Northampton Saints
News: Tongy Weigher and the Unholy Allianz
By PelerinStJames
May 10 2013
Deep in the depths of Frankworts Academy, Tongy Weigher sat holding his head. Once more the scar that encircled his head where the rim of the Fez of Desire had once sat began to throb. He ripped off the bandage that covered it and massaged his temple. This can only mean one thing, he thought, another Gathering was taking place. Severus Smooj wandered in carrying a bottle of an amber liquid and a glass and handed it to Tongy, “two year old mead, found it last weekend, it will help the pain” and handed it to Tongy who gratefully drank the sweet liquid. “Thanks Smooj” he said as the pain began to subside, “I don’t know what I would do without your amazing potions” he replied as the Smooj simply smiled and sat down in the next but one booth to Tongy.
He had always been a very quiet man, and had arrived at the Academy following several tough years on the road through southern Africa, and it was at Frankworts that he found his true vocation, that of brewing magical potions. Of course, as far as the outside world knew, Frankworts had one of the best fitness and conditioning departments in the world, but those on the inside all knew where to go when they were injured and that was not the Hood, but Potion Master Smooj for a restorative brew.
Tongy was right, there was indeed a Gathering taking place down in deepest darkest Barnet. The Saracen hoards had convened once more and what was up until a few moths ago a disused athletics track. Since then, a remarkable transformation had occurred and a brand new stadium had appeared, complete with a magic new playing surface that would never ever wear out. A new Allianz had been formed and Saracens were very much part of this, and not surprisingly, it was said to be something special.
Since the Battle of Milton Keynes, there had been many changes to the Saracen lair; their days of roaming and invasion had somewhat ceased, they now had a home, and this is where the faithful would gather to support their idols. It may have been true that they won the game on the pitch, the force of the Fez repelling the final kick of the game, but the minds and hearts of the Shire had stood firm and Griff Edwards was quoted as saying that MK did not feel like home and had chosen not to play there against the French naval behemoths, Toolong. MK belonged to the Shire, but the Allianz Park, well that was a different matter. It was said that no one as yet had successfully invaded this new home, not the Chiefs, or the Warriors, nor the multi coloured Jesters, a plague of pests had been repelled whilst two tribes of Celts and some Romans had also succumbed to the power that is held amidst the plastic blades of the Allianz Park carpet, it appeared to the Saracens that this place was quite simply impenetrable.
Professor Dallinmore and the rest of the Frankworts staff, however, begged to differ. He knew that this was a battle unlike any of the others, it was not about saving The Shire and restoring the spirit of the Saintly followers, no, this one was about his warriors, his men, many of them wearing the sacred colours for potentially the last time. This was about personal pride and achievement, Could his men overcome the Saracen infidel and march on to glory, and break the hoodoo that seemed to surround Frank warts that cast them in many eyes as the perennial Bridesmaids. For the fourth time in as many years, there was a battle to be fought, and one which the watching world had already decided was a Saracens victory for the taking. After all, they were The Special Ones, but Jumbo knew different, and his team, well, they believed and simply said #Whynotus?.
Jumbo called his troops together; the formidable front line of the Scrimmagen would of course be Tongy himself, Professor Smooj and Rylan Tartley. Would be this the last time these three great warriors packed down together? The Shire hoped not. What Jumbo knew and what he told his troops was this. There was no magic, and no mystique about the Saracens, the aura of specialness was purely self constructed and really had no substance at all. Whilst it was clear that they considered themselves to be a special, there was a hidden truth – for all the boundary pushing rhetoric that was endlessly pumped out, championing to the world at large every single achievement and activity within the club, the plain truth was actually very different.
Granted, the hypnotic effect of the Fez of Desire was truly innovative and meant that several of the team actually paid for the privilege of playing there, but where Maidenhead RFU had lead with their plastic pitch, Saracens duly followed. Several other teams had already played in a different country before Saracens did, whilst supporting players in other careers has been widespread for many years. Even the Saracen Clubs’ boast of an unbeaten record at their new home was not strictly true; Dallinmores Men had actually had had two previous skirmishes there, and proved to be victorious on both occasions. Once with the kids and prior to that the Frankworts Wanderers overcame the Saracens Storm. Each club was more than its first team, and ethos both Clubs held dear. What is more, he mused, just how can any team run by two men, called Nigel and Rupert, ever be anything than but a Proper Club?
No, Jumbo knew that actually, there was no difference between them; both were full of talented warriors and both clubs had worked incredibly hard in the build up to this encounter and both were there purely on merit, and Jumbo impressed all this onto the Saintly ones. At Milton Keynes, it was only a matter of inches that had separated the two sides, it could not have been closer and with so little separating the players, a hard fought battle was very much on the cards.
He also knew his players had developed something very special themselves, something that money couldn’t buy, or be given by a magic Fez, and this was Spirit. Throughout all the men of the Green, Black and Gold, there remained something unique. Outside the Shire, they had been written off months ago, but through these times of toil and despair, Hope had lived on and the warriors had been reborn, and now as their season’s journey reaches its end, the mantra was the same….Nothing without Labour and #whynotus? For each and every one of them, one thing was certain, they were only 2 victories from Glory and for some, this was their last chance.
Tongy, Smooj and Rylan sat together in the corner of the Changing room, they were all aware of the challenges that faced them. There was an over riding sense of brotherhood which characterised their amazingly powerful relationship where over the years, 3 men had gradually become one entity, and that was at the very core of the team spirit and was truly evident. There was at this stage no need for words. Instinctively the men knew what the others were feeling and with out thinking, they crouched, they touched and they engaged in an embrace of human spirit. The hard work, training and practice was done, the Unholy Allianz held no fear for the famous Frankwarts Front Row who only knew one thing, and that was this was most definitely not going to be their last game together. Their journey together would continue…..
#Whynotus?
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