragon flick before Cheffcokhead lashed the ball across the six yards box.

  Disjointed brought on a Grill to heat things up and Bitominge replaced Cheffcokhead with The Lightbulb, but the game faded into a bellicose affair and neither side could muster much in the way of entertainment.

  The match was finally settled after another long punt up field from Dressmaker #1, which found Shagger flicking the ball onto The Lightbulb who in one moment of brilliance turned a stationary Morgan in the penalty area and flashed a lethal effort past the Blades keeper. It was rough justice on the traveling supporters’ appetite as all but a few had finished their chip butty.

  Gold and Bullion were ecstatic as the result was all that mattered. It was a winning start to the season and that’s what was needed to get the missing fans back. Attendance was 240,190, about 60,000 short of capacity, which Bullion said he could live with for the time being. Gold stuck his head around the dressing room door and thanked the players for their endeavor.

  “Good show chaps, well-played and all that. A bit of nitty-gritty for most part, but the quality shone through in the end. Hard work and endeavour in this league wins the day.” And with that he was gone.

  MyQuiche came out of the dressing room to do his post-match interview with the press. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say, until The Lightbulb’s priceless instincts kicked in and settled the affair.

  “That was exactly why I signed him. The game became anxious because of both clubs’ expectations, and he pops up and does what he does best. Is there a better finisher out there? I doubt it. As you can see, I’m over the moon, cock a hoop. I told them to keep plugging away and we’d get something, and we did. The tempo was good, and we defended much better. We held our nerve, I’m ecstatic.”

  Bullion was hovering around the press interview. He couldn’t work out why nobody had asked him about the game. He raised his hand several times during the interview when he thought MyQuiche was taking too long to answer.

  “Bloody reporters they don’t want to know you when you win, but they soon come running to daddy when they want a scoop,” he muttered to himself, walking back up stairs alone.

  Gold was at the top dancing to reggae in a disheveled sky blue suit with The Jamaican flag draped around his neck.

  “Excuse me while I light my spliff. Good Gold I…” he sang.

  “Good Gold is right! You’re not up to that nonsense again are you? You look a right two and eight,” said Bullion, reaching the top of the stairs.

  “David take it easy, take it easy. Lord, I know I do. Don’t you like to step away from reality?”

  “Yes, all the bloody time that’s why I’m down at the track every hour of the night watching God’s greatest nocturnal hermaphrodites slime.”

  Gold snapped his fingers together as though he was putting out a match. “You are some wicked dude, Dave. I like it.”

  “Good win today Dee. A big one too, we had to start the season off on the right foot.” said Bullion, getting back to the subject at hand.

  “Yes man,” answered Gold.

  “Mind you, I would have done a few things different today.”

  “Like what?” Gold asked.

  “Well for one thing I would have put The Lightbulb on earlier.”

  “Presumably because it was dark?” asked Gold wryly.

  “Dee, please don’t try and belittle my knowledge about football tactics.”

  “Yes, of course, David, sorry. Now, don’t forget when we thank the Cheffield board for the encounter and wish them good luck, don’t mention our team. Right?” said Gold.

  “What? That’s a daft thing to say. Why wouldn’t I mention Bitominge City when we just played them?”

  “Not this team, our other team we support.”

  “Oh, right, the relegation a few years ago. Is that still going on or did they settle?”

  “Search me, but best not to talk about it as I’m sure they’re still aggrieved enough already and losing this one in the last minute won’t help.”

  “Yes, we stole this one from under their noses,” Said Bullion.

  “What did you think today?” asked Gold.

  “What did you think?” Bullion asked back.

  Both studied each other’s eyes.

  Gold was first to smile. “Are you worried?”

  “No, but it wasn’t good was it?”

  “I’d call it an honest endeavour,” smiled Gold.

  “It was crap,” answered Bullion.

  “Harsh David.”

  “Yes, it was. Thank God I got The Lightbulb signed up.”

  Gold shook his head. “You had nothing to do with the signing. That was all MyQuiche. He was courting him at the end of last season when we were relegated. He prioritized him as the number one signing we must make.”

  “Puh, I swear. You live in your own world. It’s like a bubble isn’t it?”

  Gold stared at him, not bothering to respond.

  “One big bubble. I have no idea where you pluck nonsense like that out of, unless, of course, you’re forever blowing bubbles and I never noticed. Utter drivel! Is that what MyQuiche told you? He orchestrated The Lightbulb signing?”

  Gold ignored him and got back to his drinking and singing. “Excuse me while I…”

  Bullion was in his office when Gold finally reappeared the worse for wear. He was on his chair fighting with his African bullfrog Frenchy.

  “Come on, you fat little bugger, come on, come out, the game’s over. I don’t know what your problem is.”

  The more Bullion pulled, the more Kingson blew up like a balloon. Kingson’s problem was the noise and the lights, which were still blazing into the office. He liked dark, quiet places most of the t
ime—except when mating (then, the more public the better). He was also adverse to things that could make more noise than him. He was proud of his mating voice and its range, some had measured it at over a mile in his homeland, and he was happy of his record. But even he was uncomfortable with the decibels that rang out with a Bitominge win in the ninety-third minute.

  “Did something freak you out Frenchy?” asked Bullion.

  The frog sat still and was bloated. He wasn’t moving and his owner needed to understand that, unless he wanted a short, sharp nip.

  “Come on, Frenchy, deep breaths, in and out, in and out. Use your diaphragm, try to relax, good man, I only want to pet you.”

  Gold watched from behind the open door in disbelief as his business partner was talking to the amphibian.

  “He knocked. “Only me.”

  “Ah! Dee. Be a devil and lend me a hand, will you?”

  Gold winced at the thought of touching his pet.

  “No, David. I don’t like toads.”

  “It’s not a toad. It’s a frog. There’s a big difference.”

  “Not to me, there isn’t. They’re all slimy.”

  “No they’re not. They don’t even feel the same,” said Bullion, trying to pull the frog towards him.

  “No, David, I won’t come near you while you’ve got that thing out.”

  “He’s not out. He’s still in his cage.”

  “Exactly. And that’s where he needs to stay. I won’t come any closer till the lid is firmly closed with him inside. I can’t stand the thing.”

  “Come on, Dee. I need a hand for one second. Then you can make yourself a drink and sit at the other end of the office if you like.”

  “No, David. This is where I draw the line. I don’t know why you would want to keep that beast in the first place. He smells and is stinking up the office.”

  “That’s why I have to get him out—to clean his substrate.”

  Gold foraged behind Bullion’s port bottles until he found what he wanted. “David, put him back. Otherwise we’ll speak tomorrow. I’m good for about ten minutes in my present state, otherwise it’s goodnight Irene and under the table you must go Ey I Ey I Ey I O if I catch you…” Gold began to sing.