A Sunday Sermon

9 Jan

Today’s sermon will comprise three parables alluding to the events of this most tumultuous of weeks in the Premier League parish.

The Parable of the Southern Man

After enjoying much success and acclaim with his powers of healing the most afflicted of organisms, a southern man was sent for by one of the warring kingdoms of the north-west to restore the health of one of its ailing tribes. Unbeknownst to the southern man, the tribe was in the midst of a bloody civil war that only served to inflict further wounds on a body that was suffering the ravages of the decaying of time.

In time, the rulers were slain and new chieftans bestrode the land. The new rulers were unfamiliar with the powers of the southern man but nevertheless, seeking counsel, resolved to retain his services promising that the southern man’s capacities would remain undiminished.

The southern man, whose peculiarities of speech and dialect greatly differed from those he had come to serve and thus invoked consternation and bewilderment amongst the local tribesmen, pleaded for a greater variety of resources in order to fortify and prepare his soothing ointments. These ingredients would take time to source and would require a thorough exploration of the known world with an unlimited chest of riches at his disposal.

He begged this for nigh-on six shifts of the moon, but while he did so, the chieftans and their people grew impatient as more wounds were inflicted on the already afflicted body. The southern man was denounced as a charlatan. Unable to make himself understood, he was banished from the northern kingdom, his reputation tarnished. The chieftans thus sought to quell the stirrings of the masses by appointing a trusted nobleman as their new shaman whose past deeds in the kingdom would serve to pacify the rumblings of rebellion.

The moral: Don’t ask for time and understanding to rectify the mistakes of those who have gone before you. You won’t get it.

The Parable of the Italian who knew his place

A man from the glittering Italian shores was appointed to oversee the continuing success and wealth of a plutocrat from the Russian landmass. He was so entrusted on the strength that he had already managed to bolster the standing of another wealthy merchant in the land from whence he came.

“Bring me riches and acclaim,” said the Russian, “and I will ensure that you will be revered and saluted by all who cross your path forever more”.

“I will do as you surely ask,” replied the Italian, safe in the knowledge that he had acquired skills and powers and the ability to motivate those he oversaw in his homeland.

And this he promptly did. In under a year he brought double the expectation, by not only using his considerable acumen but also motivating a workforce that was not appointed by him.

However, the workers had grown bloated on success and were beginning to show an appetite for pursuits beyond their vocation. Suddenly, without friends and trusted advisors, the Italian found himself isolated as his brow became increasingly furrowed and his hair showed the signs of premature aging.

For the Russian was a greedy man. He was not content with success in the domestic market. He craved greater glory and was unwilling to apportion blame on his loyal workers from times past, unaware that such rapid growth was a new way of living for such a modest organisation.

As his returns began to diminish, the Italian was resigned to his fate. He merely shrugged and whispered quietly (for he didn’t know who to trust), “there’s no place like home”.

The moral: Just because you did well once, don’t expect to use that as an excuse for failure in the here and now.

The Parable of the non-believer who courted the Messiah

There was a man who took great pride in the things he had achieved. What he had in terms of possessions were acquired by the strength of his own character and his instinct to spot a bargain. He was modest enough not to crow about this quality (although there were times when he did grow weary of having this talent lauded by his peers and admirers).

He wasn’t universally liked but most people who came across him were quick to point out that he was a refreshingly simple soul who spoke without paying much heed to the niceties of diplomacy and masquerading.

As a teacher, he found those under his tutelage thriving under his unconventional methods of arms-around-shoulder and promoting the benefits of enjoyment. Those who before his arrival had shown signs of unrealised talent, now flourished as they used their new-found confidence to best the results of wealthier and more influential establishments.

Nevertheless, the man felt that he was lacking something in his life. He wanted total affirmation from everybody within his sphere and it had been pointed out to him on more than one occasion that an absence of faith in his life was what created such doubts. Too many times he had dallied with other faiths but to little avail.

That was until he laid eyes on a blonde Messiah emanating from another Galaxy. Once he felt his presence close, he knew that he would move heaven and earth to have him by his side, however brief such a visitation might be. The Messiah would lift everybody in the school and was guaranteed to raise attainment, so the man kept telling everybody.

But the man’s new found belief in spirituality did not take into account the Messiah’s followers who would descend upon the school in their legions, flashing lightbulbs and screaming questions at all involved, thus distracting the current cohort from its notable achievements thus far.

The Messiah did arrive and he did leave. The man was left to rue his dalliance with such divinity. For now, his students had been blinded by the light.

The Moral: Don’t believe the hype.

In the name of the Roy, the Carlo and the Holy Harry.


4 Responses to “A Sunday Sermon”

  1. Winston Cuthbert January 9, 2011 at 10:03 #

    Roy, it was never to be. Not your fault mate, it was the grinning Spaniard wot did it. Carlo, tough luck me ol’ mucker, hope the pay is worth it. (Secretly, or even openly, can you wait for the day Roman gets bored and recalls his loan? Stamford Bridge sold off to pay the debt and turned into a carpark, I live for the day…). Harry, you shoulda known better than to play with a god. I fear if you continue with such dalliances, Prometheus you will become. And then it won’t be the booze that gets your liver…

  2. Michael January 10, 2011 at 05:55 #

    Think the southern man should’ve learned from his last trip to those warring kingdoms of the north west.

  3. Kevin January 10, 2011 at 14:48 #

    Roman is already bored. His head has been turned by the commercial opportunities which the World Cup will bring to his homeland.

  4. Steve HUghes January 13, 2011 at 17:04 #

    I feel for Roy, but at the same time I can’t help finding the merry-go-round at Anfield extremely amusing. You can understand why Roy went there. He’s a 63-year-old man who had earned the right for one last shot at the big time. He couldn’t take Fulham any further. Yet it all seems so inevitable that he would fail at Liverpool. Now so-called ‘King’ Kenny is there and they started their league resurgence with…defeat at Blackpool. Their problems lie deeper than the management methinks…

    Chelsea’s demise is even more hilarious *trying not to be too smug here*. Winston’s quip about Stamford Bridge being turned into a car park is probably closer to the truth than you imagine. The club’s entire existence is based on keeping the greedy Russian happy. I can’t imagine he’s too pleased at the moment. If they’re still 5th in May then he’ll surely pull the plug….

    As for Harry, I’ve thought all along that he should have stayed away. Hopefully this distraction won’t affect the team’s form. Well, maybe for one game….

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