Brigadoon Rovers Chapter VI
Updated Sunday, 14th September 2003
The first game of the season for the Brigadoon boys.
"Now look" said Weisanthal "I know you goyim aren't the brightest but don't you remember it was Hitler who blew up Maisie in the first place? She was pregnant with Docherty's child?" The Boss and his players looked at the Nazi stalker blankly. Weisanthal went on as if he was talking to children: "So he was responsible for that whole ridiculous
episode with Richard bloody Littlejohn". Still No response. "In the name of Jehovah" cried the tiny Hebrew "For that alone he deserves to die. Never mind his activities in Lithuania in the years 1942-1944". Docherty pulled himself together. "Look Simon" He said "You may think bringing to justice the perpetrators of the worst industrialized slaughter in the history of the planet is important. But I've got a football team to run. Kurt Hitler stays in the team!"
"I'm afraid not" An egg headed individual with a clipped moustache had entered the room. "Under Section 24 Sub section 16A Paragraph 15 Sentence 12 of SFA rules, and I quote, " Any club harbouring or fielding any player, regardless of nationality, accused of major war crimes in any match under SFA jurisdiction will a) forfeit said match or b) be fined three points and have all pie revenue returned to Park Gardens" Docherty sighed. "Not that rule again! Get stripped Weisenthal. You're on!" Weisanthal staggered back on his cane: "What? I am an internationally respected purveyor of justice. How dare you force me to play in a meaningless BoS League game!" "Aye. Whatever" The granite faced manger said "Yer in Scotland noo Weaselly. Get yer kecks aff" He paused "Or Kofi Annan is in at right back" The UN general secretary looked up hopefully and started to tighten his boots. Weisenthal gave a brief, disgruntled look and began to remove his trousers. Annan sat down again and loosend his boots again with a resigned look on his face.
It was a dark, dreich, dank day at a windy ShyBoy Excelsior. The pre-match rituals of a Saturday in Scotland were being observed. "Pies, Cris', Mar Bar, Pies, Cris', Mar bar" "Get yer programme. Get yer new speciaaal programme!" "Rampant Rabbit. Get yer new Rampant Rabbit"
Scotland was a different place to the eyes of ex teen prodigy and pseudo intellectual Finegan Swake. Five years on the Left Bank of Paris had changed him utterly. Nothing, however, had dimmed his passion for his club. He was Brigadoon. And he always would be.
"Wheeeeep". The referee blew for the start of the new league campaign.
The match resumed with Raith desperately trying for an equaliser. With ten minutes remaining a ball was played to the left wing. A chase ensued. "Woooo" the crowd yelled. A linesman was down. The tannoy started up. "IS ANYONE IN THE GROUND A QUALIFIED REFEREE? AYE, WE MEAN YOU BILLY" Before anyone else could react young Finegan Swake was on the field. "I can do it sir" He said to Hugh Dallas "I used to referee games between warring tribes in Indonesia when I went backpacking". The top grade whistler said: "Are ye sure, Son? Okay. Yer on the left side" Swake took up his position. McLaren sent a long ball into the Raith area which met the head of Partington-Smythe. It bounced along the line! The Brigadoon players wheeled away in triumph, the Raith lads surrounded the referee. Hugh Dallas approached Swake: "Okay Son. Was it a goal or wasn't it? I know that Pierluigi Colina by the way"
To be continued....
Well? Was it a goal or wasn't it? In a unique experiment, ScottishFitba.Net allows you, the reader, to decide the outcome of a storyline. A thread on the message board will allow YOU to decide. Will the Brigadooners stroll to an easy 2-0 win? Or will an aerial bombardment in the face of a precarious 1-0 lead allow Raith back into the game?
(Unless no-one answers in which case - I DECIDE!)