Team Captain Injured

TEAM CAPTAIN INJURED

Run along off to the bar. Mine's a pint of light and bitter. Buy
another one for me. We'll talk about football. This is your night off
and we can talk about the pub team we play for, although I'm not
playing as I'm carrying an injury. Also, we can discuss the team we
support and the standard of the performances this season. Not fit to
wear the shirt, some of those players. No pride, no passion. Taking the
money. I agree, wholeheartedly. A packet of peanuts. Dry roasted or
ready salted? I never know which to choose. Peanuts give you wind, as
does lager and lager causes wind and cancer so we choose to drink light
and bitter. We drank enough lager to last a lifetime in our salad days.
Will you go to the gym? You keep telling me you will, but you're
nervous about the induction. You feel daft about getting out of breath
in front of fit lads and girls and you play the football on a Sunday so
what's the point? Your hair is grey and you dye it black. You sobbed
when your son died. It's never been the same, not since the accident.
You'll tell me about it when you've had a skinful, and we'll go to the
seafood hut outside the pub and buy crustaceans for the walk back.
Passing the snooker hall we'll talk about joining as members but we
never have and never will. Still, we claim we fancy a game of snooker,
especially when the tournaments are on telly. The barmaid is ignoring
you because no one sees you. My pal. My mucker. I'm your best friend
but I'm using your Nescafe, eating your cheese, sleeping in your bed,
reading your newspapers and you haven't a clue, not an inkling that
your wife and I are up to no good. Buy me a pint, that's right. I
should feel guilty, but I don't. I enjoy it. I never thought I was like
this but I am. She feels terrible and has her fits of regret but that
is only after we've done it in your bed. Normally after, very rarely
before. There was a phase when she went and said she regretted what we
did. I convinced her otherwise. "It's only a bit of fun. What he
doesn't know, can't hurt him," I said. I'm afraid she doesn't take much
persuading, your wife. She had her doubts for about a week, after you
both returned from that holiday in Spain, and then I popped round when
you were out at the allotment with your old man and she let me in and
she showed off her tan and you never said she sunbathed topless. This
is what we do and one day we might tell you. She wants to. She thinks
she ought to but what you don't know doesn't harm you, does it? Ought
and will are one and the same. It's doing that counts and I'm doing
your wife and she's not doing anything about stopping me and you don't
know what we're doing. Cheers. I'm a cheeky monkey, that's what I am.
She's alright your wife, but not very bright. Good legs. Good hips, for
her age. Why are we talking about wars, about why our boys are over
there? I couldn't care less, but I tell you I do care like I'm
interested. We talk about politicians when politics is happening here.
Right now, in the pub. You say you like our chats. I do as well. "We're
all politicians," I say. "All untrustworthy, trying to create our
private dictatorships." But you're not very bright; you don't listen to
what I'm telling you. Pub football, next Sunday, is on the conversation
roster. Playing for The Robin Hood. You hope my hamstring recovers as
the team needs its captain fantastic. I agree, only there is nothing
wrong with my hams. When you are the midfield dynamo on Sunday mornings
in the park, I'm a dynamo in bed with your wife. I might be out of
action for the rest of the season. Let's chink glasses. Go on, you
split that pack of dry roasted peanuts for us to share, you devil
you.

A game of chess? I could never refuse.