Football Crazy (26 page)

The following day, with Superintendent Screwer still missing, Dave Rave and Martin Sneed were released on bail without being charged, although the hunt for Mr Wong went on.

The day after that Donny obtained further supplies of bromide from Price and started putting it in the players’ tea again.

On the following Saturday Frogley Town lost three-nil away to Bletchfield Rovers. Goalkeeper Gary Moggs was man of the match, and in a post-match interview with Martin Sneed put his performance down to black puddings and an abstinence from sex.

Three days later the football club doctor examined Donny Donnelly and told him he had contracted a particularly virulent strain of syphilis and that he must inform any person with whom he had been sexually active recently. Donny said “Well obviously,” at the same time wondering if this unfortunate by-product of lust had ever visited Ron Atkinson, Malcolm Allison, Tommy Docherty and Bobby Robson, when they had taken mistresses, and if it had how had they gone about telling their lovely wives that they had passed it on to them, because there was certainly nothing about it in The Psychology of Football with a foreword by Ron Atkinson.

The day before Frogley Town's next home game, nine days after Superintendent Screwer had gone missing, Stanley called in at the police station to ask if the order banning him from the Offal Road Stadium could be lifted.

“
Oh I don't know about that, Stanley,” said Sergeant Hawks, shaking his head. “I mean Superintendent Screwer might turn up yet, and if he found out about it he’d have us for breakfast, you and me both.”

“
He won't be coming back.”

Stanley had said this with such cast-iron certainty that Hawks couldn't help but suspect it was more than wishful thinking. “Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“
I think,” said Stanley, now wishing he hadn't sounded quite so certain about it. “I mean I think he won't be coming back.”

“
And what makes you think that, Stanley?”

“
I just do.”

Following Screwer's disappearance every nook and cranny of Frogley had been scoured, the entire seven mile length of the Frog Valley had been searched, the nearby moors combed, the River Frog dragged and the canal dredged, but not a single trace of the police chief had been found, no clue as to what might have happened to him had emerged, although it is probably true to say that a large proportion of the searchers hadn't been looking very hard.

Offal Road is even quieter than the rest of Frogley at eight-o-clock on a Wednesday evening and only the drivers of two cars, both travelling in the opposite direction to Screwer, had seen the police chief galloping down the street on his horse that night. Neither driver had seen the horse enter Pork Street. The only person to have seen it on Pork Street was one of the town drunks, who had not only seen Screwer on the horse going through the gates of Price's Pie Factory but had seen the horse coming out, minus Screwer, a few seconds later. However he hadn't bothered to report it to the police as he was always seeing unusual happenings where animals were concerned, although they usually came out of walls not factory gates, and the last time he had reported one such unusual happening to the police, when he had seen snakes coming out of Tesco's gable end on Tripe Street, they had locked him up for the night.

Scourge of the Terraces, who had disappeared into the night after depositing Screwer in the Bone Pulveriser, was discovered the following morning standing outside the premises of Frogley Veterinary Services, but whether it was there by accident or because it was aware that only the attentions of a veterinary surgeon would ease the throbbing pain in its bottom remains a mystery. Unfortunately the discovery of the unhappy horse didn't contribute towards the success of the search for its owner in any way.

In fact for the search for Screwer to have met with any success it would have had to cast its net a little wider, for after the police chief had passed through the Bone Pulveriser, along with a few hundredweight of assorted animal bones, Stanley had bagged up the granulated police chief along with the other granulated bones and put the bags on the back of the fertilizer lorry, which had then transported them to the fertilizer factory in Halifax, some twenty miles away.

Subsequently the bags had been included in a batch of the fertilizer factory's Famous Farmer Hoof, Bone and Blood Mix, which had in turn been packed into 500g cartons and had since been delivered throughout the UK to garden centres, nurseries and other outlets of agricultural supplies. In fact Mrs Screwer, a keen gardener, had already bought a packet and had dug some of it into her roses as a late feed.

Hawks considered the situation Stanley had faced him with. Stanley knew something about Screwer's disappearance, he was quite certain of that. But what Stanley knew about it he didn't know. What's more, he now decided, he didn't really want to know. What was done was done, if anything had been done. Having reached his decision he wagged a finger at Stanley and said, “If Superintendent Screwer shows up I shall have to ban you again, you know.”

“
He won't show....” Stanley started to say, then stopped as Hawks put a warning finger to his lips.

“
Off you go then,” said Hawks. “I hope you win tomorrow.”

“
Thanks,” said Stanley. “We will.”

“
Every dog has its dinner” – Big Donny Donnelly

For those people who like to know 'what happened next' or 'whatever happened to....?' the world-famous Frogley soothsayer Norman Stardust was asked to look into the future on their behalf. Detailed below are his predictions.

Following a string of defeats Big Donny Donnelly will be sacked six weeks into the new season. On receiving his marching orders he will say “Well that's the way the cookie curdles.” Two months later he will obtain a position as manager to a team in the Blue Square Conference. He will stay with them for four unsuccessful years before being sacked for taking them down to the Blue Square North. He will blame his failure on not having a mistress. He will then disappear from the soccer scene for a few years, then, thanks to his old friend Dave Rave, who will by then be a major television personality, he will be taken on by ITV as a football pundit. As, like all TV pundits, Donny has always been much better at talking about football than playing it, he will be ideally suited to this job and will be a huge success, eventually take over from the recently fully reinstated Ron Atkinson as chief match analyser. On being told that Donny is going to replace him Ron will say “Well that's it then, game, shot and match.”

After Donny's departure, and before a new manager can be appointed, Joe Price will become incapacitated for quite some time. His illness will be triggered off at a trade fair when he is sampling what he thinks is a rival firm's meat and potato pie. On being told that it is in fact a Linda McCartney Vegetarian Deep Dish Country Pie he will choke on it, which will cause him to have a stroke. In his absence George Fearnley will appoint a new manager and give him full control over all team affairs. In deference to Joe Price the new manager will retain some of Price's ideas, although in a modified form. He will keep the new strip and team haircuts, seeing them as a unifying, team-bonding influence. Haslet, brawn, black puddings, savoury ducks, sugar butties etcetera will be kept on the menu, but only as a reward for winning matches, otherwise a more normal diet of pasta, chicken and fish will be eaten. Bromide will still be put in the players' tea but only on the day before the match. These initiatives will have some measure of success and from November onwards the team will begin to stage a recovery and will finish the season in a creditable fourteenth position. In the long term the team will continue to improve and in 2013 will be promoted to the McDonalds Big Mac (ex-Coca-Cola) League One. Everyone at the club will be over the moon.

Martin Sneed will continue to write glowing reports about the Town’s performances on the field and at the end of the season Price, true to his word, will be influential in getting him a job in Fleet Street. The position will be with the Daily Mail, where he will thrive, becoming chief football writer in 2014. The following year, on the retirement of Jeff Powell, he will be considered as a replacement for the famous Mail columnist. Although he will be judged to be neither as gung ho nor enough of a stuffed shirt to fill Powell’s boots completely, his extremely flowery style of writing will pull him through and he will get the job.

In 2011 Dave Rave will leave Frogley Radio to seek fame and fortune in London. After six months on the dole, where he will be considered by his local Job Centre to be virtually unemployable, he will apply for a job as a disc jockey on BBC Radio One. At the interview the Controller of Radio One will find Dave to be inarticulate, brash, and to constantly talk a load of shite, so he will be given a job immediately. He will prosper in his new occupation and two years later will move on to television where he will be a huge success. In 2015 he will achieve his ambition and present the Brit Awards. Sir Ringo Starr and Lord Liam Gallagher will renounce their titles in protest.

Stanley Sutton will continue to support his beloved Frogley Town. In 2018 the club will reach the third round of the FA Cup where they will be drawn at home to Manchester United. When the Town take an early shock lead Stanley will die of a heart attack. He will die a happy man.

***

If you enjoyed reading Football Crazy would you mind doing me a favour? If you are a member of facebook, recommend it to your facebook friends, if you have a Twitter account, tweet your opinion of it, or if you have neither simply tell anyone in your email address book who you think might like it. Failing that your next door neighbour will do.

Thanks for this

Terry Ravenscroft.

****

Also by Terry Ravenscroft and available on Amazon Kindle

ZEPHYR ZODIAC

Dolly was rinsing the tea cups in the sink when Don came in, quite agitated.

“
There’s a young couple sat in our car, Doll!”

“
A young couple?”

“
Teenagers by the look of them. Sitting there as large as life.”

“
In our car? Are you sure, Don?”

“
Come and have a look if you don’t believe me.”

Don took Dolly’s hand and led her to the front door. When they looked, the young couple were still in the car. Dolly took in the scene and turned to Don.

“
What do you think they’re doing there?”

“
I’ve no idea.”

“
They look very young.”

“
Not to mention scruffy. I sincerely hope they don’t soil the leopard skin seats.”

“
Perhaps they’ll go if we just ignore them.”

“
They look pretty settled to me. Oh no! Well if that isn’t the limit.”

“
What’s the matter?”

“
He’s lit up a cigarette.”

“
We can’t allow that Don, smoking in our car.”

“
We most certainly can not, Doll.”

“
That won’t do the leopard skin seats any good at all. I mean sitting in our car is one thing, but....”

They made their way down the drive and stopped at the car. The occupants were oblivious to them. Don tapped on the window, businesslike. The boy would down the window.

“
Excuse me but just what do you think you’re doing in our motor car?” said Don.

“
We’re living in it.”

Zephyr Zodiac will be published early in 2012

****

I’M IN HEAVEN

I pinched myself. I felt it. So it couldn’t be a dream. But if it wasn’t, if I really was in Piccadilly Gardens, how have I got here? I couldn’t have sleepwalked all the way from the hospital, it was over two miles, through city streets. Had leaving patients in corridors due to a bed shortage moved up a level? Had one of the nursing staff dumped me here until I wake up? I wouldn’t put it past them - only yesterday a down-and-out who’d collapsed in the street had been left outside in a wheelchair for want of a bed and only prompt action by a security man had stopped the bin men taking him.

Before I could think of another test of my consciousness - I was still far from convinced, despite pinching myself, that I wasn’t dreaming - a tall man carrying a briefcase and a clipboard approached me. He was aged about thirty-five and dressed in casual but expensive-looking clothes. His long, thin, pleasant -looking face smiled down at me as he indicated the place on the bench beside me.

“
Mind if I join you?”

I was still too wrapped up in wondering just what on earth was going on to answer. He sat down next to me nevertheless.

“
Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I’m The Archangel Phil. Your mentor. I’ll be meeting with you from time to time until you’re nicely settled in.” He opened a packet of cigarettes and offered me one. “I believe you indulge in these things?”

My mouth fell open. Slack-jawed I looked from the man to the cigarette packet and back. He indicated the clipboard. “My information is correct? You do like a smoke?” He took a cigarette from the packet and pushed it into my hand.

My mouth opened and shut silently a couple of times. Words eventually came out. “Can you tell me what’s going on here? I mean why am I in the middle of Piccadilly Gardens?”

“
You aren’t. You’re in heaven.”

“
What?”

“
Heaven.”