janiemac

Episode 3: A time that no man should see, 4.50am

The year is 2090, where people have cars for feet, the earth is ruled by the tyrannical race of three foot tall teddybears, where crime is so low that people complain of the safe society epidemic, where the king is a three year old spaniel, the US is ruled by bobby a ten year old boy and there is a daily burning of Jose Mourinhos effigy in all major cities, towns, villages and hovels.

But that is now and this is then and I’m currently in the then and disguised cunningly as a goalpost watching a training session.

It is not going so well.
The players reaction to the training method of a whip administered to the posterior is not going down too swimmingly, apart from star striker Igor Vekovischev who unfortunately for me likes to hit the post a bit too often.
The knights Sir Blue, Sir Rotpar and Sir Onig seem to enjoy being the administers though and the yelps can be heard in the starry evening night sky.

I could tell that things were not going to go well when in the original meeting between players and the new manager, the language barrier brought up limitations to Sacs spit rants and the fact that the demand of Sac measuring each players attributes constituted a strip down and ruler.

So with a match against Lokomotiv Chita in a days time, the boding did not bode well.

That evening though a bit of fortune happened upon Sac’s lap. He pushed off the Russian 50pence girl and welcomed it. It was in the form of the bum from outside the ground, and disguised as the strippers knickers I heard all that was told.

Bum: I find that I am in short supply of alcoholic beverages to slate by hefty thirst and drown my daily sorrows.
Sac: 5od the man and give him a tenner, you can speak English.
Bum: Indeed, I am Sir Thorsberry of Altrincham. I can speak ten languages, play snooker with my feet and eat my way through a whole bucket of Kentucky fried chicken, thrice.
Sac: 5od the woman and give him a high five, your hired.
Bum: It would be extremely gracious if you could pay me in booze.
Sac: I would not have it any other way.

And so with a highly unlikely piece of luck, I mean come on the bum….the language barrier obstacle is broken, but far more harder tests await like...damn...I find myself being ripped from the girl and flung into the corner, where I spend an uncomfortable minute listening to somebody dying of a extreme shortness of breath...


Coming Soon/Later to a TV/Messageboard Near/close to you/me...

A, right get this, A, hold your breath there, A...yes, yes you might have guessed it...A Mat......

janiemac

Episode 4. Subscribe for £99 and you could have watched this live. Only on Sky.

The day, the hour has arrived and Sac is having a fit, he is smashing up the changing room with sweet abandon, which to be fair is really doing it a favour as it looked like, well a room that was routinely smashed up.

The reason for the overblown theatrics is that our man has just learnt that Lipetsk are seventeen games through the season and sit pretty…pretty much at the bottom of the table.

The tactics were simple.
“go out play hard...no Vekovischev not with a hard on, and boot that ball, yes the round shapely thing into the net.” The players roar with intent and barge forth from the room.

Pitch side I disguise myself as the fourth official and watch the game.

It isn’t pretty, in fact the only thing of note is that a streaker runs onto the pitch in the seventh minute. There’s thankfully a lull in the play as the streaker, a rather large man, runs around chasing after his moustache. It lasts for a whole ten minutes before he is shot by the clubs mascot, a man conspicuously wearing a gigantic bucket.

The game resumes while a hearse drives onto the field and picks up the corpse. The referee doesn’t bother stopping play and as per usual the referees mistake leads to a deflected goal via the hearses bonnet. The enemy leads by one.

Sac spittle flys with orders for the players to even things up a little and injury as many of the opposition as possible.
The orders issued the players fall to their tasks like a tonne of feathers to the floor and break the legs of two Chita players within minutes, amazingly or rather not, the ref turns a blind eye, while the linesman juggles his flag and misses the action. The Chita manager complains to me but I send him off to the changing rooms.

Then half time blows and the team trudge back in. They are met by a man dressed in black leather and a gimp mask. He menacingly has a cat-o-nine tails in hand. The players know what to do.

The team are inspired for some reason and come close twice through dangerous free kicks but the large handed keeper bats them away.
The elbows are flying, the spit is raining, Sac is fuming, he turns to me and thumps me in the head. I make a note that the fourth official is probably a bad disguise...it does the trick though, a long punt up the park and on goes Ogorodnik, waddling his fat legs as fast as he can, he beats the equally fat defender for pace, who to be fair would be beaten by a man of 90 with a two broken legs and no sense of direction. And the Ogo has only the keeper to beat now and through a black eye I see the Belarusian score. The crowd, a 7 and a half thousand go marginally wild but keep it down to a respectable noise due to the orphanage next door and it being nap time.

Game on!
Game over!

That was it, the team scored and then proceeded to have their own nap time. In the end we had weather the storm from Chita and after the dramatics, comes the inevitable lull and the game dies down into a dull affair, only the crying of the orphans can be heard in the silent stadium as the ref blows for fulltime.

Metallurg Lipetsk 1 – 1 Lokomotiv Chita

The result doesn’t lift the team off the bottom but the players seem happy enough, apart from the one boy who had a nightmare Mr Nagibin who got a resounding 3 pencilled in by the local newspaper. He gets the gimp treatment.

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Episode 5: The cuisine is so fine that it lines the stomach with botulism

Lunch is the order of the day as Sac and his employers sit down at the smartest restaurant in town. Over the main course of Dogs head and horses buttocks the board outlined their respective thoughts on how things should be achieved.
The visible head of the club, a one Bob Chevokov, a comedian of some renown in these parts and these parts only outlines his proud, self inflated opinions. ‘There should be clowns on the street, balloons in the air and face painting, yes face painting every which way you look.’
Soon the talk turns to football and once again Bob gives the gathered group his opinions, self inflated and all. ‘I demand promotion, this instant, no after I’ve finished the cats rice. Yes indeed.’

Sac who would have no doubt replied with some witty response that would blow you the readers clothes right off your backs, was in fact ogling a prime specimen of the female persuasion. She was tall, dark haired with lips as red as the devils skin and ice blue eyes that spoke of the cold cold north and frozen testies. Her name was Anna and she was the daughter of Lipetsk’s most famous player, whose names escapes me at this present moment.

She wasn’t interested in Sac’s small talk, nor either his large talk, nor his loud, expensive, Harvard paid talk. It wasn’t going well this courting lark when things took a turn for the worse. As it was round about this time that another person associated with the club died in suspicious circumstances.

Russ2 died, his head in his flea soup like and as quick as an extra in Star Trek.
At the time everyone just assumed that the food was the culprit, it being an all too often sight at lunch time in these parts. But I, disguised as a handy piece of broccoli saw that Russ2 had in fact died with a dart in his neck and no doubt toxic chemicals in his blood stream.
Unfortunately because of a stack of rather rude carrots and to not spoil the tale, I had no view of the assailant.

And so with another murder the lunch concluded. Everyone seemed satisfied enough that the time had not been wasted, and many had learned a valuable lesson, no, it was not that eating at the best restaurant in town is vastly overrated and can cause extreme deadness, but that the key to surviving in this story is to have a proper name and even then no one is safe, not even YOU!

janiemac

Episode 6: Another affair of the football match

Another day, another death and another match. A new mediator was sent by the board and appeared before the game, introduced himself as Goran and gave Sac a gift of his wife. Who in turn gave the gift of his new wife to the player who scored this day. This invoked a great big hearty but manly cheer from the players and they went forth with vigour and lust. No doubt the randy players would take it out on the enemy, Kubass. How was up for debate.

Within 25 seconds we had conceded, a long swirly cross into the box, the defenders jumped like seals to try and head the ball but crashed back down like a great blue whale and there was a Kubass player to slot home under the despairing body of our keeper.

When it was nearly 2-0 after five minutes a change of tactics was called for by Sac and from the point where I was disguised as a lemonade bottle I say the change take effect, the tactics all out attack, 5od defending type 2-3-4-5-6-7 thing.

The endless onslaught didn’t happen but a goal did find a place in the last seconds of the half with the last kick, a long hoof down the field by the keeper and our star, sexually confused striker Vekovischev was there to pick it up and shift his bony arse into first gear and pop it into the top corner. The crowd go wild, no longer caring about the orphans.

The half time talk was a furious serenade of threats followed by the former wife of Goran being shown as an example of what would happen if the players didn’t buck up their ideas. They went out renewed with vigour, but no lust, apart from hard nut defender Morochk who found doing it with dead things a highly intoxicating thought.

The desired effect took immediate effect, with 54 minutes gone, Ogo out did himself with a shot that dribbled in over the line when for all intents and purposes it looked to be heading wide. History would forever mark it as an assist by the groundsman for his extremely potholed and mountainous mud pitch.

It got better when Morochk put in a pen, the thought of corpses not addling his brain too much. Now all we had to do was hang on to our two goal lead.

There was no need to hang on though, as the enemy obliged to get a man sent off for a serious offence of posturing and from the resulting free kick Ogo, the Belarusian wizard smashed one in.

When the full time whistle was blown the crowd rejoiced and Sac was happy with his lot. Amazingly some of the players still managed to have a nightmare game, and special note goes out to our friend Nagibin as he rated in the local pencil paper column a mighty 2. The rumour going was that he liked the gimp, so Sac tested him and locked him in a cupboard for twenty four hours.

Metallurg Lipetsk 4 – 1 Metallurg-Kuzbass

The glorious victory moves Lipetsk off the bottom into 21st. There a joyous celebrations, tempered slightly by the riots at the orphanage.

janiemac

Episode 7: Death Time

On the heaving streets of Lipetsk, party goers revel in the carnival atmosphere. I disguised as a small Spaniel, sniff and follow the footsteps of Sac through the milling chaos of persons dressed in garishly ghoulish grim grimy suits of make-believe. A vampire here, a snow man there, a tree over here, a dwarf somewhere between here and there, an Alex Ferguson there, a clown, a piper, a juggler, and oh Death.

Death for it was he, stopped Sac in his stride. ‘Listen to the drums.’ The skeletal figure said and indeed there were some bongos.
‘Listen to the drums, these which are your heartbeats. So many yet so few. Your time passed once, and you escaped, but this time, your time is so very much up.’ He takes a twisted, gargoyle littered hourglass from his robes, the sand inside trickling down. The top half doesn’t contain much while the bottom is bursting with borrowed, stolen sand from the many souls that Sac has sapped from. Below the trickling sands of time Sac’s real name stares out at him. He cleans sand from it.
‘Well as you can rightly see I am shaking in my notably fine shoes, and my polished cane is rattling in my hands.’
‘You are not.’
‘Ah yes, sarcasm flies right over you head.’
‘Sarcasm does not fly.’
‘Quite. Well as much as I find this conversation enlightening, I must confess that my time, if so little is left, is precious and I must leave you.’
‘We will meet again.’
‘Quite.’

I follow as Sac wanders into the crowd, Death disappears under the mire of flailing dancing bodies of ecstatic fans. A young kid, with travel bag slung over one arm appears, he walks up to Sac who is drowning any alcohol in reach and introduces himself as Flo, a Nigerian sent from Moscow to help the team in their time of need. Sac socks him on the head telling him he needs no help, and wanders off into the crowd.

The dog that is I notices the evil eye Flo gives him. The signs are mounting, Death has spoken, the knives are out and on this day of glorious victory, I sense, well I know I have seen it as I’m from the future, that the end is nigh. Soon, oh so very soon.

janiemac

Episode 8: A match before the coming storm

Lipetsk visit Sokol Saratov, a tough test by any means, but as they lay third and Lipetsk bottom, well, a mountain to climb may seem like an understatement. Sac and the team travel in some style, drive by a mule drawn cart with fitted petrol engine that occasionally splutters to life and sends the mules legs in a humorous but highly dangerous running motion as the engine pushes on past 15mph.

With the unfortunate passing of the mule, due to exhaustion the team arrive at Saratov with little time to spare, in fact Sac parks the cart on the pitch and as the ref blows the players jump off.

The balls are flying high, up and down through the air as Sac head down, feeling like he’s in some far flung war, the shots whistling overhead scampers over the pitch and jumps into the dugout. The cart remains on the field of play, just shy of the halfway line. I disguised as the cart watch proceedings from a very close quarter.

While Sac gets comfortable on his wicker bench, he watches as Saratov take all of four minutes to score, a simple passing move which sends our defenders heads all over the place and its in the back of the net. The betting is already how many.

There’s a good price on two, as Saratov double their advantage as the right back forgets the offside trap and instead of holding the line he decides to stand on the goal line. They knock it in and Sac pulls out some hair in frustration, the now bald lady is soon arrested for being unbecoming to the eye.

Things marginally pick up with Sac changing to a more attacking formation and a goal looks to be in the works, that is until a routine freekick by the keeper Gali results in him hitting it straight at a Saratov striker, its hits in the head and loops high, in slow motion, into the net. Sac is straight away sat scribbling in his notebook, making detailed drawings of torture for the keeper.

The blissful sounding call of the referee sounds and the players gather around the cart as Sac stands upon it and delivers a rallying speech of such impact that it nearly awakens the footballers brains thought process, but alas something’s are just too impossible.

The speech nearly works though, and a couple of near chances and a crossbar hit signal pur second half improvement but Saratov are just that much better and they add the last and fourth near closing time.

Sokol Saratov 4 – 0 Lipetsk

The team load back onto the cart, Gali the keeper is hitched up to the reigns and begins pulling while Sac tells the team the most unfortunate of news. That the loss has sent them back to the bottom, that all them played poorly and worse than both those put together, is that the gimp refuses to return, something to do with fatigue, cramp and no pay.

janiemac

Episode 9: The search for an ass man

With the team having more holes than a sieve Sac made a decision that would haunt the rest of his days. He decided to bring in help, intelligent help. A search was started, a search to find an assistant. It was soon stopped when Sac found the man outside the ramshackle office, he was thin, very tall and extremely bald. He introduced himself as Dr. Venga and that he would be taking hold of the position of assistant manager.

With a shake of a hand, the deal was done. The sinister lightening and thunder which went hand in hand with the hand shaking did not seem to bother Sac. It sent the willies up me, as I disguised myself as an umbrella.

That evening while the team trained under the new guidance of Dr. Venga, Sac stood under the spotlights, myself disguised as one, and I gazed down as Anna joined him. ‘I see the boys are playing with their…’
‘Quite.’ Sac said a little surprised at finding Anna here, now, and a little surprised at the weakness of the pun.
As my light gazed down upon the couple I could sense that a great love was blossoming between them only spoiled when a stray football smacked Sac in the head. The guilty party, a Nagibin, held up his hands in apologetic gesture, but I could tell he was really giving Sac the finger.

Under the full moon sky, Sac was content with his lot. His team were turning in performances that were giving him points, he had a date with a real live woman and well he was still alive.
But under that full moon sky, other people were doing less savoury things. Dr. Venga was drawing up intricate plans of death and destruction, the board were sharpening their knives, Nagibin was cleaning his guns, Chairman Chevokov was reciting bad poetry and Flo was taking off his face to reveal the bony features of Death…

janiemac

Episode 10: The Last Hurrah!

The sun is setting, calls for last orders waft on the breeze, Sac sits alone in the dugout. The clock is ticking, Death is sharpening his scythe, I know it is nearing the end, if only I could change history and warn Sac of the impending doom. But no, who’d believe a talking match programme.

The team were not playing at all badly, but there was an air of apathy in the game, instead many supporters sensed something was going to happen, something monumental, something earth shattering large that the face of the world would forever change. Something would happen but ultimately they would all be disappointed.

The enemy this day was Uralan, a middle table team with players of brawn and limited skill. The ball was enjoying it’s extended time in the air as it was hoofed this way and that. Dr. Venga stalks the touchline barking orders and every so often checking his wrist watch. The scoreboard clock ticks to thirty-minutes, short circuits and electrocutes fourteen fans, a small fire starts but no one much notices as Uralan take the lead. A fortuitous goal with a long looping ball into the box being punched by the keeper into the back of the esteemed player Nagibin, an own goal results and Sac wrings his hands and shifts nervously in his seat.

Behind in the directors seat the board look at each other, nodding of heads occur, plans are ready. Is that a glint of a knife there?

Half time arrives and the troops walk back to the dressing room, Dr. Venga in the lead. Sac follows, Flo stops him and remarks. “You should enjoy it, while it lasts.” Sac stares puzzled as Flo enters the dressing room, I think he knows it, knows that his time is fast approaching the last call.

Venga delivers a remarkable speech, intricate and inspiring. The team go out and change the game. Within a minute, the great big brute of a defender Ivanov punches a rival in the nose and is quickly sent his marching orders.

Minutes later though and Death himself pops up and Flo heads in the equaliser. The crowd scream, partly with joy but mostly due to the fact that the electrical fire has now spread and people are running for their lives.

As pandemonium starts, the board take their chance, all five stand up and withdraw gleaming sharp knives from their persons. They lift them and aim at Sac’s back. They launch...

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Sac who has been dead numerous times, knows when death is creeping up behind him and with an effort of extreme action movie likeness he grabs hold of Ivanov and spins him around using him as a human shield. The knives embed themselves in the hapless defender who should really work on his discipline stat.

Sac makes a run for it. Dr. Venga who has been watching the glorious proceedings of fire and flame turns and follows. The players who are running for their lives, follow into the stadium. Nagibin and Flo included.

Sac who finds that his watch has stopped, runs for his life. Chairman Chevokov appears in front. “I would like to recite some poetry...
Sac gives him one in the balls and continues along. I disguised as the watch, watch as Venga and the boys gain ground. He throws himself into a side room and slams the door shut. He listens as the rushing feet pound past and then relaxes. He turns round and finds the board standing knives out...

janiemac

...a bloody and stabbed Sac totters from the stadium, he stumbles his way through the car park.
He shouts to the heavens. “You’ll have to do better than that.” He coughs blood but continues moving.

A car engine starts. It’s headlights flick on, Sac is in their sights. The car screeches forward, fast, faster...Sac’s too hurt to move...
“It was a good un, if I may sa –

...

...

The watch is broken, my time is nearly over here. This is where the story ends, in the blood of Sac as a pair of football boots clip clop over to him. Flo looks down. He removes his face and his bony features grin.
He clip clops away does death.