For Love of The Game, pt.2- A Story for Gul

There were hushed whispered warnings... Mothers scared naughty toddlers into brushing their teeth at night with the same horrible story- The Garumph was coming.

And then? Worse news.

The shining things had dissapeared. Or rather, she had lost them. When the news spread, A sudden stillness descended. The aquatic weeds quavered to stiff watching lines, as the goldfish gathered in frightened goldish herds. Even the aged piranha looks out from under hoary, greying banked eyebrows out at the still chill rims of the Fishbowl.



The Book Of Bloggations lay upturned, ignored.



Toes dug into the sand bed, she sat staring up at that black circle that meant night sky, pricked through with stars. Waiting.



Then it happened. A sudden shining glimmer psyched the black circle for a nanosecond, and then started arcing downwards.



Her eyes widened.



The glimmer grew larger, starlight bouncing off its glassy surface.



Her jaw dropped. She got up, stretched her hands out and gulped. The goldfish gasped. The water weeds bent backwards in horror. Only the aged piranha, if you looked hard enough, sat back on his tail, folded his fins and allowed the ends of his gnarled mouth to curl upwards. He was grinning.



You see, her lack of motor skills were legendary. Baited breaths were held everywhere.



Faster, and faster, larger and glassier it tumbled and nose-dived through the air.. closer, CLOSER TILL-



"thwup!"



The water weeds streamed out at 180 degrees with the force of the happy sigh of relief that pervaded the Bowl.



Breathing like a spouting Beluga with the adrenaline rush, she gazed down at the empty Bacardi Orange twist bottle in her hands, still warm from its travel through the atmosphere.



There was a scroll of paper inside. Holding it upto her eye bravely, she could just about make out ball-point scrawlings.



If I concentrate hard enough, she thought.. If I can twist and turn the bottle as Ir ead, I can make out..



Words- the little fish squirmed in goldish gleeful glee.

Words- The piranha sighed, and wished for a cold kelp beer, from the deep sea

Words- The water weeds pla-



"Ahem. Excuse me, but may I interrupt?"



All humaned, weeded and goggled eyes [even the piranha] turned towards the delciously cool, clipped english voice. Above. On the Bowl's rim.



A pale face peered down.



"Would you mind if I came down there? Its jolly cold up here"



She dumbly nodded. Not out of surprise; things like this often happened in the Bowl. She was busy turning the bottle around, trying to read letters she recognised.



She wasn't watching the voice's descent, but the others were. Streaming short tufts of pale blond hair, an interestingly anaemic long legged man in black velvet pantaloons swam down gracefully, astride a blue bottle nosed dolphin. They came to a halt in front of her, the man now sitting arms crossed, a long suffering look of patience on his face.



The others noticed this and exchanged worried looks. The stranger looked a star: it was something about the glitter in his blue eyes. And the Bowl had fallen into hard times. Ignoring him the way the stupid girl was doing was definately inauspicious. They shifted from fin to fin, now a prussian blue with all that baited breath. They had held their breath so long, that even the fat dangling worms had stopped squirming in pain and sorrow, and now just hung on the waiting hooks as they were- bored little bits of PolyUnsaturatedFattyAcids.



They did not have to worry, though- With a languid, gracious smile, he waved at them, and then turned at an angle that looked suspiciously like a pose. The youngest goldfish caught on, and pulled out his Kodak. The others giggled excitedly and shyly sidled around to have their fins autographed. Then man smiled, bent down and kissed one plump, reddish gold fish who squealed and did a cartwheel. The worms squirmed again, worried at the hunger all this excitement would cause.The murmur rumbled into applause, and laughter.



She looked up at that, impatiently.



"Cant you see that Im trying to read?? Keep it down!"



At that, the man swirled around to face her, scattering happy goldfish. He and the dolphin- who gave out that his name was Humphry- snorted in Synchronicity.



"Well, Im here to help you with that. Sheesh. Girls these days. A mystic Bottle comes to you, and all you're trying to do is get your eyeball stuck in its mouth. Givvit here!!"



With an annoyed look, she handed the empty 'cept-for-the-scroll bottle of bacardi orange twist to the blond slim englishman. He stuck one bony long finger into the bottle and pulled out the parchment.



The weeds were floored in another collectve sigh, accompanied by fishy gurgles of "I love you!!"



With an important air, the man held up the scroll for all to see, but turned it towards himself before anyone could read anything. He waggled an elegant finger at the ground beneath her feet. She nodded, and sat down with 'bump!'.



Clearing his throat, the man bagan reading from the scroll.. slowly, his voice a caress like an evening moonlit wave.



"Modesty, propriety can lead to notoriety

You could end up as the only one

Gentleness, sobriety are rare in this society

At night a candle's brighter than the sun



Takes more than combat gear to make a man

Takes more than a license for a gun

Confront your enemies, avoid them when you can

A gentleman will walk but never run



If, "Manners maketh man" as someone said

Then he's the hero of the day

It takes a man to suffer ignorance and smile

Be yourself no matter what they say"



Silence, but a listening one. Everyone and everything quivered, knowing that Something Specifically Very Important Which Must Be Remembered was about to happen.



The man alighted, patting Humphry's back. He bent and dug into the sand with his fingers, and frowned till they wrapped around something, which he pulled out, tuned and strummed once on. With a quiet smile, carressing just Bm G A7 and Em, he began to sing...



"Sending out an SOS...

Sending out an SOS"



over and over again. And suddenly it was as if everyone's parents had just left for the weekend. Goldfish went crazy, hugging and crying and dancing all quiet, all quiet to this man's music, because it was as if what had been lost was now found.



She looked up, and blinked to see a fireburst of twinkling silverryblueryreddery lights in the black circle above. She blinked again- darn these tears. But no, they were coming closer too. But different from the way the bottle appeared. This time there were waves and whoops and cheering and yelling and haka cries from the twinkling silverryblueryreddery lights. They were tumbling bumbling closer, reaching out shining arms towards the goldfish, the piranha, the weeds, her and the man.



She gasped. Shining arms=the shining things! They had returned!!



As each one plopped down, it was as if an enourmous LG bulb had come on.



And wonder of wonders- the Shining things came up to the scroll, and jostled each other to add words to what was already written. Te man smilingly held it for them. When they had all finished, he turned to the inhabitants of the fishbowl and said-



"SOS' have been answered. Guess everyone felt pretty strongly about this scroll"- at that he looked up, and smiling, waved. The stars above twinked luminous-er for a moment, then went back to their usual shining.



"Here. This is a notice for you to help you remember"



"what?" She, asked, a voice catching a bit.



"Why its worth still raging. Come!"



And grabbing her hand and her heart in one sweep he and Humphry swam her up and out of the Fishbowl, leaving behind a trail of purple curly kelp and magic.



Even the piranha joined the crowd that gurgled around where the man had taped up the scroll. And this is what they read-



"Passion, not pedigree, will win in the end."

---Jon Bon Jovi





"Each warrior wants to leave the mark of his will, his signature, on the important acts he touches. This is not the voice of ego but of the human spirit, rising up and declaring that it has something to contribute."

---Pat Riley



"to be nobody-but-myself in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make me everybody else means, to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting"- e.e Cummings



"Tell them that I did it for love of the game"- Kevin Costner as Billy Chapel.



I suppose this is the way that magic can happen if you really want it to. Picking bluberries from passing rainclouds and listening to a man named Gordon play a song he wrote a while back. Its cool. We will swim through the madness. And pick up our pencils once again.



And as the night wheeled on, and the piranha chased the plump reddish gold one, and the weeds waved... this is what I heard:


Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh

Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh

More loneliness than any man could bear

Rescue me before I fall into despair, oh



I’ll send an s.o.s. to the world

I’ll send an s.o.s. to the world

I hope that someone gets my

I hope that someone gets my

I hope that someone gets my

Message in a bottle, yeah

Message in a bottle, yeah



A year has passed since I wrote my note

But I should have known this right from the start

Only hope can keep me together

Love can mend your life but

Love can break your heart

I’ll send an s.o.s. to the world

I’ll send an s.o.s. to the world

I hope that someone gets my

I hope that someone gets my

I hope that someone gets my

Message in a bottle, yeah

Message in a bottle, yeah

Message in a bottle, yeah

Message in a bottle, yeah



Walked out this morning, don’t believe what I saw

Hundred billion bottles washed up on the shore

Seems I’m not alone at being alone

Hundred billion castaways, looking for a home

I’ll send an s.o.s. to the world

I’ll send an s.o.s. to the world

I hope that someone gets my

I hope that someone gets my

I hope that someone gets my

Message in a bottle, yeah

Message in a bottle, yeah

Message in a bottle, yeah

Message in a bottle, yeah

Sending out at an s.o.s.

Sending out at an s.o.s.

Sending out at an s.o.s.

Sending out at an s.o.s.

Sending out at an s.o.s.

Sending out at an s.o.s...