My e-mail inbox is frequently the recipient of ‘advice’ from readers as to precisely what I should be writing about. Mostly this concerns matters political, but I also get more interesting suggestions. For instance, lately the three topics that seem to predominate are... football corruption, racism and animal cruelty...
Back of the net
I see that green-eyed monster, local football corruption, is rearing its ugly head again. Yes, of course, it’s disgraceful, and any perpetrators should feel the full weight of the law. But don’t say that to my friend Steve, he’s done nicely out of match fixing.
It all kicked off for Steve when he was the goalkeeper of Bengħisa Seagulls, back in the 1980s. He made a decent, if not spectacular, living by cooperating with the bookies... now and again.
But everything went pear-shaped for Steve after the relegation deciding match against Rinella Rifles, which Bengħisa were supposed to lose nine-nil. All went well as eight goals flew past Steve, but the ninth just wouldn’t go in. So – ever resourceful – Steve was obliged to leave his goal, dispossess a Rinella player, dribble past four of his own defenders and slot the ball home into his own goal.
It was this gesture that led to Steve altering his ambition to play in goal for Real Madrid, to becoming a bookie here in Malta. Oh sure, his career choice may in some way have been influenced by the fact that his own goal against Rinella brought him a lifetime ban from playing the game, but you’ve got to admire the lad’s resourcefulness.
And here he is today, comfortably ensconced in his custom-built villa on the outskirts of Bengħisa, with a fleet of Porsches in his garage, a swimming pool and Olympic-size entrance gates... (or should that be the other way round?) plus a blonde Labrador and an even blonder trophy wife called Sharon.
So please don’t tell Steve when you start your mega clean-up of the game. He’s got enough problems on his hands.
Colour me guilty
“Right then constable, how could you be sure the man you had just arrested was planning to perpetrate a felony?”
“Perpy- what?”
“Commit a crime?”
“Easy sarge... he was black.”
“And?”
“And what, sarge?”
“He must have been doing something illegal. Being black doesn’t make him a criminal.”
“No?”
“No.”
It was this gesture that led to Steve altering his ambition to play in goal for Real Madrid, to becoming a bookie here in Malta
“Oh... well then he, er... he looked shifty.”
“Shifty eh; in what way... shifty?”
“Well, you know, sarge... I’m sure he was about to, um... commit a serious crime.”
“Oh really, what sort of serious crime? Was he, er... about to break into a premises or poised to commit an assault on someone, or preparing to steal a car, or – ”
“No, none of those sarge... he... he was about to ask my sister out on a date.”
“The filthy beast. In which case you did absolutely the right thing constable. Slap him into the slammer and we’ll throw the book at him. How dare he!”
It’s a cruel old world
By far the saddest story of the three concerns my uncle David and his pet, George.
Before you read on I should warn you that this is a tale of quite appalling cruelty.
You see, George is – or rather was – Uncle David’s pet slug. And I defy anyone to find a gentler, sweeter natured mollusc than George.
Well, Uncle David, having retired some time back, decided to spend more time with his pet and, in the course of time, to train him to perform tricks.
This resulted in my uncle eventually possessing the only trained slug in captivity.
Uncle Dave managed to get George to not only perform back-flips, he also trained him to lie on his back to get his tummy tickled and to perform the extraordinarily difficult trick of executing a complete double back-somersault.
Until... last Sunday morning: My uncle was allowing George to entertain some locals at his band club, when George – in the act of performing his double back-flip – slipped off the bar and onto the floor, where some clumsy patron chanced to tread on and squash George flat.
Uncle Dave was distraught.
Isn’t that the saddest tale you’ve heard today?