Kevin A'Court, It All Comes To An End
He leans back in his leather chair. Or is it even real leather, and not just some rip-off plastic nonsense? Well it doesn’t really matter anyway, because it’s comfortable, and that’s all that matters. The flow of the just opened Glen Grant Single Malt, Five Decades bottle makes his clean glass sparkle with life, and in a recognizing toast, he congratulates himself for a whole year without the touch of a football. The sip is followed by a smile, but then doubt. What now? Is he just going to wait for one more year until the next sip? Nah, he shakes the outrageousness of that idea away, and decides that he’d might as well just finish the bottle now, and then take the matter of the issue once another year has transpired. He aims to refill his glass, as the phone suddenly yells out some 80-ish mono tune, not that loud really, but definitely louder than the deafening silence roaming before. He mumbles to himself “****…” as he tries to catch the spilled drops, though not to much avail other than just spilling it on his shirt instead, much like the idiots trying to catch their iPhones with their feet, but ends up kicking it even further into oblivion.
- “Yes?!” He answers the phone, more annoyed than greeting. A tired, though friendly voice replies:
- “Hey chap, it’s me, Lee.”
- “Lee. Lee Perets, you old ****. I thought we parted ways a year ago friend.”
- “Yeah you’re right, almost to the day…”
- “Exactly to the day.”
-… but you actually never officially retired or anything. Like much other you just mentioned it, and then never really did anything about it. Like the time you talked about building one of those little ships in a bottle there.”
- “Impossible Bottle.”
- “Exactly, yes. How’s that coming along?”
- “Well, I’m actually just about preparing the bottle as we speak.”
-“I bet you are friend, I bet you are.” The silence breaks the conversation. Lee Perets takes a breath, and goes:
-“Anyway, I didn’t call you to talk about empty bottles with little ships in them…"
-“Impossible Bottle.”
-“… but because I actually have some news to discuss.”
-“Well what news can be important enough to break up me and my old pal here’s reminiscence, which has taken him decades to arrive at, just to softly tickle my insides?”
-“Do you even know how that sounds?”
-“It sound exactly how it’s supposed to.” Lee Perets chuffs a bit, and then continues:
-“I just got off the phone with Ian Woan.” The other end, with the leather chair and the Glen Grant, greets Lee Perets with silence, before announcing:
-“Nope, doesn’t ring a bell.”
-“Jesus man, have you just completely left the world you once used to live in?”
-“More or less, yeh. Except for the occasional visit from your mrs. I’ve more or less put it behind me.”
-“Hah, pretty sure my wife has a better taste than that.”
-“Well I suppose you must be the exception that verifies the rule then.”
-“Very funny, but could we end it with the wife-jokes, they’re getting old.”
-“Well so am I, but you don’t hear my crying and complaining.”
-“Nah, you usually stick with whining and drinking.” He starts laughing in the other end, almost spilling precious drops of the aged Glen Grant.
-“You got me there. So tell me Lee, who is this Ian Woan then?”
-“He’s the assistant manager of Sean Dyche. They want your services old pal, they want you to help them in the Premier League.” Silence. Then hesitating:
-“But I retired, I told you. What do they want and old man who’s never even played at that level for?”
-“Well, it takes a bit more than just a couple of remarks at the local pup to officially retire you know. And as to why they want you, I guess they see a skill in you, apart from your ability to drink expensive whiskey and staring empty into the horizon.”
-“That’s a skill-set that can’t be taught my friend.”
-“Whatever it is, they have an offer for you.”
-“Hmm…” he says, while looking deep into the drink in his hands, like it was the eyes of a long gone wife. “For how long?”
-“Two years.”
-“Pay?”
-“16k a month before tax.”
-“Any weird clauses, like having to sacrifice a goat every time I get a card?”
-“Nope, not this time around. I can look into that though, if it’s something you prefer.”
-“No no, no worries, I can do that in my own time if I want, don’t sweat it.” He chuckles.
-“Are you for real Lee? I haven’t as much as sniffed to a leather ball for a whole year, and now you want me to play in the premier?"
-“We both know what you want. You’ve never been ambitious, you always went for what could give you a decent pay and a decent life style. You’ve made the most of your abilities with your preferred every day, but now you have a chance to end it all on the biggest stage of them all, the Premier League.”
-“Well to be fair, I reckon La Liga is ahead, but whatever.”
-“God damnit, can you be serious for once in your life? I have the paperwork for you here, it’s ready to sign if you’re interested.”
-“Lee, two years ago, my main team mate was a guy called Elazar Dasa, who looked more like a black lumberjack trying to rob me, than a guy who could play ball. And now you want me back at Burnley?”
-“Yep, almost like a fairytale ain’t it? Returning to the club where it started, but where you never got the chance to play with them at the highest level, scouring through the leagues with ups and downs, mostly downs…”
-“Shut up.”
-“… just to finally return to help them settle in at the top flight of English football.”
-“Yeah, it’s a real ******* fairytale, call Hollywood. Maybe we can get Brad Pitt to play me. Nah, thinking about it, I doubt he’d be able to catch my boy-ish charm.” Lee Perets chuckles in the other end.
-“You know what Lee, get over here, and we’ll discuss it with my friend Glen Grant. He has a real knack for making people taking the best and most rational decisions.”
-“I had a feeling it would come to this, old friend. I’ll be there in an hour.”
They both sat around the table up ‘till further into the night than any professional footballer should do. Nevertheless, two days later, the home coming son put pen to paper on a deal for one final chapter, because for Kevin A’Court, It All Comes To An End.
View attachment 275943 View attachment 275942 View attachment 275941 View attachment 275940
Last edited: