Rabid O’manleybich and the Spindly Youth

Rabid O’manleybich only hated two things in life, the first was losing, which made him turn purple, and the second was the word ‘no’ which made him go green. Fortunately for Rabid as the chairman of Chumpski United, the most powerful and successful team in all the land, he had little cause to turn either purple or green, but to remain his normal pasty white.
The things Rabid loved most in life were money and trophies, and he had many rooms full of both. Oh how he loved his money and trophies, which leads me onto his other love, that of buying footballers. You see the three things were intrinsically linked for Rabid, first he’d make the money; to buy the players; to win the trophies; to make more money; to win more trophies; to buy more players, and so on and so on. This made Rabid so happy he’d stamp his little feet with joy.
Rabid’s love of buying players was legendary, on one occasion Chumpski Utd had over seven hundred and fifty-two players on their books, although these days it was nearer four hundred and sixty-three as many had died from disease, malnutrition and execution. Rabid kept his players in a massive underground bunker located just beneath the pitch, just bringing them out as and when they were needed. On one famous occasion Rabid tried to sneak fifty players onto the pitch while the referee wasn’t looking, although now the Football Alliance had got wise to this, and made the players wear numbers from one to eleven, to cut out this particular form of cheating. Due to the high levels of death and fatigue amongst the squad, Rabid was an advocate of mass substitutions, which later became known as the flagellation system.
Nothing ever came between Rabid and his goal of buying players, and his scouting network spread their tentacles far and wide. Rabid would lie, cheat, scam and scheme to get the best players, on one occasion he even bought an unborn foetus that had shown tremendous kicking potential in his mother’s belly.
Rabid had long since given up employing managers as he didn’t like to be told what to do, and besides the price of bullets and hit-men was getting expensive, which made Rabid turn purple. Although he employed no manager, his main help was Arthur Miller whose role as head coach and chief talent-scout, meant that Rabid could indulge in his passions of counting his money, and polishing his trophies. Arthur had worked his way up from grounds-man and both admired and resented Rabid in equal measure.
One day in order to impress Rabid, Arthur told him he’d found the best footballer in the world, at which Rabid’s face gleamed, for he imagined winning even more trophies and making even more money. “Get him,” said Rabid “I don’t care how, just get him, I want him,” and with that he positively skipped and whooped his way to the trophy room.
When Arthur was alone he put his head in his hands and cried, for Arthur had no such player and he knew to cross Rabid meant certain death. Just then Arthur heard a light knocking on his office door and on opening it he found a, strange, spindly looking youth dressed in baggy shorts and an old string vest. “Yes,” said Arthur, “what you want?”The spindly youth just shook his head and pointed to a piece of paper, “oh you can’t speak,” said Arthur gruffly, grabbing the piece of paper and reading it. “Aar you want a trial do ya? Well you’d better not be wasting my time,” and with that Arthur went down to the bunker to let out fifty or so players, so the youth could have his trial.
During the trial the spindly youth glided, danced, twinkled and shone, skipping and nutmegging players left, right, and centre, and scoring ninety-two goals in the process. To Arthur’s eyes it was like magic or as he later remarked, “Poetry in a string vest.”
Arthur had seen enough and calling the youth over to the side of the pitch, made him an offer. “What you want?” said Arthur, “you play for us and we’ll give you anything you want.”
“I vant zis,” said the youth, pointing to Arthur’s gold medallion ring.
“O.k. you play for me Saturday and the ring’s yours.”
“Yaar,” said the youth.
“Oh by the way the way what’s your name?”
“Err?”
“Name ? Nom? Naam?” said Arthur.
“Nein,” said the youth, looking fearful, and shaking his head from side to side.
“O.k.” said Arthur, “a strange name, but ‘nine’ it is, handy really as that’s the position you’ll be playing.” And then, quick as a flash, before Arthur could put the youth in the bunker with the other players, Nein had disappeared.
The following Saturday there was incredible excitement around the town of Chumpski, the pubs were heaving, the restaurants were full, and the club shop was doing a roaring trade, for both Arthur and Rabid had been telling anyone who would listen about this amazing new player, although Rabid could not bring himself to call the spindly youth Nein, for he hated the word ‘no’ in any form, as it made him turn green, so he just referred to Nein as ‘number.’
The whole of Chumpski wanted to see this new player and tickets were changing hands for the price of a large terrace house, it was as if the town of Chumpski was caught in football frenzy.
As it neared kick-off time the excitement grew to fever pitch, with the crowds emptying the pubs and filling the ground to bursting point, with many thousands more outside, Arthur was worried, for Nein had not been seen and kick-off was fast approaching. Then, with a few minutes to go till kick-off, and with Arthur in a state, Nein appeared down by the centre circle, as if by magic. The ref blew his whistle and for the next ninety-six and a half minutes the crowd was treated to a spectacle, never before seen in the history of Chumpski. The youth known simply as ‘Nein’ shimmied, danced, dribbled, dummied, parried, headed and volleyed his way to scoring twenty-six goals, the last of which was an over-head kick from the half-way line. At the final whistle, with Chumpski running out 82-0 winners, Arthur Miller beamed, Rabid wrung his hands together and stamped his little feet with joy, while the stadium rocked and shook like never before, while the spindly youth known simply as Nein disappeared.
The following Wednesday after the euphoria had died down, Rabid visited Arthur in his office, still glowing with ecstasy, he was especially happy as replica shirt sales of the number nine shirt had shot through the roof. Tickets for the next match were selling for the price of a small Caribbean island, which meant Rabid was making so much money that he had to open up a new room to fit it all in.
“Well done Arthur,” he beamed slapping him on the back, then more sinisterly, “make sure ‘number’ is there Saturday.”
“Yes big boss,” replied Arthur, remembering not to mention either the word ‘no’ or ‘nein’ as it turned Rabid green.
When Arthur was alone he began to cry, for he had not seen number ‘nein’ since the previous match and had no way of finding him, when all of a sudden the spindly youth appeared. “Oh thank god,” said Arthur giving the spindly youth his medallion ring. “You play? Saturday? What you want?” The spindly youth known as Nein looked around finally settling for Arthur’s diamond encrusted watch, which he’d been trying to keep hidden. “O.k.” said Arthur rather reluctantly.
The following Saturday was very much like the previous one only more so, the pubs were fuller, the singing was louder, the crowds were bigger and Rabid made even more money. The pattern of the day also followed the previous week, with Nein appearing just before kick-off, once again making Arthur anxious. Then there was the match itself, in which the spindly youth known as Nein excelled beyond measure, scoring even more goals than the previous week, although no-one was quite sure how many as people simply couldn’t count that fast, with his final goal being so sublime and exquisite in its execution, that the evening paper simply described it as indescribable, and left the page blank. Once again Arthur beamed with joy, Rabid stamped with glee, while the whole stadium rocked and shook. And once again when the final whistle blew Nein disappeared.
The following week Nein turned up to pick up his diamond watch, once again Arthur asked him to play, and once again Nein looked round the room for something that he coveted. Nein’s eyes fell to a picture on Arthur’s desk, it was of the failed girl group Plastic Paula and the Poptarts, whose lead singer Plastic Paula was also Arthur’s niece. “Her,” said Nein pointing at Plastic Paula, “I vant her.”
“Yes,” said Arthur, “I think I can arrange that,” as he recalled Plastic Paula had always wanted to be a footballer’s wife. Then, once again Nein disappeared.
The following day a purple, rabid Rabid burst into Arthur’s office; waving around a memorandum which turned out to be from the Football Alliance. Apparently Monkchester, The London Arse, and several other clubs had complained about the spindly youth and, until he was registered in the official manner, with his legal name, Chumpski would no longer be able to play him. This made Rabid furious, “you find out Number’s name,” he said, waggling his finger and stamping his foot, “don’t you dare fail.”
Arthur set to work straight away telling his scouting network to scour the Earth and leave no stone unturned in the search for Nein’s name. “Don’t you dare fail.”Arthur said sounding very much like Rabid. The scouts searched high and low, every mountain, valley, field, park, treetop and bedroom was turned upside down all to no avail. Saturday got closer and closer, Rabid got angrier and angrier, while Arthur went whiter and whiter.
Finally Saturday arrived and Rabid was absolutely shaking with rage, as Nein’s name had still not been found. When Nein appeared as usual just before kick-off, Rabid, who was livid, grabbed a hold of the spindly youth and flung him into the bunker beneath the pitch.
The crowd roared, the ground shook, as the game began, but without Nein, Chumpski soon fell behind to their hated rivals, The London Arse, the very team that had reported them in the first place. And the longer the game went on the worse it got, and by half time the score was 18-0, with The Arse literally tearing them to pieces, while Arthur trembled, and Rabid stamped, and the crowd began to get restless. When the teams went into the dressing rooms for half time, Rabid had turned so purple that a group of small boys tried to lick his face thinking it was a lollipop.
Just as the players were due to come out for the second half, one of Arthur’s trusted scouts looking very animated and yelling “I’ve got it, I’ve got it,” rushed up to the public address announcer, and whispered in his ear.
Out on the pitch, Plastic Paula and the Poptarts had just finished their song, and the second half was about to kick off, with Rabid still purple and Arthur still white, when the tannoy system suddenly kicked into life.... “Ladies and Gentlemen I have just been informed that the player most of you know as ‘Nein’”
“Nein, Nein, Nein” roared the crowd sending Rabid from purple to green.
“While some of you know him as number,” continued the announcer, sending Rabid back to purple.
“Nein- Nein- Nein” bellowed the crowd, turning Rabid green again.
“Is none other than,” continued the announcer....
“Nein, nein, nein,” roared the crowd once more; by this time Rabid was flashing green and purple at such a frequency that he resembled a disco light, as the announcer continued...
“Wait for it.... is...
Is...
IS....
Rumplestiltskin”
At this Rabid stamped his feet so hard that the pitch caved into the underground bunker below, releasing the players, who rose up, phoenix like, from the huge hole in the ground, soaring skywards and playing keepy-uppy as they went.
Up, up, up, they flew, higher and higher, with Nein and Plastic Paula leading the way. It truly was a magnificent sight, while below them: Rabid, Arthur, and the rest of Chumpski Utd were swallowed up by the huge hole in the ground.