Date: 19th October 2020
The latest blog from SFSA writer Donald Stewart:
Mr. Gerrard celebrates a win…
The Scouser is not happy. He has been upset over baseless accusations being made at the members only bowling club at the end of the street and now he is fuming and wants justice…
Picture the scene…
Mr Gerrard is pacing up and down in the foyer of the Bowling Club front entrance. He was due in half an hour ago between, the agenda items, number 6 dog fouling in the winter months and number 8, the unfurling of the championship flag by the Brigade resplendent in green who won it for the 9thyear in a row; Mr. Gerard’s team came in second – nobody mentions it in his earshot.
The door opens and the chair of the meeting sheepishly looks out from the room.
Mr. Gerrard looks over in his direction and knows that he is going to be kept waiting further.
Mr. Doncaster, chair of the Bowling Club, is forming his words very carefully as he blurts out, “I am afraid that things have taken an unexpected turn, Mr. Gerrard. We have some dogs to interview before we get to you. Perhaps you could have a coffee somewhere and I can call you when we are ready?”
Despite the absurdity of what he is hearing, Mr. Gerrard tries his best not to snort and fume but take it all in his stride. The problem is that his stride is getting shorter by the minute, as is his fuse.
Remembering that this is how he ended up in the foyer of the run down and widely neglected headquarters of Mr. Doncaster’s hallowed turf he swallows hard and smiles. “No problem,” he manages through gritted teeth.
He continues, “I shall just wait here.”
At that, the front door opens, and an array of pooches enter. From Mrs. Simpson’s collie to the dachshund from number 16, they trot past Mr. Gerrard and enter the room of doom.
Reflecting on the amount of keech, this group of mini Hitlers are likely to get through, Mr. Gerrard starts to wonder about what he has got himself involved in.
With the dogs out the way Mr. Gerrard sits down to wait.
These sessions, he thinks, can end up being like a Philadelphia courtroom with self-appointed important nonentities spouting rubbish for hours upon end.
Perhaps the keech they are now inspecting is a visual metaphor appropriate to the process…
Two hours later, the doors open as dogs start to leave the building and the stench of the keech emanating from the room of doom hits Mr. Gerrard harder than the free kicks in training used to, but he stays still and waits some more.
Mr. Doncaster makes an appearance.
Once again, he looks rather sheepish.
He begins, “Ah Mr. Gerrard you are still here. Erm, we have had a chat and following your visit to Dundee we are united in our thinking.”
Mr. Gerrard marvels at first but stays silent.
Mr. Doncaster is clearly hoping for a reaction but got none.
He continues, “There was someone who thought you were quite biased and very opinionated about things, particularly over the bowling league competition. Someone from the opposition complained that their bowling shirts and imports from Morelos in Mexico was unfairly criticised by you. We have not found any proof of that. Therefore, the charge made is, ahem, unproven.”
Mr. Doncaster wis clearly again hoping for a reaction but still gets none.
He continues, “I know that you were looking for a view as to what would have happened if the allegation had come from you rather than being directed by you but we have run out of time. The Zoom meeting had to be restarted several times, you see. I am afraid that Mrs. Lennon and that French lady who is our secretary, Ms Edouard were unable to connect for too long. Something, I think about a biscuit tin not stretching though I am not sure to what that refers, of course.”
At that, Mr. Gerrard reacts.
Looking at Mr. Doncaster directly, he says, “I am a little bemused by this whole thing, though hardly surprised at the outcome.”
At that he turns to leave.
Mr. Doncaster is left dumbfounded, though he moves off to try and work out how to fix his zoom calls. As he walks back into the room, he has to carefully make his way over the mess left by the hounds that were defecating all over his plans earlier on. From afar someone confirms that, as a visual metaphor it does indeed work better than you could imagine…
Whilst the author asserts his right to this as an almost original tale, any similarities to persons real or imagined are deliberate. However as there is little or no evidence that Mr. Doncaster has ever played bowls or been in charge of a game of bowls, nor a bowling club, this is clearly fictional and never actual happened, though some of the comments were spoken by a Mr. Gerrard.
During the week past, Stephen Gerrard had a charge against him that he unfairly criticised a referee unproved despite evidence in print and video, I believe. He said he was hardly surprised and bemused by it all – as were others. There is no evidence though that he called it keech.
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