Holy Football: OK, I Give In

Look, I gave it everyhing. I sat up late at night. I rose early in the mornings. I cut out all other commitments and focussed on it totally. But on Tuesday night I had to admit defeat - I just couldn't complete and self-publish Holy Football in time for the Cup Final kick-off on Saturday. So what have I done since? Well, I felt crap for most of yesterday. Then I figured that I should plough on and complete it anyway, a.s.a.p. It's central themes are...well, here's my draft back cover blurb:

FOOTBALL IS RELIGION

RELIGION IS POLITICS

POLITICS IS FOOTBALL...SORT OF

AND SEX? THAT GETS EVERYWHERE

Impressive, huh? Anyway, these topics won't be going away, and while Blair is still outgoing PM the novel's political topicality will survive for another few weeks. I can't give it my undivided attention any longer, but I still hope to have the job done by mid-June.

In the meantime, here's a scene from the final third of the book (yes, I got that far). The giant-killing anti-heroes of multi-cultural underdogs Fullbladder Athletic have reached the semi-final of the FA Cup. Their opponents will be the plaything of a super-rich Russian oligarch who has moved the club, stadium and all, from its old home in my parallel England's capital Lundenburgh to the Channel Islands for tax-avoidance purposes. Their manager is a charismatic, wryly-humorous egomaniac. Here we meet him for the first time, giving a press conference. A friend of mine says he reminds her of someone else, but I can't see the similarity myself....

“And how are you feeling about the Semi Final draw, Mose?” asked Richie Garyson of the BBC. “I expect you’d have preferred to play your old foes Pooliver, wouldn’t you, eh? At least they aren’t an unknown quantity like Fullbladder, are they Mose, mmm? It would be a bit embarrassing to lose to a little team like Athletic wouldn’t it eh? Mmm? Mmm? Annoying, aren't I, mmm?"

Mose Jeronimo gave a small shrug and looked out from beneath the brim of his rakishly tilted sun hat. He took a sip from the iced cocktail at his elbow and replied, “Makes no difference to me. As you see, my life is good. I am living here, on island of Jersey, in English Channel, enjoying sunshine, in swimming trunks, talking to you. You are here, for press conference, looking at me, in swimming trunks, thinking ‘Phwoaar, special guy.’ Next question?”

Another reporter piped up. “Jenny Leggings, SkyChannelExtraPlusMore. Mose, it’s nearly a year now since your boss, Roman Nosevitch, relocated the club here for tax-avoidance purposes and changed its name to Jersey Blues. It’s all very well building a beautiful new stadium on a tiny lamp of rock in the middle of the sea. But the fact is you get more gulls watching your home games now than people. Are you happy about that?”

Jeronimo shrugged once more. “So what? Seagull make more noise than fans at old ground ever did. You hear sound of them now over sea, over beach, everywhere. They are loving Jersey Blues – or is it Blue Jerseys, I get confused. Seagulls never stop making sound.” And, true enough, the sound of seagulls was in the air, mingling with the sound of the sea. “More question, anyone?” asked Jeronimo, casually.

“Yes, Mose,” said Mick Bottom from The Moon. When will you cave in to the clamour from Moon readers for you to bare your arse for our Page Three?”

Jeronimo yawned. “I tell you this a thousand times. I let you photograph my arse when we get knocked out of FA Cup. That means you never going to photograph my arse. Only I photograph my arse and they are photographs I don’t want to share except with my wife and maybe my dog, Cruyff.”

A red-faced figure in car coat was waving a match programme, frantically. “Oh Mose! Mose!”

“Yes. You have to speak up. Lapping waves, drowning you out.”

“Motty Johnson, Match Programme World. Is it true, Mose, is it true, that you are the one true God?”

“Of course is true,” replied Jeronimo. “In football, this happens. Next?”

Now, what outfit shall I wear for the Booker?

Comments

[Quink]

Ah, you've done brilliantly.

[Jane Henry]

oh bad luck, Dave. Don't be too hard on yourself, I think it was a fantastically tall order. I know how you feel as I was really frustated not to get mine out in time for the marathon last year.

You MUST finish it. It will have legs for some time to come. How about going for a deadline of the handover?

Love the seagulls!!!
Jane

[Dave Hill]

Sometimes a stupidly tight deadline concentrates the mind wonderfully, sometimes it is evidence of major self-delusion and sometimes it's a bit of both. In my case, I think the last of these pretty much covers it.