Football Fiction

by Stilflat Shadow

  “What on The Ar are you wearing?” asked Gold.

  “It’s the kit. Why?”

  “Because you look ridiculous, David.”

  “No I don’t. I look good and as I’ve shown you before, I can play a bit as well. You don’t remember the orange nutmeg? It wasn’t that long ago Dee.”

  Gold compiled the spreadsheet over the table highlighting the shortfall in revenue and proposed a short-term loan to the club from the board in the amount of one million pounds.

  “All in favour, say aye.”

  “Aye,” said Alf.

  “Aye,” said Dee.

  There was silence.

  “Then the aye’s have it by majority. I’ll make the fund transfer from my bank, and I’ll send you a remittance with each person’s dues. Everyone okay with that?” asked Gold.

  “Well, no, not really. It all seems a bit cut and thrust to me. Why do we need to do it now? Don’t we have a home game coming up” Bullion asked confused.

  “David, I sometimes wonders what planet you are on. It’s the Internationals this week. We don’t play until the thirteenth of this month.”

  “Bloody hell, that’s two weeks from now.”

  “Yes, David. Enjoy the International break,” said Gold.

  “Is that it? When are we going to have another meeting?”

  “Not until the first Monday of the calendar month like we always do, every month. Unless, of course, we have to call an EGM,” said Gold, turning his back and watching the downpour continue.

  Bullion looked at Alf and mimed, “What’s an EGM?”

  “Extraordinary General Meeting,” answered Gold, cutting in.

  Alsex MyQuiche was in his office at the training ground trying desperately to seal a deal for the missing link in his team. He wanted a playmaker that could engineer some football and not the hoof ball that had been dished out for the last four years. One of his targets was a prince who was highly valued until this year and was available on loan. MyQuiche was keen to sign him up but he hadn’t gotten the green light on him wanting to come.

  His other tentative signing that he’d been pursuing was a no go: Bilbo was staying put where he was. He liked the country and the club that he belonged to and wanted to keep it that way. So it’s back to the drawing board. He did have an iron in the fire with a Scottish International named Almost in Italian that may sign after regaining his fitness on a month’s loan and a loose spur called Thatsum Golly, but neither of them would be coming through before the end of the month at best.

  MyQuiche had an illustrious playing career with almost five hundred senior games and some seventy odd for his country. He had won European Cup, Winners Cup, European Super Cup, and more than a dozen league titles and cups combined north of the border, so he was no mug before trying his hand at management.

  His early career as a manager had been somewhat of a nearly man, always the bridesmaid never the bride, close but not close enough and looking over his shoulder for a P45 all the time. However, his appointment as head chef with the Teddy Bears changed all that, and he rightly achieved excellence with a full trophy cabinet haul in an amazing five-year spell. He then took charge of his national team and although failed to qualify for the Euro’s in a group with two titans in France and Italy (both WC winners) his team did him proud and only fell at the final hurdle, on the last day.

  His short tenure statistically made him the best Scotch egg manager ever with a win rate of seventy percent.

  He knew what it took to be a winner, and, in management, you are only as good as your players. He was still struggling to find a couple of quality players and everyone that he fancied didn’t fancy his new club or wouldn’t lower their wage demand to join him. It was a frustrating position to be in—he knew how the previous managers must have felt now.

  Under promise and over-perform was his motto, but how could he do that with the squad he had inherited, with loans and frees? Best to keep quiet. He had become more of an accountant than a coach of late, and he didn’t like it.

  The club was in overhaul mode and needed time to correct to be able to recreate what he was after.

  Being in an epic battle every week so early into the season wasn’t helping things. His team was the new wounded whale on the beach, and, although for the most part he was getting Bannockburn results, the wheels were starting to clod up and a favorable outcome was becoming harder to attain.

  He knew it was imperative to keep the results coming in with the next home game against the newly promoted Vikings.

  It was a massive day out for yet another South Yorkshire Pud side and they brought all their family and the kitchen sink too. It was a sea of red in the full away end, and they managed to swell the attendance for the game to a giddy 181,650.

  Bitominge City 1 Donny 0

  Donny started the game brightly and showed the Blues how to pass a football for the first twenty minutes without actually penetrating the home goal.

  Bitominge finally got into the game with some ugliness. Break A Leg brought down a forty-foot aerial bomb but instead of caressing it and bringing it under the control of his size thirteens, it somehow managed to bounce ten feet away from him without going off. Donny recovered the UXB nicely and broke towards the Blues’ goal with speed until The Shithouse stepped in and flushed the danger away.

  However, while the ball was under his jurisdiction, he tripped over it and presented it back to another Viking who was just about to plunder when Mental Naftea lunged in with studs showing. It was a straight red but thankfully the Blues had finally contributed to the game.

  So the Blues, who had been outclassed with a full complement, now had to try their luck with one less player. The game fizzled out and thankfully the ref blew for halftime. MyQuiche was, and had been since his arrival, under the assumption that he needed to protect his frail defence at all cost and changed the formation from a 4-5-1 to a 4-4-1—brilliant and the home crowd roared its enthusiasm when the team lined up for the second half. MyQuiche had the last laugh, though, as an Exocet missile-guided free kick was launched into the Donny box and How Many Clubs nodded it down to Zizane, who swiveled on a six pence to smash the ball home. Minutes later, the tide should have turned further when How Many Clubs again played in The Celeb only for The Swede to act like another vegetable root and tamely shoot straight at the Snooker player in goal. Bitominge at this point shut up shop and decided to defend for the last forty-four plus minutes and apart from the one outstanding save by The Mack pushing a fierce drive onto the upright, and some stonewall penalties dubiously not given by one of the owner’s next door neighbours from Surrey that was refereeing for the day, it ended 1-0. Donny’s travelling hordes felt aggrieved not to take something from this game.

  The Robins 1 Bitominge City 2

  What a difference three days and four and three quarter hours can make! The Blues won again and quite fairly this time. ASBO orders were well earned in Bristoll after a sterling first half performance by Alsex’s men. They struck twice inside twenty-five minutes to register their fifth league win of the season. If you were a gambling man, you wouldn’t bet against Alsex.

  He turned a glum, unattractive beldam team on Saturday into a bunch of page three pin-ups on Tuesday night, and both with the same result.

  The pincer movement was in effect early on in this one as he sought to deploy his 4-5-1 tactics again. Sweet slick passing football combined with clinical finishing touches from Maria and Zizane The English Wizard carried the Blues on to triumph. The Blues had finally turned up for their supposedly toughest test of the season so far and answered their critic’s mice or men call by keeping the cheddar in their back pockets for most of the game.

  The Celeb, who had such an indifferent game on Saturday, started the ball rolling by whipping in a dangerous darting free kick that, with a little help from Maria’s head, opened the scoring. They continued this vein of play and were rewarded with a second goal when Zizane finished with a lethal money shot.
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  The second goal confirmed that, not only did the Blues have the skill to compete in this league they also had the stamina.

  2-0 up on a Tuesday night in the West Country after twenty-five minutes was not something to be stroked lightly, and Bitominge became careless and let the Trundle bed pull one back to make it a tight finish. Bristoll pressed hard to penetrate again but couldn’t squeeze another in the onion bag and had to settle for nothing at home in front of their largest crowd of the season.

  Bitominge City 0 Blakpul 1

  The unbeaten league record ended with a whimper from The Blues as they failed to participate in a game again, but this time they got punished for their slackness.

  Blakpul’s Scouse roofer’s early strike in the second half was enough to give them all the points to take back to the seaside. There was expectancy in this game for the Blues to push on from the Bristoll match and teach a few of these upstart teams a lesson. Blakpul was not going to be one of these teams.

  The Blues set their stall out in the now customary 4-5-1-formation with Cheffcokhead and Enter McDragon playing as attacking midfield wingers. A lot of effort was shown by the home side but little of quality. The Blues apparently had twelve shots on goal. This must have been in the pre-match warm up, as the American in goal for the visitors would have seen more action in an adult B movie than in goal today.

  The more the game went on the more MyQuiche became desperate and ended up with five strikers on the pitch—all of which on today’s showing at least couldn’t hit a barn door with a banjo.

  If the attack looked bad, then the defence was abysmal—only the state of Texas could have offered more room to the Blakpul strike force. If the Blues defence had dressed in Stetsons, bandannas, and chaps the attire would not have looked out of place. All that was missing today was the rodeo clown, although several players did their best to impersonate one.

  To be fair to Blakpul, the victory margin could have been greater if not for The Mack in goal who covered his cloth with inseam to spare. He was the lone star in all of this shambolic shoddy factory display. The only other bright light on the day was the Blues attendance numbers, which were back up to nearly 210,000, of which Blakpul brought 10,000; so 50,000 of the missing faithful had reappeared to see the new, winning Blues.

  Blakpul were bright and orange from the offset, and it was only a matter of time before their zesty inclination told and they scored—probably just after the halftime managers chat where it was pointed out to them that the Blues were ripe and ready for the picking.

  MyQuiche’s comments after the game were poignant.

  “We never gave the missing faithful what they wanted, and we deserved the abuse. If I was in the crowd today, I would have booed this pantomime performance. It was awful, but the Chumpionship is not won or lost in September. I expect a response from them and that is one thing they have always given me. We started poor and finished worse.”

  As one Blues legend put it best, it was bad to the bone and only one thing to do after that was one bourbon, one scotch and one beer.

  “Well that was a bunch of kak,” said Bullion.

  “Yes, I think that is the worst I’ve seen since the new manager arrived here,” Gold concurred. “What do you put it down to?”

  “Preparation, Dee,” said Bullion.

  “I didn’t see anything that they did different warming up.”

  “It was during the team selection. MyQuiche yet again didn’t start with The Lightbulb on. It’s really quite simple all he has to do is put The Light Bulb on from the beginning if he wants a brighter start to the game.”

  Gold stared at Bullion like he had many times in the past wondering if his choice in partner had been a hasty decision. He tried to play down the game and the team selection and moved on to the upcoming match away to C-diff and Bullion’s homecoming.

  “Will you be heading west early this week?” he asked.

  “Why would I go west this week?” asked Bullion, somewhat confused.

  “We play C-diff next Saturday. I thought you might want to look up some of your relatives.” answered Gold.

  “I thought we’d have another home game to even things up from last month?”

  “No, David, we normally play one home then one away. The computer picks the fixtures.”

  “I know that. I’m not daft.”

  “Should we make a trip of it and do the weekend thing in C-diff? You can show me around your old stomping grounds.”

  “We could. I have to be down at the stables all this week, so how about I call you early in the week and let you know? If the truth were told, we’ll probably have to take a rain check. The snail racing season is coming to a close, and I want to get as much in as I can. I don’t think there’s much racing going on around there this week. Maybe Chepstow or Newmarket are running later this week but I’d have to check.”

  Gold didn’t know what his partner saw in snails—they were slimy and smelly and slow, well all the ones he’d ever seen.

  “No, David. I don’t think I’m ready for the thrill-a-minute of snail racing. I will take a rain check on that.”

  Bullion nodded. “Have you thought anymore on MyQuiche?” he asked.

  “No, of course not. Today was a reality check but not the end of the world, we do need to play better and get the crowd behind us but I think we’re a work in progress at present and we should move forward cautiously.”

  “Right,” said Bullion. “So nothing’s changed, steady as she goes?”

  “That’s right,” said Gold, tapping his nose.

  C-diff City 1 Bitominge City2

  Just when the wheels of the promotion race looked like they would fall off after last week, the Blues did the unexpected and won a game against another potential promotion rival.

  A brief threatening start from C-diff had The Mack on call early. Bitominge took the lead through Enter McDragon. Quincy MD cut inside before slipping a precise incision to McDragon who composed himself before slotting it home.

  In the thirty-fourth minute, the Blues doubled their lead against the run of play when Quincy MD hit a 20-yard snap shot through a crowded box to beat the Bluebird keeper. Two nil and game over or so everyone thought, but not quite. The Blues have a knack of doing things the hard way and making things very uncomfortable for their fans, even when it shouldn’t be.

  C-diff, like nearly every other team the Blues have played this season, could feel unlucky not to have gotten something out of the game. Leadley did his best to level things in the eighteenth minute, but his shot took a deflection. It was then McCormick’s turn to try and spice up the encounter when he beat The Mack doing his best Australian aborigine impersonation as he went walkabout for a through ball, but the C-diff man took it too wide, and the Blues got back in numbers to stifle the chance. The Bluebirds thrust forward with raid after raid, but they couldn’t break down the rear guard and the main spoiler was The Shithouse who mopped up everything they managed to throw down the pipe.

  It was the same in the second half. The Blues brought on How Many Clubs with fifteen minutes to go to dogs of abuse from the home supporters after his on-off transfer in the summer that fortunately never happened for them. C-diff continued to run the visitors with the menacing Phallus going close with his head. McCormick peppered the Blues’ goal with shots and one beat The Mack but his effort hit the crossbar. The busy spice rack was then finally rewarded in the eighty-sixth minute with his lively display by weaving his way down the right wing and cutting inside to bend a corker around the keeper.

  With three minutes of normal time left and the ref adding another four, the Riversiders had enough time to grab a point, but they wilted and couldn’t break down the solid back line of the imposing Jedi (May the Force Be With You) and the Ridgeback.

  The gap between the top two and the rest of the league was starting to widen, and the Blues had yet to string together a ninety-minute performance of note. But, as one comedian was happy to tell everyone when explaining his game sh
ow, “What do points make?” Another valuable lesson taught by MyQuiche to his counterparts in the results industry.

  Gold looked over to Bullion. “Another win?”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Well, three points is three points. You coming?” asked Gold.

  “Nah.”

  “Why not? What now?”

  “He’s another one that can’t do his maths.”

  “Who?”

  “Their chairman. He’s another one that’ll be round with his pint pot asking for blank cheques. No, I won’t be coming in. Besides, I’ve got a party at the Mansion tonight for the Mrs. A load of her friends are coming over. Could be a good night if I play my cards right.”

  “David, I do wish you’d take this season a little more seriously. I know you don’t want to be here, but we still have to keep up appearances.”

  Bullion took the Monday off and went on a ramble-fest with Ingot up to the Peak District of Derbyshire. They started at ten in the morning in a village called Edale and followed the Pennine Way north to Crowden. It was some eight hours later and dark before they finished. They had a hearty breakfast in the Nags Head to give them sustenance for the long trek of sixteen miles, as Bullion later pointed out to Ingot it probably wasn’t advisable to have that extra sausage.

  The first climb beside the babbling brook was gentle and enjoyable but the Pennines soon elevated the level of difficulty with a seemingly vertically climb of Jacobs Ladder.

  “Bloody hell, Ingot, I didn’t imagine it to be this hard,” gasped Bullion.

  “No, Boss, me neither.”

  “We’ve only been walking for just ove an hour, and I’m knackered. What about you?” he asked Ingot.

  “Yes, Boss, I wouldn’t be lying if I said I can hear my lungs blowing for tugs.”

  “These stone steps don’t seem to stop. Can you see the top yet?” he asked, looking up into the morning fog.

  Ingot peered into the wet, gloomy precipitation. “I can see about twenty yards ahead, but that’s all.”