Pulped Friction

30 Jan

Note: This Dispatch should be read in an American accent

It wasn’t supposed to end this way was it, Keys? We were comfortable, secure – on a one-way ticket to easy retirement with a view to sipping on pina coladas on the Copacabana in three years time where the girls are brown but golden to the touch. So much for forward planning, huh? They don’t amount to a hill of beans when you don’t reckon for a twist of cruel fate’s gnarled hand and a moment of careless madness. And who’d have thought we’d be here now? Without friends and without hope, drifting towards the boulevard of broken dreams, just a side-street away from Palookaville. We were careless, lazy, some might say we’d played our hand and lost. It’s a tough game we play and there’ll always be losers. We hadn’t reckoned for a dame though and that was the point…

It started out a day, like any other. You and I were doing our regular number, calling the shots on the box for our boss, The Fox who was out of town taking care of business Stateside. Although, we were low down in the chain of command, he could trust us to man his operation from the front. He had bigger fish to fry that week.

The Fox was trying to consolidate his media empire but things had got messy. One of his loyal lieutenants had gone over his head, got mixed up with a gang of politicos hungry for his contact sheet and forgot to tie up loose ends before he bailed. This wiseguy, Coulson they called him, had employed a bunch of private dicks to spy on the wealthy and the glamorous. The Fox was after information he could use in order to titillate the man on the street and keep his mind off the bigger picture. All off-the-record, on the QT and very hush-hush, of course. But Coulson, got sloppy. Left a trail as slippery as a snail on a banana skin. And it came back bad on The Fox. Action had to be taken cos the heat was coming down bad and it didn’t play out too good when our boss was busy trying to muscle into a full-on takeover of a rival organisation.

What had that got to do with us, right? Two stand-up guys, doing our jobs, spreading his message to those who would listen and even those who wouldn’t. And then she came into our lives. Running the line, like she’d been doing it for years. Her hand moving up and down like one of those two-bit golden cats you get down in dives in Chinatown. She was a broad in a man’s world and we didn’t like it; showing us up for our own vices. What could we do Keys but speak our minds in private? You said “the world’s gone mad” and my friend you were right. Cos like a deck of cards, the listening devices so beloved by that worm Coulson and The Fox, finally came back to bite us like a snake with a headache. We were heard, Keys. Caught red-handed, making remarks and The Fox didn’t need the extra heat.

Cos once it was out of the box, that moll Brady weighed in. You told her to “do [us] a favour”, Keys. She just twisted the knife. This toots, this floozy, this doxy in stilettos had the ear of too many players and our time was ticking away like a bomb about to explode in our beds. She’s mouthed off about how bimbos weren’t treated fairly using The Fox’s legitimate business ventures for her soundboard. She’d conveniently forgotten how our boss pedals images of tits and ass on his third page every day. Or that she was on the payroll of a known purveyor of soft porn. Sullivan was his name. And he liked his dames in pencil skirts and fast with the talk. Brady was even known to do a spot of moonlighting with one of the other Bosses; known to all who know her as her Sugar Daddy. This femme fatale had all the bases covered, working them all to her advantage and calling the shots. Keys, we should have just kept our mouths shut.

But we were pawns, see. In the fading light, after they had taken me down in a hail of verbal bulletry, you took one for me too, pal. You told them all, there were “darker forces” at play here. The Fox had neglected his operations here for too long and he’d come back to sweep the decks clean. He had to take care of business for himself and he’d realised that the only way to secure his monopoly once and for all was to cut out the dead wood. He was the Boss after all and he needed to be seen to be making the right moves. Especially after he found out that the rat Coulson had been spying on his own. I should know, I was one of them, Keys. And I was about to pull the trigger when all this blew up in our faces. So The Fox whacked us all last week, in one almighty powerplay – Coulson, you, me. There’s more to come I hear. So while everybody else is getting all wrapped up in the he saids, she saids, The Fox has made sure his organisation will be as strong as ever. Cleaner, friendlier. A legitimate business for legitimate ends. It won’t be too long before we see Brady cosying up to him – if she hasn’t done so already.

Keys, old friend, I don’t understand this world either. What happened to our simple life? Where men were men? Women were women? Maybe we are out-of-step with this crazy excuse for a planet. I guess there are bigger things at play here, right? Things that you and I will never understand. But you know, the world will always be run by folk like The Fox. In the end, it’s about who has the most cash in their pocket rather than what you can hold through the lining.

Keys, this might be the end of our beautiful on-screen friendship, but hey, there’s always Rio, right?

Follow Dispatches From A Football Sofa on Twitter: @gregtheoharis

4 Responses to “Pulped Friction”

  1. Lanterne Rouge January 30, 2011 at 20:01 #

    Speechless. Genius.

  2. Kevin McDougall January 31, 2011 at 21:28 #

    Is Keys touching one of Gray’s balls?

  3. Steve HUghes February 2, 2011 at 17:48 #

    Awesome mate. Perfect. Covers everything. For once I’m speechless too.


  1. Sunday blog reading: Lefties, poachers, sackings and trip to Anfield | Touchline Shouts - February 13, 2011

    […] Pulped Friction – Dispatches from a football sofa […]

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