Summer League - Prologue Part 2
By Patfooty
May 28 2006
Summer League Prologue final part.
Out in the farthest and darkest reaches of the galaxy, far beyond the Earth’s atmosphere, the silence of the void was punctured by a small….
“Beep”!
No one was more surprised about this noise than the actual Tracker Satellite from which the noise had just come. It had never beeped before, and this was quite a novelty for it. It mustered up all it’s strength and beeped again.
Unbeknown to the satellite, an unusual amount of satellite tracking was going on, and the signals were all emanating from a tiny little dot on the satellites memory screen. Being in outer space, it had not had this much fun in years, and slowly and quietly, it zoomed in on the source.
The man sat surrounded by plumes of smoke, and the odd tin of special brew littering the floor of the small room. All around the remote cottage, the only sound was the pouring rain.
“Keep going my beauties”, he murmured to himself.
In India, the young man was on his way to the bus stop. He hurried along, as he didn’t want to be late for his lectures again. As he stood waiting for the bus, he suddenly heard a voice behind him.
“ Listen Kid, the boss wants you to be very aware that you must not do well in the summer league! Oh and by the way, he also wants three jars of your best Chutney”.
The lad turned round, but there was no one there at all. “Chutney?” he said.
“No thanks” said a girl standing nearby, “the pickles always give me hives”.
Puzzled, he sat down, and waited for the bus.
Meanwhile, in an office in Yorkshire, a young computer genius was hard at work. Actually, he was reading the latest “Whizzer and Chips” magazine, when his phone rang.
“Listen Smarty-pants, the boss wants you to give your brother one hell of a beating in the summer league”, said the chilling voice. “Otherwise, your little palm top will go missing.ok?”
“Not my palm top”! Wailed the man. He was suddenly acutely aware that the phone line was dead and that all his colleagues were still staring at him. He quietly opened his desk and continued reading, shaken, but not stirred.
Meanwhile, in Stevenage, strange things were afoot. The man had just climbed into his cab, but then realised he had left his lunch behind. He turned off the super haulers engine and started to climb down when a voice from underneath the lorry startled him.
“Listen very carefully, the boss wants you to lose the summer league and let your wife win.”
“Wont happen” said the man, nervously.
“It will, or your merchandise shirts will all say, “My wife is prettier, and far cleverer than me””!
“So fooking what” said the man, becoming braver by the minute.
“Listen dumbo”, said the voice, rather irritated. “You’d better do as you are told, or you will be banned from all Cardiff home games forever. The boss can organise anything”!
She was just getting ready for work, when she saw the sandwich box lying on the side. Seeing the lorry still parked outside, she hurried out the front door, only to find him cuddling the front tyre and wailing “not the home tickets, anything but that. I’ll even spend a night locked in a room with Monkey, pleeeaaaseee”?
Well, he had been working a bit hard she thought, and leaving the sandwiches beside him, she went back indoors!
The library was quiet, as the young man studied. The warm California sun beat down on the window, as he flicked through the copy of Penthouse that he was hiding in-between his college books. He turned the page and leaped out of his chair. Instead of a nude lady, horrible gothic scrawl. It read, “ look here laughing boy, the boss wants you to know that you will not finish second this year. Or else your missus will find out what you really study in class”.
Shocked, he hurriedly packed up his books and left the library.
In Canterbury, Kent, the young lad was first on the school bus. He was feeling pretty pleased with himself, as for the first time this week, he had managed to save his lunch money for the way home. As he got on the bus, he looked at the driver, and then he went white.
“Listen pal” said the driver, “the boss says that if your father gives you any favours in the summer league, you’re in for it”.
“I’ll get a a a taxi” stuttered the brave lad.
The hills were particularly pleasant this time of year, thought the man as he walked through the fields. Tyrone at this time of season was awesome. He was just about to reach the post office, when the clear blue sky suddenly clouded over. A voice boomed at him.” lose the summer league, or there’ll be trouble”!
“God, is that you?” he stammered.
“No it isn’t, and do something with your hair before next week!”
The clouds once again parted, and silence once again descended on the Emerald Isle.
In Pontypandy, there was a knock at the door. The man opened it to find the postman there.
“Morning Pat” said the man “nice day innit?”
“You’d better listen you boyo innit” said the postman.” The boss will not be pleased if you do not help him in the summer league innit!”
As the postman left, the only thing the startled man could think was how he hated that stupid postman and his even more stupid cat.
Meanwhile, in Yorkshire, the man had just got home after a long hard day. He quickly ran upstairs to change into his favourite “I’m a Webmaster, not a cross dresser” tee shirt, when he saw the writing on the mirror and nearly fainted.
It said, “ Let your brother win, or stag photo’s will go national!”
He called his wife to come and look, but when she arrived in the bedroom, they were gone.
It was still raining, and the night was drawing in. The ghostly shadows of the trees shrouded the cottage in a hideous burlesque fashion.
One by one they returned, melting into the undergrowth, creeping slowly ahead.
Meanwhile, all over the world, from Chennai to Auckland, and in Plymouth, Leeds, Stevenage, Tyrone and Wales. In London and Nottingham, Kent and Sussex, Illinois and Los Angeles, people were now packing excitedly. The plane was due to leave in seven hours, the plane to take them all to Illinois, and to the beginning of their destiny.
The cottage remained quiet as he walked out onto the porch.
“You have done well” he shouted above the noise of the rain.” My thanks to you all”!
They filed away. One looked back and said “No problem Wocko”.
As the lightening started to roll again his voice screamed over the mountains.
“It’s Mr. Wocko to you!”
He was going to defend his title seriously, he had promised himself that. But now it was down to his players. He went upstairs and started to pack.
Join us next weekend, at Oakton Park Illinois, when the fun begins!!!!!!