In a message dated 2/20/01 5:05:05 AM Eastern Standard Time,
N.Faulkner(a)tesco.net writes:
<<
"Hello, mate."
"Wotcha. Have a good weekend?"
"Er... yeah. Yeah, it was alright."
"Oh yeah. So what have you been up to then?"
"Not a lot. Got together with some mates, y'know."
"Yeah. And?"
"Well, we found ourselves a bit of green, like, and ... er ... well, we
kicked a ball around."
"Pull the other one!"
"No, really, we do it every week."
"You're having me on! Kicking a ball around, I ask you."
"There's rules and stuff."
"Never heard anything so daft in me life. Not on Saturday, I hope."
"Well, yeah, it was actually..."
"It was pissing down all bleeding day."
"Yeah, so? We got a bit muddy, that's all."
"You must be out of your bleeding tree. Sounds right daft. And a bit
dangerous too if you ask me."
"Well, one bloke did break a collar bone, but, y'know, that's just one of
the risks, like."
"Only broke a collar bone? You ought to be locked up."
"Aw, c',mon, mate, it's fun."
"Kicking a ball about in the pouring rain and breaking your collar bone?
You've got a right twisted idea of fun there, my son. You're well short of
normal, you are."
"I scored a goal."
"You scored a what?"
"A goal. Y'know, when you put the ball between these two posts, like."
"So you kick a ball about and try and get it between two posts? I guess
some people are just easily amused."
"There's a bloke there trying to stop you and all. He's called the
goalkeeper."
"Fancy titles and all, eh?"
"We've all got 'em. I'm a right back."
"You're a right something, that's for sure. Why don't you do what everyone
else does and write a PGP novel..." >>
Brilliant, Neil. Absolutely dead on. I've had to bite my tongue all day at my
office, where I'm constantly teased about the few fannish pictures I've got
in my cubical; but when a bunch of grown people drive their cars around and
around and around a track 500 times to a crowd of screaming, beer-soaked
'fans' and one of their number gets himself creamed on the lasts lap, it's a
matter of dignity and monumental portent, to be spoken of in hushed,
respectful tones. I'll wager that if a cast member of one of our favorite
fannish programs died during the filming of a stunt, there would be mockery
over a similar sorrow.
But hey, that's 'different'. Those folks are nutballs and geeks, right?
Leah