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Timmy N Tiddler (or TNT as he was known throughout the dreg ends of the hockey world) looked admiringly at his manly physique in the bathroom mirror. "Should have bought that fairground mirror
years ago," thought TNT as he opened his Sloan's Liniment and Elastic Bandage Gift Pack. He had already fitted his Dunlop Stomach Reducer ("more money wasted") and his Robertson Heel Lifts.
Yes, it was the start of another season and his oxters were already sweating heavily in anticipation.Timmy carefully packed his kit. His unmarked stick, the highly polished boots, his club shirt, shorts and socks. What a waste of money that lot had been. He also packed his recently purchased copy of the "Rules of Hockey 1995". That nice Mr Younger had given him a five per cent discount just because there was a small mark on the inside back cover. Timothy had read the book cover to cover. He was delighted to read that he could now quite happily knock the ball over the back-line without fear of a short corner. "There's going to be a lot of unhappy forwards this season," smirked TNT.
TNT arrived at the ground ten minutes before the scheduled start-time of two o'clock. As usual, he was first to arrive. He had seen what the ravages of time had done to some members of the Fourth Eleven and made a point of having a proper warm-up. A nice cup of tea and a Hot'n'Spicy Pizza would set him up nicely.TNT entered the bar for the first time in the new season.
Nothing had changed (apart from the area around the pool table being cleared of wicket-keepers and hockey chairmen). The Clubmaster was on duty behind the bar where he was engrossed in
polishing his "We didn't even make it to the Final" Scottish Cup medal."A cup of Rosie Lee and a 'Hot'n'Spicy please, my man," requested TNT, colloquially. The man behind the bar growled
pleasantly at TNT and flashed a yellow card in his direction. This told TNT the pizza would be about ten minutes. He stood behind the hockey goal the Master had erected in the bar for queuing purposes. Already there were most of the First Eleven, on hand to help their team-mate Tommy Tall carry his food back to the safety of his play-pen. It was a strange conversation the Ones were having, using lots of words TNT didn't understand. Skill, technique, fitness, defence. If TNT had only known it, the words were a complete mystery to most of the Ones, as well. TNT soon lost interest only to prick his ears up again at the term "drag flick". "Huh !" exclaimed the outraged
fifth-teamer. "If they spent more time practising and less time watching Lily Savage videos they might get somewhere."
The Master growled the successful reheating of the pizza. Tommy Tall was restrained by his colleagues and TNT marched off, pre-match warm-up in hand. On arrival in the dressing-room, TNT was greeted by the sight of his side's custodian, also with pre-match warm-up in hand. They began to chat about the summer's happenings and their hopes for the season ahead. TNT's ambition was, as ever, to meet the Dumfries centre-forward. His goalkeeper wanted to keep dry. Most of his team-mates had arrived by now.
The same old faces, quite disappointing really. The defence would be just that bit older and had possibly lost that vital yard of pace. The midfield would, no doubt still be able to hack and slash but wouldn't have the guile to take advantage of the two speed merchants on the wings, Tweedle Clum and Tweedle Rickee. The reassuring sight of centre forward Mathieson with pint in one hand and fag in the other was reassuring only to the oppo. "Oh dear, another season of intense disappoinment ahead," thought a philosophical TNT. "Not that I'll notice. The whole thing usually passes me by in a blur, anyway." It was time to get changed and head out to do battle. The sky was overcast, the temperature had dropped and it was beginning to rain. Tommy could hear his captain hammering on the toilet door. "The Custodian, what a character,"
smiled TNT. "He'll come out eventually. The opposition forwards usually manage to drag him out."
He picked up his stick and walked out through the dressing-room door. TNT soon felt the "first game of the season" pains. He struggled for breath, his joints ached and the muscles tightened in
protest as they came into use for the first time in months. "We shouldn't be on number three pitch, it's too far from the clubhouse," groaned TNT as the umpire's whistle blew to start the game. The new season had begun !
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