Tuesday, 19 August 2008

The Prophet of Doom

Proph.et (noun) a person who predicts the future: a prophet of doom.

I have to say, I was looking forward to Saturday afternoon. Travelling to an away game, 5 Live blaring out the latest sporting happenings (we were getting thoroughly over excited as His Royal Hoyness stormed to victory in the keirin), it felt like the rugby season was well and truly back. And just to clinch that feeling, a voice that I hadn’t heard since April piped up.

“I think we could get well beaten today.” The Senior Webmonkey had found his inner Prophet of Doom and was giving him an early outing, getting him properly warmed up for when the competitive action comes calling. To be honest, his pessimism before kick-off against Tynedale wasn’t out of order, there were some big names missing from the Boroughmuir squad.

Indeed, for once I agreed with the worrywart. With Gus Martyn, the Duchess, Charlie “No Socks” Keenan and Tom Bury missing, plus a good few others who featured regularly in the league winning squad last season, the smart money had to be on the Englishmen. Ten minutes in it looked like it could be worse than expected, but a few stirring fight backs later there were fifty points on the board and a win in the pocket.

What was strange about the game, however, was that it appears to have killed the Prophet of Doom. As we chucked all the Webmonkey equipment into the back of the car, a rare sound reached my ears.

“I’m going to hope now.” At first I thought I must have misheard, or that he must be faking it more than a Chinese gymnast’s passport. But no, all the way back up the A68 there were noises of optimism about the season ahead. I nearly passed out from the shock (or maybe it was just travel sickness from the ridiculously vomit-inducing road back north).

Needless to say, I expect a reincarnation of the Prophet to return in time for the game against Accies, I don’t think going to the game would be the same without it. Its become like a comfort blanket, a sign that another fun-filled Saturday of rugby action has arrived. If the Prophet really has died, I’ll shed a tear for its passing.

1 comment:

WebMonkey said...

I'll kill him