The Curse of #14 - An Offseason Timewaster

[Carbine Chaos]

"How are you feeling, champ?"

"Not bad, Duggo. I mean the swelling has gone down...but that weird rash just won't clear off my saggy..."

"Not you, Paddy, FFS. Lamby!"

McGinnity scowled before jogging away from our hero and down the wing of the empty Domain Stadium. Before he had gone too far, he bumped into young Will Maginness, carefully folding up a piece of paper to place into his pocket. "Whatcha got there, Will? Looks important!"

The skinny lad looked away, instantly wary. McGinnity wasn't known as the Honey Badger for no reason - he burrowed at the bottom of packs for hard ball gets, made excellent videos but on an infrequent basis that infuriated his supporter base, and he hunted in pairs during the mating season. He was sneaky, sly if you will - like a fox, or Dodoro at the trade table. "Oh...this? Nothing, really. Just a subscription to Embers' new cooking magazine."

Patrick knew this was a lie. Not only had Embley's magazine been a complete flop, being beaten out by Jonathan Giles' travel magazine Around Australia in 80 Jumpers and Chris Masten's fashion blog, but McGinnity also had a sort of sixth sense for when people were lying to him. He had felt it when his dad had told him he was going out for a packet of cigarettes all those years ago. He had felt it when Mitch Clark had told him that he'd meet him at Metros Freo for a night out. He felt it most of all when he read disparaging comments about his game on BigFooty. And he felt it now.

As quick as an Ash he grabbed the paper out of Maginness' hands and held it up. "A contract for 2016? Are you serious?"

The young midfielder snatched the piece of paper back from McGinnity and forced it down into his moon boot. "Yeah...what of it?"

"Oh, just you wait..."

Red flashed in front of McGinnity's eyes, though it just turned out to be Shuey's hideous Peri-Peri haircut bobbing past. The tagger spotted Adam Simpson in close discussions with Daniel Pratt on the edge of the boundary and he quickly made his way over to discuss matters with the senior coach.

"Macca?"

"Took an arrow to the knee," Pratt bemoaned. "Out for the year."

"Browny?"

"Joined his girlfriend's netball team - unavailable."

"Tommy B?"

"Hit by an old lady riding her Walker in Adelaide, won't recover in time."

"McGovern?"

"Fat."

"Jesus."

"Nah mate, he plays for Hawthorn now."

"Uh...Simmo?" McGinnity interjected. "Can I have a word?"

The senior coach narrowed his eyes at Patrick. "Give me a minute, Brad. Can't you see I'm working here? How about Duggo, Pratty? Look at him go...graceful, elegant...like a young Digby Morrell. Surely he'd be up to the job back there?"

The red flush on McGinnity's face quickly changed to a dark shade of purple. Ever since the young Victorian had joined the club, every second word out of Simpson's mouth had been Duggan this, Duggan that. To make matters worse, he couldn't even remember his name! How was he ever going to win a contract if Simmo couldn't remember who he was? Shuffling away with annoyance, his attentions turned towards Duggan, kicking the footy around in the pocket with his usual cronies in Tom Lamb and Jackson Nelson. Look at them there, McGinnity thought to himself. Bunch of entitled fools. If only they had to fight for every game, every possession like me, maybe they would...huh?

McGinnity's eyes focused on the large number 14 on Duggan's back. The jumper looked oddly familiar, as though worn by an ex-teammate. The tri-panel design, which had recently been dispensed with, saw the young midfielder stand out from the crowd as well. Paddy needed answers just as much as he needed a right foot. Running up to the young players, he spoke with an accusing tone.

"Where'd you get that jumper, Duggan? It looks familiar."

"It was Koby's," Duggan revealed as his friends looked on suspiciously. "What's it to you?"

McGinnity shrugged, trying to look as casual as Josh Hill running into an open goal on Grand Final day. "No reason...just interested, is all."

The tagger stepped back and pretended to take part in contested drills, just as Masten was doing, while keeping an eye on Duggan. The young midfielder skipped around Lamb with ease and slotted a goal from the boundary. The other boys, noticing, started to clap and watch in amazement as Duggan continued his masterclass. Nelson tried to tackle him - a decent effort, neither good nor bad - but Duggan managed to evade him eventually and torpedoed a goal from outside the 50. A few more spectacular attempts even brought Simpson over to the crowd, and the man started clapping heartily while Shuey cried softly at his proteges class.

McGinnity should have been furious - at Maginness' contract, at Duggan's arrogance, at the crabs slowly working their way around his freezer at home in preparation for that night's dinner. But all he could focus on was the number 14 on Duggan's special jumper. It seemed to sparkle in the bright sunlight. The number seemed to call out to him, softly, as if in Andrew Gaff's gentle tones.

Patrick...you...um, er, arr...want me...Patrick...um, um, um...come to me...

The jumper, McGinnity thought to himself. It's the jumper!

"My precious..."

TO BE CONTINUED...

 

[Spooky17]

Love your work Thorney!

 

[SpaceClef]

It's so vivid. I can almost touch the characters as I read them in my brain head

 

[Carbine Chaos]

The Bearded Clam had changed a lot since the dark days of Will Schofield’s death. Much like Kim Duthie, it had been passed from hand to hand – Chris Masten, Josh Kennedy, Sharrod Wellingham’s girlfriend – all of the best known beards around Perth had taken a shot, in fact. But under new ownership, the joint was officially struggling. Lewis Jetta had only been in Perth for a short while, but the business seemed to be sinking around him. While the pub had been listed as the 17th best pub in Perth not long ago, a lot of the patrons felt that the pub was hardly worthy of such a high ranking. Jetta knew that a lot of work had to be done to justify the high prices they charged, too.

Our three heroes walked in and took a seat at the bar, and Jetta was in front of them in an instant. Like a Chris Guccione thunderbolt, he prided himself on his speedy service. “Hey lads, what’ll it be? The usual?”

“More like the unusual,” Lamb retorted. “After the session we just had.”

“The usual,” Duggan quipped, ignoring Lamb’s ribbing.

In an instant, their drinks sat in front of them as Jetta beamed proudly. After missing the glass with his first 19 attempts, he had since become a dead eye Brad at pouring frothies. “White Russian for Lamby. Bookers Bourbon Whiskey on the rocks for Duggo. There you go, boys. And for you, Jacko? A Vanilla Coke.”

The lads took their drinks with a muttered thanks and leaned back, finally able to relax after an intense day. Nelson, sipping his Vanilla Coke in an acceptable manner, looked at Duggan with admiration. “I can’t stand drinking that stuff straight, man. Too far above a regular, standard drink for my tastes. Why do you always have them?”

Duggan put on a fake grin and looked at the bar, taking a sip of his drink as to avoid awkward conversation. His family was not a topic that he usually talked about with his friends. He and his mother had barely talked since he had been drafted to the West Coast Eagles – a bunch of drug-addled fools and charlatans – were the exact expressions that Liam could remember her spouting. Certainly not a club that you’d want your children to be sent to, as his father-in-law had said coming home from a match here a few years back. As for his biological father? Duggan had never met him. Rumours had been abuzz back at school – a lot believed that Duggan had been sent to Earth by a Matt Rosa kick to save him from the implosion of his home planet, on which his father had surely perished afterwards. While he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe this story, the one thing he could believe was the one thing his mother remembered about the man – his penchant for Bookers Bourbon Whiskey. It seemed only right to honour his memory in the only way possible.

“Just like the taste, is all.”

Nelson frowned. Much like Dylan Main’s autobiography, he wasn’t buying it. “Your face screws up every time you take a sip. It’s like you’re Matt Pavlich taking a clutch set shot for goal. C’mon, tell us!”

Much to Duggan’s relief, Lamb flocked to his rescue. “Ah, leave him alone, Jacko. I’m more interested in training today. How the hell did you hit every one of those shots?”

Duggan instinctively reached under his shirt and felt the soft fabric of Koby’s jumper. Why he had left it on after training he’d never know, but he couldn’t help but feel more…powerful, skilful, confident…when he had it on. Not that he was going to let his friends know about it. “It’s called talent, boys. Speaking of which…”

The six eyes all swivelled to the entrance of the pub, where three attractive young ladies had just sauntered in. It was basically the start of a joke – a blonde, a brunette and a red-head all walked into a bar. They were all tall and slender, perfect athletic specimens, and had a sultry air that seemed to waft around them as they walked to the back of the bar, taking a seat as Jetta quickly served them a Luke each. Underneath Duggan’s jumper, the number 14 started to glow. None of the boys noticed.

Lamb’s eyes nearly popped out of his skull. “Wow. Shotgun the blonde.”

Nelson, the shyest of the group, shook his head and returned to Vanilla Coke. “Out of my league, boys. I’m a solid 5 at best.”

“You can’t call shotgun on a girl,” Duggan replied. “It’s 2015. And besides, this isn’t the St. Kilda football club.”

Lamb, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, laughed off his friend. “Sook. Watch me nail these fine racks.”

The boy hopped up, running his hand through his dreadlocks seductively, before making his way towards the girls. They looked up curiously at the strange boy, but continued to drink and discuss the politics of Uganda. He coughed loudly, and the blonde looked up in annoyance.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m Thomas. Thomas Lamb. You’ve probably heard of me…”

The blonde shook her head, unimpressed. “Nope. Sorry.”

“I can slot anything from 50…” the boy winked, “…50 millimetres.”

The brunette stood up, disgusted. “Ugh! That’s disgusting! Guys like you disgust me! You probably do nothing but sit at home all day, posting negative comments on online forums, and writing sad FanFiction when you should be out there living life! Wait…who is that…”

Lamb looked on in horror as all three girls suddenly stared straight past him…at Duggan. They rose and walked zombie-like as one, mouths hanging open as wide as the expanses of the un-webbable MCG. The 14 began to throb, and Duggan put a hand to his chest, but ignored the growing pain as the stunning trio pushed Nelson out of the way in true Dustin Martin fashion and surrounded our young hero.

“Uh…hi?”

“The seed is strong.”
“The seed is strong.”
“The seed is strong.”

“Sorry?”

The blonde grabbed Duggan by the collar and, with the help of the brunette and red-head, led Duggan straight out of the bar. Lamb and Nelson watched in stunned awe as their young friend managed one final smile before the door slammed, shutting them out of view. Nelson, sensing Lamb’s annoyance, turned and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Oh, well. Looks like he wins this one. We’ll get ‘em next time, yeah?”

Nelson looked at his watch and moaned.

“Aw, man. We’ve got to go too!”

“Why’s that, mate?”

“The trash goes out tonight and you all know it.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

 

[SpaceClef]

What are the Lukes that Jetta serves the girls?? Shueys? Do we have any other Lukes except Luke Priddis?? I need answers!

Thought they could have done with a few Oliver Wines myself.

 

[SpaceClef]

Also did you write that already presuming that Jetta would cost us pick 17?

 

[Carbine Chaos]

What are the Lukes that Jetta serves the girls?? Shueys? Do we have any other Lukes except Luke Priddis?? I need answers!

Thought they could have done with a few Oliver Wines myself.

Beveridges.

And the pick 17 was a sloppy oversight haha.

 

[SpaceClef]

Beveridges.

And the pick 17 was a sloppy oversight haha.

I look forward to reading about Lewis pouring more Darren Glasses

 

[Carbine Chaos]

The front garden of Duggan's house was easy enough for McGinnity to navigate around; the midfielder was used to working in tight spaces, whether it be in the centre square for East Perth reserves, or in a Tidy Snatch, a bar owned by a female friend of his which had lovely frilly curtains but smelled oddly of fish, perhaps due to the fish-processing plant next door, which doubled as a brothel on the weekend, which of course was a refuge for homeless children, opened by Meryn Brothelia in 1904.

Approaching the window, McGinnity could hear the scene unfolding before he could see it. Moans of pleasure floated out of the open window into the night. Leaning in for a closer peek, the Honey Badger could barely take his eyes off what was unfolding. In spite of the hideous tri-panel jumper covering Duggan's torso, the two girls were madly clawing at the boy. The girls had weird, glazed over looks in their eyes, as though they had spent the day sightseeing with Jake Carlisle.

There was no way that he could get the jumper while Duggan was wearing it in the middle of that. To waste time, the boy reached into his pocket and pulled his phone, opening up YouTube to a selection of Fremantle highlights. There was no quicker way to pass the time than watch the exhilarating style of Ross Lyon, fresh out of prison, style of play that they were...

Oh. The sounds had long since died down, and McGinnity glanced down at his watch. 7.14. Perfect. Everybody would be tucked up in bed, no possible witnesses to the crime of the century. The front door suddenly swung open and the Badger burrowed further into the ground, ducking out of sight. The two women, beautiful in their own right, stumbled out with shame written on their faces and Masten-like impressions made on their necks.

Too young. His friends in the Kingsguard would never have approved of his yearnings, but they needn't ever know.

They murmured their thanks to the young man before grabbing their high heels and limping down the pathway and out into the fresh Perth night. The Badger returned to the window to spot Duggan, looking as satisfied as Vozzo at the trade table, slowly stripping off his special jumper and placing it carefully on the bedside table. The boy, abs glistening in the pale moonlight, made his way from the room. McGinnity didn't need a second invitation. He jumped through the window with Lycett-like agility and landed next to the foot of the bed. Eyes darting back and forth, he reached out his hand and touched the sacred fabric.

"Oh...oh my."

A little bit of ejaculate spread over his pants as he cooed at the soft touch. The 14 seemed to sparkle in his hand, and he heard the faint whispering that he had imagined only earlier that day. Take me, Patrick. Use me...wear me...let me be the sweet honey to your ferocious badger. The Skinny Pete, even. Put me on...and you shall become more powerful than you ever could imagine.

Slowly pulling the jumper over his head, the boy started at himself in Duggan's My Little Pony play-mirror hanging on the side wall.

The jumper was his. His grin was so wide and his eyes were that focused that he didn't even notice the slight rustle in the bushes outside the window.

Ignore me now, Simmo. That contract is mine.

TO BE CONTINUED...

 

[BITW]

The whole thing is great, but this is simply the best

"Uh...Simmo?" McGinnity interjected. "Can I have a word?"

The senior coach narrowed his eyes at Patrick. "Give me a minute, Brad."

 

[SpaceClef]

s**t got weird

 

[donpyke92]

Trying to be patient, but hanging for the next instalment. Bit concerned about our hero, Dugg. Will it be a special Xmas edition?

 

[Carbine Chaos]

Trying to be patient, but hanging for the next instalment. Bit concerned about our hero, Dugg. Will it be a special Xmas edition?

Apologies, last few weeks of work have been busy and may be for a couple more. Can expect more over the summer months.

 

[donpyke92]

Apologies, last few weeks of work have been busy and may be for a couple more. Can expect more over the summer months.

Love your work Thorne89. If you're not writing for tv, movies, books, magazines I think you're wasting your talent. Keep it up mate, thoroughly enjoyable for this punter. Look forward to next instalment.

 

[Carbine Chaos]

Love your work Thorne89. If you're not writing for tv, movies, books, magazines I think you're wasting your talent. Keep it up mate, thoroughly enjoyable for this punter. Look forward to next instalment.

Very nice of you to say, cheers mate. Stay tuned.

 

[donpyke92]

bump..too busy working on Game of Thrones scripts Thorne89, or has there been too much Chaos happening?

 

[DanWCE]

#whoisthorne89

 

[Carbine Chaos]

bump..too busy working on Game of Thrones scripts Thorne89, or has there been too much Chaos happening?

Way too much Chaos.

 

[DanWCE]

Stay tuned.

 

[SpaceClef]

Tremendous bump

 

[SpaceClef]

I'm still waiting to find out what happens to the churros place