by P. S. Gifford
|Friday, June 30, 2006
The World Cup
As the American team marched onto the Coliseum half of the fans in the packed stands, explode into a raving, chanting, hysterical frenzy. The sound is deafening. They assemble in the middle of the coliseum as their worthy opponent then marched in. The other side of the arena begins to clap, holler, and proudly bang their feet as the English eleven also enter and congregate next to the American team.
Moments later silence falls over the hundred-thousand plus people as a man dressed in white shorts and a black and white short sleeved collared shirt brings the two team captains out to the middle of the arena.
Harry Wayne, the American captain, stares without emotion at his rival. His square jaw reveals a strength and determination, his glaring eyes trying their American damnest to rattle the nerves of the English captain. However Julian Witherspoon has equal resolve and determination and simply meets the stare with his clear sparkling blue eyes. The perfectly trimmed moustache above his stiff upper lip doesn’t quiver even for a moment.
The referee, a seedy looking fellow with dark hair and darker eyes, hailing from some former republic of the U.S.S.R begins to speak.
“Okay…You both know the rules…I expect a clean tournament.”
He then pulls a large silver colored coin from his pocket.
“Okay Julian, please call it.”
“Heads,” Julian says without a moment’s hesitation in a voice evident of his royal blood.
The referee places the coin on the thumb of his right hand, and a moment later the coin is flung spinning into air, then land on top of his right wrist.
“Head’s it is!” he said
The English portion of the stadium once more erupt i=to a boisterous chant.
And so begun the twentieth international final of the tiddlywinks world cup…