Monday, July 9, 2007

The Branston Rabids Files x6 - file

The Adventure of the Speckled Bandit

“Did you think I would leave you crying
When there’s room on my horse for two
Climb up here Eckle don’t be crying
I can go just as fast with two
When we grow up we’ll both be soldiers
And our horses will not be toys
And I wonder …”

“Warsaw” rasped Eckle with all the force he could muster “Shut up! It’s your fault I slept in a horse trough all night anyway. Egit.”

Branston Rabids Football Club is without a manager again as …Basho Johnson, the first team coach, is taking training again and he can only speak in haiku or in koan.

Eckle, nee Hercules Profiterole, the Belgian centre-half and part-time private eye, is still not entirely convinced of the integrity of the club chairman and owner Sir Derek Tannic-Stanza.

The next manager for the Rabids after the Mourir debacle had been recalled by the manufacturers due to production flaws.

Then arrived Andre Parboiled, the bathroom window boy, from Branstons fiercest rivals; Middlinghamsborough Frost.

He came amidst a barrage of spitting and wailing from the Frost fans and broad backs from the players. While the boy had done well to bring the tepid Frost into the Premier Division he had also sowed seeds of disharmony in the dressing room and in the dressing rooms.

Though not on the empty training grounds; the players felt safest at home in the day times, within petting distance of their dearest doe-eyed squeezes rather than running about with a deputizing coach.

Sir Derek Tannic-Stanza didn’t listen to waffle and was regularly seen chortling ribaldly with Parboiled whenever the delumptious Mrs Rocket bobbled by.

Chris “Golden Plums” Rocket, Branston’s star player, had only recently got hitched.

The arrival of Miss Geletine Fluff to the WAG scene in Branston suburbia had caused quite a stir and results had suffered. Rocket was roundly appreciated when he decided to make honest men of his teammates by marrying Miss Fluff and thereby taking the tempting Gelly of the table, so to speak.

But to Sir Derek and to Andre all life was a smorgasbord.

Not long after that the newly wed Rocket had come into training with red rimmed puffy eyes, looking generally even more pre-Raphaelite than normal. After he’d collapsed in wailing sobs a few times during triangle drills Eckle took him on one side.

The others were mightily disappointed but Eckle thought it best to find out what the problem was before the difficult away game at Gorky Blu Meanies.

“Boo .. hoo.. blab, there’s someone else Eckle, I just know it.”

“Well we all have to pass sometimes Chris but it shouldn’t get you down like this man.”

“No…sob…Gelly, she’s seeing someone else, wail.”

“Oh,” said Eckle: “Oh dear, er… have you seen a doctor?”

Soaring moans from striker.

“Well, do you know who it is?”

“Bawl, the only thing she would tell me is that he’s got a spotted birth mark on his todger.”

“Er…why did she tell you that Chris? Never mind, I don’t know of anyone with a birth mark there but I haven’t being looking very closely since that awful incident last May…” Eckle tailed off, lost in his own pain for a moment.

“When I get my hands on him I’ll cauterize that bloody birth mark me self I will” said Rocket in a growing rage that looked almost masculine, from a distance.

“Now then, young man,” said Eckle: “You just sit tight for a bit and I’ll see if I can’t get to the bottom of it. Save you doing anything rash, ok?”

“Alright Eckle, thanks buddy, and talking of rashes...”

A tense couple of days go by as our Hercules uses the shower time to his best advantage. It was soul destroying work however, distancing long time friends willy-nilly and nursing swollen purple eyes without even a glimpse of the offending article.

Then he happened by a guffawing Andre Parboiled miming the style of the doggy to Sir Derek.

“… like a steam train. She said 'Thrust me, baby!'"

How they roared.

“Thrust me baby! That’s a good one!” cried the chairman through tears of laughter.

Eckle sidled past quietly, deep in thought, plotting.

He had to find a way to get rid of Parboiled before anyone else found out; otherwise they’d all want a bit of Gelly on their spoons.

In the normal way of things at Branston all they had to do was lose 3 or 4 games on the trot and the manager would be strapped to the ejector seat asap. This time, thought Eckle, it had to be done on the double; he would have to move quickly.

By half-time at Salem’s Bridge the Rabids were 17 goals down and the Belgian centre-half had achieved an individual world record of 11 own goals in a single game.

“What the hell do you think you’re playing at?” spat Sir Tannic-Stanza as Eckle went down the tunnel: “Are you mad boy?”

“Its Parboiled’s plan,” insisted the centre-half: “He says if we lull them into a false sense of security we’ll be able to pounce like a Hippo in the second half.”

“Lull them like a Hippo!” screamed Sir Derek “What the FACK are you talking about?!?!”

He stormed off in search of the manager while Eckle sucked on his lemon sweetly.

At the end of the game the Rabids had kept it down to 18-1 and Andre Parboiled had already been fired, with a brick by all accounts.

Eckle took a well deserved shower and scrubbed off the stink of his afternoons play and just as he was whistling Ra-Ra-Rasputin and picking up the soap; it hit him square between the eyes.

The spotted todger.

Eckle looked up at the smiling face of the sneaky, slight Scottish winger in shock.

Never mind, he sighed, mentalist managers were ten-a-penny but tricky dribblers were much harder to find.


mimi said...

It's a strange world, file, but I think I've just seen Sir Derek Tannic-Stanza on Sky Sports News!

guitougoal said...

no mimi you saw him inside the tour de chance peloton, wearing a tee tanic right before the crash.Well done filou i got another kick in the head.

mimi said...

It's my Tour conspiracy, happening, right here, right now!!

DoctorShoot said...

the 'London Voice' football writer who recently said of the Rabids Files:
"the seamy side of football exposed mecilessly and for no good reason..." needs his head rather than his column read.

like a complex series 4 Simpson's plot, as things unfold we see in this episode that it is possible poor eckle, in eagerness to spot the freckle and be of service to his dear club, was looking into the scottish lunchbox and allowed the spotted dick therein to confuse him?..

and poor basho, toiling away, and always called to the crunch and no jelly on the spoon as it were,..

and,.. why it's priceless, priceless..

mimi said...

And here's a question file. What happens if you open the jar of Branston and find it's Rabid? Eh?
Dark thoughts on a beautiful late sunset night. Should I be afraid of the contents of my fidge?

marcela said...

offside said...

Well, thrust me...

DoctorShoot said...

ah yes great post...
more power to the ministry of peace and the thousand little nells

foul said...

thanks doc, all

offside said...

Is that the Branston Rabids physio? Dr File & Mr Foul?

Zeph said...

Hmmm, what to say? It's kind of, well, rabid, really, isn't it? Nobody else writes quite like you, File....

This is one of my favourite episodes so far!

sigmundoffside said...


will you lie down on the virtual couch in the corner and tell us why you like this one so much?

Chanelle said...

Cos it's rude lol.

Zeph said...

Not that you wanted a serious answer for a moment, but I like the fact that it's a more of a complete story than the others.

DoctorShoot said...

accuracy check re Rabid's posting - most own goals:

world record in one game said to be held by a club from Madagascar, Stade Olympique l’Emryne:

149 times in the same match, or a goal approximatly every 35 seconds, so even if the goals were evenly spread at least one of the players had to get 15 goals... (see
poor Eckle... didn't even win that one...

DoctorShoot said...

btw who could forget:

duncan said...

I must confess I have never read a word of the Branston Rapids Files. Being born near Branston (where the pickle comes from) might have had something to do with it, and then there's the badge....a slur on all right-thinking followers of the the Champions of England ;)

Still, the Files keep coming so I guess it's time to break down, catch up, fall in, freak out...or something.

marcela said...

beware, duncan, it's a slippery slope...

guitougoal said...

strangely, most of the time we are on the same page.This is not in your best interest.

Zeph said...

You've got me worried now, Guitou :)

guitougoal said...

you should just by posting here, but I hope you are wearing dark glasses.

Zeph said...

Naturally I am heavily disguised at all times.

mimi said...

I'm very nervous about the jar of Branston in the fridge. I keep feeling an attack is on the cards.

file said...

er, this is about the loooosest thread I've ever seen, so laid back it's horizontal with dark glasses on, think we'll have to get the great Basho Johnson in to rally the troops

"titter ye typo's,
mecilless fidge adn rapids
thursting Ekko's awl"

so that should clear things up then


well done I am undone, what on earth inspired you to check? Life, verily, is strangler that fiction


er, no offense to Bransonites, MUites or Rabids, just 'avin' a larf


have to say you're a little skittish today, first fear of rabid Branston then worried by the corporations

you can always get the Branston Disposal Unit out to help, just tell them "Danger Unexploded Branston" and they'll come a runnin' with cheese and Mothers Pride

marcela said...

hang on. 'so laid back you're horizontal' is what johnny p used to say about me when i were a lass.

obviously left those easy lounging days behind...

i think in the clip wot i posted, the lady dancing is miss gelatine herself.

only sorry you can't indulge, file. i think you'd enjoy it!

Chris Rocket said...

OI! That's Mrs Rocket to you!! I've had enough of folk asking about me own Gelly roll, she's mine now, all mine, brooohaha, in't that right Gelly?


mimi said...

File: no longer worried about contents of fridge. I have 3 fierce cats in attack mode - dunno why, but maybe worried about the bikini and stuffed lions!

file said...

well, if MotM is really gonna dig out his lion skin lycra bikini loincloth I think you're right to worry, he may pounce!

Tweet it, digg it