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Gunners vs Arse Match Report - A Play in Two Acts - by our impartial reporter
Dramatis Personae:
Cast of Players Ye Fine and Fertile Gunnerse: ·
Costantini: an Italian nobleman ·
Grundy: a merchant of fine rugges ·
Cahill: prince of Canuck ·
The Earl of Cunningham ·
Sir Hall of Drew ·
Eric: advisor to the king ·
Squire Jimmy: steward to the king ·
Rolf: lord chamberlain ·
Vranos: a money lender ·
Christian: captain of the guard ·
Marty: a make-up artist ·
Celso and Victor: defenders of the faith ·
Carroll: a steeple-jack ·
Gelcius: jester to the court ·
Clifford: an old soldier ·
Peter de Chetcuti and Thomas von Metzger: ghosts ·
Malloy: a gentleman ·
Joey: the Italian ambassador ·
Guillermo and Salazar: jugglers ·
Fergal: an Irish rogue ·
Anna, Tara, Lesley, Laurie and Joanna: courtesans ·
Ben, Bryan, Charlie, Molly, Oliver, Harry and Tara: mascots
Ye Foul and Filthie Forties: ·
The Duke of Saunders ·
Carss: his manservant ·
Sir Paul de Korngiebel: a knave most odious ·
Le Dauphin de Seiler, a villain ·
Ferguson: a Scottish miser and part-time idiot ·
Maughan: an amputee ·
Bretschger: chief leech collector ·
Peter: a ruffian ·
Elrod: groom of the stool ·
Gazidis: a Greek bench-warmer ·
Carvalho and Thorsen: grave-diggers ·
Avdullah: a mule skinner ·
Creton and Rollins: laborers ·
Guido and Milenko: lepers ·
Yost: the dung-keeper's assistant ·
Roger: a beggar
Ye Officials: *Ye referee * Ye merrie linesmen
* * * * * * * * *
Act I Scene I A seedy tavern in Greenwich, CT, dimly lit.
Grundy, Costantini and Cahill are huddled around a table, sipping Shirley Temples.
Costantini: To play the offside trap or not to play the offside trap: that is the question. Whether 'tis nobler on the field to suffer the slings and arrows of Korngiebel's usual bull*** or, by opposing, end them.
Cahill: But soft! "Offside" is but a word that cowards use, devised at first to keep the strong in awe.
Grundy: Verily, yonder Pride Cuppe awaits our pennants once more.
Costantini: 'Tis true, good sir, we hath only to overcome Ye Foul and Filthie Forties, 'ere we quaff Asti Spumante once more from out her silver portals.
Cahill: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers, shall put a dozen goals past the Duke of Saunders and his odious ruffians.
Grundy: Methinks 'tis long past time to emulate last year's four-nil thrashing.
[Enter waiter]
Ye Waiter: Come on now gentlemen, 'tis drinking up time, have ye no homes to go to?
Grundy: When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?
Costantini: When the hurlyburly 's done.
Cahill: When the battle's lost and won.
Grundy: Gentlemen, gentlemen, till the morrow, then.
Costantini: Good night, fine sirs. Parting is such sweet sorrow.
Cahill: Upon thy cheek I lay this zealous kiss, as seal to the indenture of my love.
Grundy: Goodnight, sweet prince.
[Exeunt] [Curtain falls]
* * * * * * * * *
Scene II A soccer field in Greenwich.
Ye Fine and Fertile Gunnerse line up against Ye Foul and Filthie Forties under the watchful eyes of Ye Referee and his merrie linesmen.
Costantini: I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start. God, the best maker of footy teams, combine our hearts in one!
All [shouting]: Gunners!
Ye Referee: If soccer be the food of love, play on.
[They play]
Squire Jimmy: 'Pon my word, hath Carss vanished?
Rolf: Verily, his absence makes the heart grow fonder. Let us make merry.
Malloy: 'Tis true, and I also think it strange that neither art Saunders and Creton to be found!
Gelcius: Cowards die many times before their deaths.
Squire Jimmy: I dote on their very absence
Rolf: But soft! See, 'tis Ferguson afoot upon the field.
Ye Gunnerse [together]: Who is Ferguson?!
Malloy: What ho! Eric hath performed yonder slide tackle. See how that scoundrel Gazidis limps!
All: Huzzah!
Gelcius: Meanwhile ye Gunnerse assault yon Forties goal in battalions.
Squire Jimmy: See! Ye Gunnerse are using the wings and Christian hath tested ye goalie twice now.
Rolf: Indeed, they are playing the short ball as instructed.
Malloy: Is the end nigh?
Gelcius: Have patience and endure. Surely ye net will ripple anon.
Squire Jimmy: See! Victor's first touch was immaculate and his shot hath been deflected into the goal. Ye Forties weep and wail.
Referee: One nil to ye Gunnerse!
Rollins: Oh woe is us!
Gelcius: Fair is foul, and foul is fair.
Referee: Ye clock hath struck. Half time!
[Exeunt] [Curtain falls]
* * * * * * * * *
Act II Scene I. A soccer field in Greenwich.
Ye Fine and Fertile Gunnerse take the field a second time against Ye Foul and Filthie Forties.
Ye Referee: Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more.
Grundy: Cry "Havoc" and let slip the dogs of war!
Marty: Methinks 'tis time to pass to Cahill.
Cahill: This play's the thing wherein I'll test the eyesight of the ref.
Maughan: He wears the rose of youth upon him, but 'tis sure I shall clip this varlet's heels.
Cahill [falling]: Aaaaaggghhh!
Ye Referee: Penalty!
Maughan: I decree, fine sir, 'tis time to purchase a new pair of specs.
Ye Referee: I am not bound to please thee with mine answers.
Cahill: Dear Referee, t hou art as wise as thou art beautiful. 'Twas verily a foul most heinous.
Maughan: I am a man more sinned against than sinning.
Cahill [sotto voce]: Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it.
[Enter Salazar]
Salazar: How now, good sirs, for I am bound to take yon penalty! [
Salazar shoots and scores.]
Ye Referee: Two nil to Ye Gunnerse!
Sir Paul de Korngiebel: Verily, Cahill hath won ye Oscar, and yonder referee hath neither wit nor sight to guide him.
Marty: The lady doth protest too much, methinks.
[Curtain falls]
* * * * * * * * *
Scene II. A soccer field in Greenwich.
Ye Foul and Filthie Forties replace the ball upon the center spot and kick off.
Bretschger: We are in danger of losing this match most egregiously.
Guido: This is the true beginning of our end.
Le Dauphin de Seiler: A goal, a goal, my kingdom for a goal!
Sir Hall of Drew: Behold, Ye Forties hath begun moving ye ball around nicely.
Vranos: Are you sure 'tis indeed them, sire, and not a bunch of ringers?
Celso: 'Tis remarkable but true! Methinks they have improved yon passing tenfold.
Carroll: A shot! And see how Costantini hath leapt to block it!
Eric: Indeed he is a man among men!
Sir Hall of Drew: But soft! They attack again! Here cometh Avdullah and Gazidis with the ball at their very feet.
Carroll: Malloy and Grundy doth hound them too!
The Earl of Cunningham: I shall strike yon varlet. I must be cruel only to be kind.
Vranos: Alas, ye ball hath again been deflected. See how it dips beneath ye barre. Costantini's shutout is not complete!
Ye Referee: Ye Foul and Filthie Forties have scored.
Two-one to ye Gunnerse.
Sir Paul de Korngiebel: Oh ecstasy orgasm and rapture. Fortune hath smiled upon us.
Carroll: The empty vessel makes the most sound.
Celso: 'Tis neither here nor there.
The Earl of Cunningham: 'Twas naught but fluke, and their sun hath already set.
[Curtain falls]
* * * * * * * * *
Scene III. A soccer field in Greenwich.
Ye Fine and Fertile Gunnerse kick off.
Milenko: Verily, yon knave Guillermo is not a match for me! Indeed I shall nutmeg him.
Guillermo: This above all: t o thine own self be true; and it must follow, as the night the day, thou can'st not then nutmeg any man.
Squire Jimmy: See, Guillermo hath stolen ye ball. And look, he doth pass to Fergal.
Gelcius: Behold, Fergal hath split Ye Forties defence and he fires past Bretschger into the net.
Marty: 'Twas poetry, I warrant.
Ye Referee: Goal! Three-one to Ye Gunnerse.
Christian: But why doth Fergal emulate ye flyinge machine?
Cahill: I know not. 'Tis curious. Perhaps an Irish celebration.
Grundy: What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty and form! How express and admirable in action! How like an angel in apprehension! How like a god! The beauty of the world!
Bretschger: We are undone.
Ye Referee: Thy sand hath run out. Full time! Ye Gunnerse prevail!
Ye Gunnerse [together]: Huzzah!
Gelcius: We are such stuff as dreams are made on.
Malloy: Victory is ours. Ye Pride Cuppe shall bear our colors for ever and a day.
Eric: Let us toast our fallen comrades. Clifford, Joey, Peter de Chetcuti and Thomas von Metzger, may your sun never set.
Sir Paul de Korngiebel: That it should come to this! My endeavors have ever come too short of my desires.
Salazar: Hush yon whingeing, for mine ears art bleeding.
Vranos: Verily, Ye Forties will still be complaining five centuries from now.
Fergal: Praising what is lost, makes the remembrance dear.
Marty: Action is eloquence. To the tavern!
[Curtain falls]
* * * * * * * * *
Scene IV. A seedy tavern in Greenwich, CT, brightly lit.
Ye Gunnerse stand arm in arm, holding tankards of beer.
All [singing]: Ole ole ole ole, ole ole!
Costantini: Ready. On three, boys!
Grundy: One . . . two . . . three.
All [in unison]: Go, ye Gunnerse!
[Curtain falls]
* * * * * * * * *