by Avis Hickman-Gibb
Two nil. Or
even, one nil. Thats really all they needed.
it be a boost for the whole town? the
butcher asked his customers.
think of the revenue wed pull in, in the
next rounds - even the possibility of getting to
the quarters or semis; maybe all the way to The
Final, the baker enthused as he sold his
beautifully browned loaves to the eager populace,
his eyes shining.
make sure; you know give the boys a helping hand,
whispered the candle dipper at the craft market
to those people who bought in bulk against
predicted power cuts this winter.
team really didnt stand a chance. Their
evening meal was made of tainted beef, specially
prepared and kept separate from the generally
available stock. The soup rolls had been spread
with a culture culled from a slide in the cottage
hospital fridge. And the candles shone their
light dimly enough to mask the tricks.
Even so, the
boys nearly didnt make it. It had been two
one against at half time. But over the course of
the final forty five, forty eight with stoppages,
the switch in the score finally made it to three
two. And even with the opposition dropping like
flies, they were lucky to get those extra two.
The town had a
good day; thank you very much. From the club, to
the retailers, to the supporters. But they all
knew that next match, the boysd be playing
away. No room for manoeuvre there then. But a
share of the revenue would be very welcome. Still,
perhaps the quarters were a little ambitious?
But there was
always next year, if they could get the first
match at home. Get a leg up, as it were.