Sunday, 05 November 2006
This is the game that got a dear friend and I through our final exams, by which I mean the game that made us waste an inordinate amount of time that could have been spent getting hysterical or doing some work (or both). It's a sick menage a trois between Mornington Crescent, Fantasy Football and a Balloon Debate.
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Knowledge of football: entirely optional.
Purpose of game: yet to be established
The rules are simple: You have an imaginary football team, for which you require five players (A striker, someone in the midfield, two wingers and a goalie) and are permitted a reserve, in case someone should get injured or sent off for, I don't know, poetry on the pitch or something. Unfortunately the likes of that bloke-who-married-Posh-from-the-Spice-Girls are not available. But you are allowed any great mind for whom you can argue.
You win be shouting down the sheer unfeasibility of the other person's team.
e.g. "Oscar Wilde would be too busy staring at the boys in their little shorts to pay attention to the game."
"You can't have Epicurus and Zeno of Citium on the wings. They'd do nothing but fight."
"Stephen Hawking?! That's just sick, dude!"
Game on.
My team is taken from the realm of literature because that's what I know about.
Striker: The Earl of Rochester
An obvious choice, I think, at least before he got all syphilitic and noseless. My only fear is that he'd get red-carded a lot or pull his cock out in the middle of a game or something.
In the midfield: Charles Dickens
I did want Victor Hugo but I thought that pulling a Frenchman on the rest of my team would be disastrous for morale. And can't go wrong with Dickens. He'd be a complete rock I'm sure.
Wingers: Sir Phillip Sidney and Kit Marlow
Now, assuming they could get past some vague disagreements on the purpose of literature, I think my two fiery Renaissance boys would be perfect together. In the non-slash sense. Although...
Goalie: Alexander Pope
Again, a bit of a risk. But, assuming he could get over himself, I think a bit of football would help him channel all that rage and bitterness. Who knows, he might even get laid.
Reserve: John Milton
Yes, yes, I know he's blind but I'm going on the superhero principle espoused by every comic I have ever read that his reactions and other senses would have become abnormally sensitive as a consequence. And, if not, I guess he'd just get repeatedly hit in the face with a ball, which is no bad thing if you ask me.
So ... who could take us on?
Purpose of game: yet to be established
The rules are simple: You have an imaginary football team, for which you require five players (A striker, someone in the midfield, two wingers and a goalie) and are permitted a reserve, in case someone should get injured or sent off for, I don't know, poetry on the pitch or something. Unfortunately the likes of that bloke-who-married-Posh-from-the-Spice-Girls are not available. But you are allowed any great mind for whom you can argue.
You win be shouting down the sheer unfeasibility of the other person's team.
e.g. "Oscar Wilde would be too busy staring at the boys in their little shorts to pay attention to the game."
"You can't have Epicurus and Zeno of Citium on the wings. They'd do nothing but fight."
"Stephen Hawking?! That's just sick, dude!"
Game on.
My team is taken from the realm of literature because that's what I know about.
Striker: The Earl of Rochester
An obvious choice, I think, at least before he got all syphilitic and noseless. My only fear is that he'd get red-carded a lot or pull his cock out in the middle of a game or something.
In the midfield: Charles Dickens
I did want Victor Hugo but I thought that pulling a Frenchman on the rest of my team would be disastrous for morale. And can't go wrong with Dickens. He'd be a complete rock I'm sure.
Wingers: Sir Phillip Sidney and Kit Marlow
Now, assuming they could get past some vague disagreements on the purpose of literature, I think my two fiery Renaissance boys would be perfect together. In the non-slash sense. Although...
Goalie: Alexander Pope
Again, a bit of a risk. But, assuming he could get over himself, I think a bit of football would help him channel all that rage and bitterness. Who knows, he might even get laid.
Reserve: John Milton
Yes, yes, I know he's blind but I'm going on the superhero principle espoused by every comic I have ever read that his reactions and other senses would have become abnormally sensitive as a consequence. And, if not, I guess he'd just get repeatedly hit in the face with a ball, which is no bad thing if you ask me.
So ... who could take us on?
Themes: Batteries Not Required
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