Greetings Tipsters
The fone kept ringing. 0206 Friday.
“What the flipping heck?”
“The team is yours” said an American accent.
“What?”
“Check your email. The helicopter will be there at five AM.”
Discussed it with Perky Girl, checked my email. There was a string of links to click, a vid from Shad, he’d been a fan of my work for a while, we figured it was a beautifully elaborate hoax but why the hell would anyone bother hoaxing me? We returned to the realm of sleep.
Until the helicopter awoke us. It landed in the reserve, giving Goolwa something to talk about for a while, I was in the front yard in my red silk Viet robe when these two linebacker sized blokes in dark suits showed up and had some trouble with the front gate.
“Don’t worry, it fools everyone.”
“Sir, we have a private jet at Adelaide airport, please pack a bag and be ready to leave in three minutes.”
“My passport expired three years ago.”
“Sir, you own a football team. That doesn’t matter.”
Perky Girl and I did a quick sweep over my wardrobe. The best boots, shirts, pants and jackets, a shirt I’d outgrown but would be a good template, comfy sandshoes and colourful Bermuda shirts.
We walked to the helicopter, had a dramatic snog ‘neath the whirling blades, I gave Wally a good scratch over the ears then choppered to Adelaide where I boarded a snazzy private jet. There was a young woman who spoke with much enthusiasm. We studied the contract. I didn’t say much, unusual for me, but approaching Sydney I piped up.
“You’d be stopping at Sydney for jet fuel, eh? I’d like to pop over to Rockdale Mall for a few things.”
I couldn’t leave the jet but one of the besuited linebackers could so I gave him a list – black Converses, black Blundstones, black jackets, black bootcut jeans, white T-shirts – and when we were over the Tasman Sea I had the staff take measurements and photographs and sent to a tailor so I’d have some good shirts and jackets for my first press conference.
Then I drank bourbon and smoked a quarter of a cigar and fell asleep on the couch. I awoke when we landed at LAX.
“Sir, it is best that you do not leave the aeroplane.”
My passport was the one issued in 1993, with the great picture, and it now had new pages, new stamps and a green sticker.
So far, so good, but in a few hours I’d be deplaning in Duval County. I’d be meeting alpha males, big tough men who’d spent their lives beating the crap out of each other or thinking up more efficient ways to do so. I’d be gladhanding billionaires, facing a tough media scrum, all alone, aside from the W Somerset Maugham short story anthology and the 110,000 songs on the hard drive.
“You’ll be okay” said the young woman, patting my hand.
“You own a football team, sir” said one of the linebacker-in-suits.
“That’s right, sir” said the other.
I liked these guys. Thought of them as Dwayne and Dwight, I could barely tell them apart.
I felt 12 seconds of Florida weather between the jet and the stretch Hummer. Shad was there with his impressive moustache and a glass of champagne.
“Earl, I’ve been a fan of your work for a long time. Your review of Spiritualized in 2005 was wonderful. Oh, how I wish I had been there.”
“It was a good show. That Jason Pier…”
“Earl, I have searched my heart and my soul, I have prayed to my gods, and you have the” – he had a very well-practiced neutral accent and I drifted away for a bit – one of my greater talents – while he told me about some epiphany or other – “and then I knew that you would be the man to take the Jaguars to a Superbowl victory.”
“That’s very nice of you to say so, Shad” I drained the champagne into my glass, it was probably worth $2000, be a shame to see it go to waste. An attitude I knew I would have to discard if I was to succeed in this cut-throat business.
Cheers Tipsters
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About Earl O'Neill
Freelance gardener, I've thousands of books, thousands of records, one fast motorcycle and one gorgeous smart funny sexy woman. Life's pretty darn neat.
Earl, the Jaguars are at rock bottom, so not a bad place to start your franchise career as the only way from there is up. But will you be able to get them to wear black and white?
With the Lions going so well, perhaps you might like to tell us more about this Shiela shiela. (If I’m allowed to use such terminology these days.)
Ian, the Jags away uniform is black and white. They play games in London every season, so I can get a limo to take me to a different museum or gallery every morning, pick me up at closing time.
Four years ago Sheila sacked the HC and GM, hired young obscure blokes, now Detroit is a real Superbowl chance. She has the template.