Northampton Saints
News: Tongy Weigher and the Fez of Desire (part one)
By Pèlerin St. James
December 27 2012
Authors note: Before you read this preview, I would like to point out it will no doubt be biased in the favour of the Saints, given that a) this is a Saints fans forum and b) I am a Saints fan. I readily accept that one mans’ guardian angel is his opponents devil, so should the bias be too great at any point for any visiting Sarries fans, then please feel free to click on the link at the bottom of this introduction, crank up the volume and sing along to what one assumes to be your song of choice. But then, this preview has very little to do with this weekends’ match, and any reference or likeness to any rugby players, whether living or dead is purely, ahem, coincidental.
So, Merry Christmas one and all, and remember, the star of many a pantomime is actually the Villain. PSJ. (Link for faint hearted Sarries supporters)
Tongy Weigher and the Fez of Desire
(part one)
The sun descended behind the Churches at Frankworts Academy of Mugby, and cast a long shadow across Piggies patch. Professor Jumbo Dallinmore surveyed the scene and rubbed his furrowed brow. Where has it all gone wrong, he mused, after all we are a proper club, with a proper ground, and proper fans. Only last week, a bunch of clowns had come to town and gone away with the spoils, but this week, there was a greater threat, the dark clouds were gathering, the mood was changing, as the Saracen infidel were on the march again and threatening to take The Shire . Jumbo knew his history, for centuries the Army of St James had been fighting the good fight, protecting the just and the good and the proper, from the dark mysterious threat from the Southern lands. Richard the Lionheart had fought the Crusades on this very premise, and thousands had lost their lives fighting the good cause, fighting against the dark and soulless nomads that were the Saracens. The last great victory of that epoch had come in France, at the Battle of Gommarche, close to the famed Chateau at Chinon in the Loire Valley. There, where the hatred fell all around, the final French resistants’ called for help from their allies in the North and in the South. The English and Spanish arrived in force, warriors emerged from the shadows and finally their enemy was defeated. Such was the magnitude of this victory that the French poet Guillame Connerie immortalised it in the Battle hymn of St. Jacques de Compostelle. And now several hundred years later, Professor Jumbo Dallinmore paused on the grass as the words that now formed the Frankworts anthem came rushing into his mind. The hymn formed the basis of the entire academy and never failed to bring the players, staff and fans together as one and Jumbo sang them out loud in his time of need…. “Ou haine descente, ou haine descente, ou haine descente Gommarche, Chinon. Oyez, Juan, Toby, hommes des guerres n’ombres, ou haine descente Gommarche, Chinon.” Jumbo knew that the Saracen threat was back, and back with vengeance.
He sighed deeply, Bedford, once the strongest of Frankworts’ allies, had already fallen as the Saracens marched north and the Men in Black now filled their ranks. Gone were the days where the young Saints learnt their trade alongside the veterans at Goldington Road, no these days, Frankworts found itself right on the front line as the Saracens conquest continued northwards, potentially into the Shire. These were truly dark days for the world of Mugby, and no one knew this more than Jumbo himself. He recalled his days at the Ministry of Mugby; he had been a high flyer, destined for great things along with his right hand man and keeper of the Scrimmagen, Westrid. He had seen at first hand the infiltration of the enemy into the very heart of the Ministry; at first it was all very secret and done by stealth. Of course, he had heard all the legends concerning the mythical Fez of Desire as a child, but never dared dream that it existed, let alone that it had been brought to the UK from South Africa where allegedly it had been kept hidden for centuries by He Who Must Not Be Named. Neither did he realise how strong its powers were until he saw it first-hand. Indeed, he himself had been minutes away himself from being forced to wear the Fez, and thus fall under its deadly and evil spell, which was to forsake any artistry and joy in order to win at all costs. Dull and efficient were the two words most linked to the wearers of the Fez, as their desire to win at all costs is maximised to the full. Fortunately, Jumbo had been warned that his time was nigh, and the then Minister of Mugby was due to place the Fez on Jumbos head at their next weekly briefing. Determined as ever to fight the good fight, Jumbo and Westrid managed to escape; they booked some washed up 80’s pop star doppelgangers to come to HQ and at the last minute, they switched places and escaped. He chuckled to himself, Frankworts got its new Director, and the Saracens, well, they got Right Said Fred.
The Ministry itself had turned to the noble warrior John Martinson to lead them out of the blackness, yet even this once fearsome wizard had succumbed to the power of the Fez, and his England side was one of the dullest in living memory, led as it was by the Saracen Chieftain, Worthbick. Of course, they had improved dramatically with the introduction of several Men of St James, but Martinson was never the same again, and these days, he had completely disappeared from public view.
No, thought Jumbo, I was lucky, I never wore the Fez, I escaped, and now I must fight the good fight. Only one man has worn the Fez and escaped its mysterious spell; one man who only a few years previously had seemed destined to join the dark side, one man, wooed by Dr Ventnomore and his Southern African Medicine men, had worn the infamous red tasselled hat yet not succumbed to its power, and that man? Well that man was always the first name on Jumbos team sheet, and his name was Tongy Weigher. Tongy had come from Tonga, arriving first in Bedford and then moving up the A428 to the Shire where he developed into one of the finest Scrimmagers the world had ever seen. Not long after, the Saracens had come calling, and although touched by the mystical powers of the Fez, Tongy and only Tongy had managed to resist the special call and nobody, but nobody knew why.
“Professor, Professor”, Professor McDickensal was running across the grass. “We’ve cracked it Professor, you were right. The Mayans miscounted, they got it wrong”. He was one of Jumbos assistants, and been charged with doing the analysis for the forthcoming game. “It IS the end of the world, Professor, they just miscounted the days, only slightly, but never the less, it is Armageddon, and we’ve recalculated the date…… “
Professor Dallinmore gave the merest hint of an eyebrow raise, and McDickensal knew he could continue. “Basically, their astrologers were good, but the one thing they never foresaw was how time always stands still for several minutes during a mugby match. If you add up all this extra time where the clocks around the grounds all stand still, then it equals just over 9 days, which makes the final Battle at the end of the world due to begin on December 30th, at approximately 2.15pm. What is more, according to the Mayan historians ‘The Proper will do battle with Redhatted ones where the cattle turn to stone. ‘ Professor, this is it, this is the final encounter…..we have to win or the world as we know it, Milton Keynes, and the Shire will forever belong to the Men in Black.”
And so, Jumbo convened his most trusted staff and set about choosing his team for the forthcoming Battle at Stadium:MK. It was a soulless place at the best of times, but had in its short history been held by both Saracens and the Men of St. James. This time, the Sarries held home advantage although due to its proximity to the Shire, it was hoped that many Saints men would make the short journey to support their heroes. Surprisingly the Saracens spin machine had been remarkably quiet for this one. Famed for its frequent self-promoting pronouncements detailing every new innovation and move by the Saracens, Supreme Commander Grif Edwards of the Combined Saracen Forces had even invented his own language, commonly known as “We’are” as every single release was essentially stated we are something special, we are Saracens etc etc. Fortunately for the Saints, they had their very own We’are mouth amongst their own ranks, who had been able to gain control of the media battle and the publicity of this event. No, the game may be being played in Saracen territory, but it should very much have the Saintsmens’ stamp all over it, the oracle and fount of all Saintly knowledge had said so, so it must be true, for none other than the Good Lord himself, Sir Geoffroi d’Alene, was going to be in charge of the PA on the day.
They knew that the Saracen pack of We’are Wolves would provide a huge threat to the legendary Scrimmagen of St James in establishing territory and the pattern of the battle. Westrid had been the keeper of this mighty 8 headed beast for a number of years now, and although some of its powers had waned slightly in recent weeks, it remained a force to be reckoned with. Successfully amalgamating 8 individuals into one cohesive and monstrous animal was no easy task, but one at which Westrid excelled. Naturally, Tongy would take his place in the front row, alongside his good mate the Frankworts Professor of Potions, Severus Smooj. Together they provided the platform from which the power of the Scrimmagen could move forward. Although Jumbo knew that two of his finest warriors would soon be leaving, he also knew that this was utterly necessary for the Saracens were also starting to make inroads to the South into Europe, and who better to send to Paris to fight the good fight than the man who had escaped the Fez of Desire, and the greatest potion brewer Jumbo knew. No, Tongy and the Smooj would not let him down on Sunday. Between them, he would play the heart and soul of the Scrimmagen, the Ultimate Warrior of St James and team talisman, Rylan Tartley. Fresh from a recent break, he would add the necessary steel and aggression needed to take on the Wolf pack and win. Also forming part of the Scrimmagen would be the Eagle, Zorro, JG Canhewaltz, Sir Philip of Dowse, and Tim Wood. That eight, thought Westrid, should provide the necessary grunt and control to beat Worthbick and his wolf pack.
Behind them, control would be needed to blunt the boredom of the Saracens backline. A few years ago, Jumbo had forced the Saracens into playing a fast moving exciting game, but recently it was the discipline and patience in defence that had Saracens lead to a series of victories against the Saintsmen. Granted, the supreme Magic of King Carlos had once lead Frankworts to an outstanding victory for the Saintsmen, but Jumbo was sure that playing a territorial game, and maintaining control of the ball would be the key to beating this Saracens outfit. He would sacrifice the Lamb on this occasion and play The Smiler alongside Dicky Lee at 10 and 9. He also knew a place must be found for the Professor of Positive Thinking, Tim Is. Timmy was a popular character around the Academy, his tanned skin and grey hair belied his dwarfen age of 102, and he was well known for his wisdom and powerfully positive tweets that he sent out to his many followers that he had met on his travels. He fervently believed in positivity, so much so that he had recently changed his name to Tim Is, as he felt that his former surname, May, forever intimated doubt in his actions. Of course, for flair and artistry, Jumbo needed to look no further than the Peasley brothers, Ken and George alongside the young flyer Elliot. Finally, he would play his protégé and perhaps the player he was most proud of coaching, Ken Dolphin at Full back. Kenny had come from Jumbos old stomping ground up north and been paired up both for the Saints and England with a fellow northerner, Fish Cashton. Their swashbuckling pacey counterattacking double act had resulted in many many tries for Fish, often characterised by his salmon like dive over the try line. Sadly, Fish had succumbed to the Fez of Desire under Martinsons’ England regime, and had left the Shire for the nomadic existence of the Saracens. Dolphin was mentally made of stronger stuff, and whilst he missed his mate, he remained faithful to the cause of St James, and was currently re-establishing himself back in the frontline of action following an injury. This week would mark the first occasion that the Fish and the Dolphin would come up against each other on the battle field. If anything was going to raise Dolphins game, well then this would be it. Jumbo knew he could do no more; he had prepared his men as best as he could, now, it would be down to them to fight the good fight. The Saracens would give no quarter, they had their own sorcerers both on the pitch and hidden amongst the crowd, Magi would be waggling their outstretched hands willing every one of their kicks over the cross bar.
And so, the great and the good of the Mugby world came to MK, mostly unaware of the wider significance of the game. Jumbo had not released his findings on that the end of the world was being fought out at MK, not just in front of the spectators, but also live on television across the country. Of course, it was not the actual end of the world, but a win here for the Men in Black would almost certainly usher in dark period for the Shire as the dull and efficient Saracens marched northwards to do battle with the behemoths that were the Tigers, and Frankworts would be left in the shadows, full of doom, gloom and sadness. To the West, and the South, Harlequins and Racing Snakes had checked the Dark Doctors advances and were showing the world that Flair and artistry were winning the day. For Frankworts, it was truly a must win game.
Up in the commentary box, Utterly Headless Barney was holding court to the millions tuned into their TV’s. Barney had been a pretty good player in his time, and back in the day where substitutions were not permitted, he had been decapitated by a high tackle and simply carried on playing as if nothing had happened. He subsequently learnt to talk through his backside, and as no one noticed any difference, he had become one of the TV companies’ favourite pundits. According to Barney, “Despite the dull efficiency, you just had to admire the Saracens Defence, their team spirit, and their unquestionable desire to win. The Men of St James, well, the Scrimmagen was no longer the force it used to be, and without that, well, there was only going to be one result…Bad news for the Shire.” Over in the Shire FM radio box, things were not going well either. Mystic Dig, the match summariser, was having another one of his turns, where unintelligible nonsense poured forth from his mouth. “Jumbos’ pupil will leap for glory, and the camels’ back will break.” “Err, thanks for that Digger” replied his co commentator, “we will be right back for kick off after this break.”
To be continued……
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"Your days are numbered. Use them to throw open the windows of your soul to the sun. If you do not, the sun will soon set, and you with it."
-- Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor 161-180 A.D.
"Your days are numbered. Use them to throw open the windows of your soul to the sun. If you do not, the sun will soon set, and you with it."
-- Marcus Aurelius, Roman Emperor 161-180 A.D.
Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 2012:12:27:13:25:46 by Paul Flatt.
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Please sponsor me for Saints with Heart [www.justgiving.com]
:-) a 0-3 win would do me.
Winter is coming
Quote:Mike or Bernie?OldPete
Very good - loved the mix of HP and LOTR while being Game of thrones fan meself so all I will add for the saracen hordes as they come north is the motto of the house of Stark
Winter is coming
However, there is one literary criticism:
Quote:no doubt be biased in the favour of the Saints
Pah, call that biased? it was a good review, must do better!
Nice one!
No alcohol for January. I'm a dryathlete in aid of cancer research.
Dryathlon
THE RED WEDDING !! ( for the uninitiated its a massacre not a party )
No alcohol for January. I'm a dryathlete in aid of cancer research.
Dryathlon
"Dark and soulless nomads"...you'd better believe it!
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