Author's note: This isn't Chelsea related at all. You'll live.
We are in the home of Sepp Blatter, the last homely house in the West. A small band of FIFA members, led by Julio Grondona, has just crossed the Atlantic, with the dark and evil media hot on their tails. Eventually, one of their number, the great magician (and equally great wordsmith) Jack Warner sacrificed himself to bring a tsunami of football down upon the pursuers, washing them away... for now. Temporarily safe, Grondona meets Blatter, alongside the newly convened Council of Wisdom. The Council must find an answer to the problems that are besieging FIFA.
Participants
- Giancarlo Abete, head of FICA (GA)
- David Bernstein; head of the English FA (DB).
- Sepp Blatter; FIFA President (SB).
- Johan Cruyff; Adviser of Eredivisie side Ajax, Manager of Catalonian national team (JC).
- Julio Grondona; head of AFA, FIFA Vice-President (JG).
- Mohamed bin Hammam; disgraced former CAF president (MBH).
- Henry Kissinger; here for some reason (HK).
- A penguin named Rodger. We don't talk about the penguin. Nor should you.
- Angel Maria Villar; head of Spanish FA (AMV).
Scene: The Council is seated in a large, open room on golden thrones. An Adidas Jabulani (TM) lies on a stone table in the centre of the circle. A loud buzzing sound can be heard intermittently.
DB: By the legs of our people are your lands kept entertained! Give to England the glory of the game. Let us use it against the people! We could make so much money.
AMV: You cannot steal the power. None of us can. The game answers to the fans alone. it has no other master. What is that buzzing sound?
JC: ...
JG: Blazer is right. We cannot use it. Also, give us back the Falklands you whiny English bastard.
SB: We have only one choice. The game must be destroyed before the fans can gather their power!
HK: Then WHAT are we waiting for?!
[HK pulls out a running chainsaw, explaining a previous mystery but opening up a host of other ones, leaps towards the ball, flailing wildly. One swipe catches the Jabulani dead centre, but bounces straight back into HK's chest. He lets out a scream of agony and copious amounts of blood]
SB: The game cannot be destroyed, Henry, former son of Louis, by any craft we here possess. Would you stop bleeding? I'm wearing new shoes!
[HK gurgles, dies]
SB: Thank you. The game was made in the passionate throes of World Cup after World Cup. Only similarly can it be unmade. And it must be taken deep into Qatar, cast back into the fiery chasm from whence it came. One of you must do this.
MBH: I would be honoured to bear the burden.
SB: Fuck off, Mohamed. Back to the dungeon with you, go on now. Who let him out, anyway?
[MBH is dragged away by the guards, screaming incoherently about corruption the whole time. Offstage, a snap is heard, and MBH's protests are cut ominously short].
JC: ...
DB: This is an outrage! The game must be given to England and the FA!
JG: Oh give it a rest, Bernstein. You're an embarrassment! Who won that war, anyway?
SB: This is no time to fight! Julio! David! It is decided! We must find a way to destroy the game once and for all before our enemies destroy us. The game must go to Qatar!
AMV: I know a path. It is risky, but we must chance it. The quickest path to Qatar is death - the enemy will gather his forces at the Bosporus and we must surely be killed. Or worse! Captured. Instead, we go east, to the lands of the Cossacks. We have friends and allies there. Czar Abramovich will be sympathetic, surely?
DB: (softly) Crossing the Urals is a dangerous game. It will be winter by the time we reach them, even on horseback.
AMV: The pass at Mount Narodnaya should still be open if we hurry. But we must leave as soon as we can, with no more fighting on the way.
SB: We must still find someone willing to carry the weight of game. Without, David, the temptation to use it to their own ends. They must take the ball without wanting to keep it, without wanting to use it. Is any such person present?
[Group stares blankly at Jabulani, none of them wanting to approach. After several empty seconds, GA, hitherto silent stands, and addresses the audience]
GA: I have the perfect one for our task. He never seeks to keep the ball, and even if he did would never dream of finding a way of using it effectively. Invisible most of the time, too. (shouting) Walter! Come out!
[Walter Gargano (WG), hobbit-sized SSC Napoli midfielder, emerges from the next room, followed nerviously by Michele Pazienza (MP)]
DB: (muttering) We could have used Darron Gibson, you know.
SB: Walter. Michele. Are the two of you willing to take on this dreadful task?
WG: I have no idea what you're talking about. The door is soundproof and there were scones.
SB: I'm not going to repeat this whole damn conversation. Just say yes. I'll bribe you if I have to.
WG: Bribe me? But I've already got scones?
[SB silences WG with evil stare]
WG: Erm... yes!
[GA hands WG ball. There is a surge of great power. WG drops ball, picks it up (he hopes) before anyone else notices]
SB: It is done then. All of you [gestures] have a difficult journey. Take the Jabulani to Czar Abramovich by way of Narodnay. Be fleet of foot and cunning of mind. The enemy is everywhere. I will remain here. It is out of danger and where the bribes are delivered. Good luck to you all. President away!
[SB's throne spins and he is gone. The new fellowship trudges away, preparing for a difficult journey. WG loses Jabulani three times on way out of room]
Some time later, in council room.
JC: ...
JC: ...
JC: Barcelona are amazing. I would totally get busy with Andres Iniesta.
JC: ...
JC: Wait where did everyone go?