The
story so far: Professor Padraig
O’Riordan, an expert in football cryptography at the University of Liffey
(formerly Dublin
Polytechnic), is visiting Preston when the
curator of the National
Football Museum ,
Jack Salter, is murdered. Tara
Farmer-Palmer (T F-P), the local constabulary’s football cryptographer, helps
O’Riordan to escape from investigating officer, Chief Inspector Freddie Flintoff,
in a Chieftain tank. O’Riordan has
worked out that the bizarre clue left by Salter refers to a book by Mike
Blackstone and wants to visit ‘Blackstone expert’ Steve Field. However, Flintoff and his faithful DS,
Jeremiah Fuzzyduck, are in pursuit and have notified all officers to be on the
look-out for a suspicious tank, so O’Riordan and T F-P have to try evasive
tactics. Now read on…
The Chieftain tank
pulled into the lorry park of Lancaster (formerly Forton) Service Station. T F-P drove past the ranks of Eddie Stobart, Norbert Dentressangle and Willi Betz lorries. T F-P reversed the tank between an Eddie and
a Nobby.
“Right, what now ?” she asked.
“Well, we’ll call a taxi and have a
coffee while I explain what I think this is about,” replied O’Riordan.
They clambered out of the tank and
headed for the main service area.
In the incident room at the National Football
Museum , Flintoff was
pacing nervously.
“Why hasn’t anybody reported seeing a tank ?” he
barked. Turning to Fuzzyduck he
continued “You said it would be easy.
That’s what a posh University education does for you ! Can’t beat time on the force, son, that’s a
real education. Thank God I’m retiring
soon.”
O’Riordan obtained the number of A To B Lancaster Taxis
(01524 60000) and rang for a cab while he considered whether in his part-time
job as a writer of pulp novels he would consider product placement as a way of
boosting his income.
T F-P had got the Ritazza coffees – the green unroasted
beans having carefully been piloted by Roastmasters through a flavour
transformation creating distinctive, aromatic coffees. It was early morning and the services were
deserted except for a handful of staff.
“OK,” began O’Riordan “The taxi’ll be here in about a
quarter of an hour. I’ll explain what I
think is going on.”
T F-P looked at him transfixed, as if the last few hours
had been all too much for her or she was under the influence of illegal
narcotics.
“Well,” continued O’Riordan. “You know that when England hosted
the World Cup in 1966 the Jules Rimet Trophy was stolen ?”
“Yes,” said T F-P. “And it was recovered by a cute little
dog called Pickles.”
“Lies. All
lies. Like the fact that everyone knows
the first non-UK side to beat England
at home were Hungary
in 1953. When, in reality, it was the Republic of Ireland at Goodison Park
in 1949.”
T F-P looked aghast.
“So what are you saying ?” she inquired.
“Well, apart from the fact that we remember Puskas,
Hidegkuti and Bozsik when it should be Carey, Martin and Farrell, the trophy
that was ‘stolen’ from the Sport on Stamps Exhibition at Stampex, the one that
was ‘recovered’ by Pickles, was a replica that had been made on Blue Peter by
John Noakes out of old gold-top milk bottle tops.”
“And
the real trophy ?”
“Hidden
by a sinister, underground organisation – the Real Football Association. The organisation currently masquerading as
the Football Association is a front for the Real FA – a precarious world where
fact, lore and misinformation had become so intertwined that extracting a truth
was almost impossible. Or was that how Dan Brown had described the Knights
Templar ?”
O’Riordan
paused quizzically for a moment, the pulp author in him realizing that a
monologue would not make smooth reading nor a thrilling passage in any film
adaptation.
“The
Real FA feared that either Brazil
or Italy
would win the 1966 World Cup and get to keep the Jules Rimet Trophy outright
when they believed that the trophy was the English birthright as the inventors
and propagators of the game. So they
swapped the Jules Rimet Trophy for the John Noakes Trophy. Ironically, England won. Conspiracy theorists believe there is a big
clue in the photo of Bobby Moore holding the cup aloft, with Nobby Stiles
toothless grin implying false teeth, thus a fake cup.”
“But
this is preposterous !” spluttered T F-P.
“I
know it sounds unlikely,” explained O’Riordan patiently. “But you must remember
that Devon ’s Holy Grail, the Devon
Professional Bowl – later the St Luke’s Bowl - languished in groundsman Sonny
Clarke’s tool shed for most of the Seventies and Eighties. And besides, Pickles later appeared on Blue
Peter. Why would a football trophy be on
display at a stamp exhibition ? And why did a number of those
involved, including Pickles – strangled by his own leash whilst chasing a cat,
allegedly – die in mysterious circumstances not long afterwards ?”
“But
surely they wouldn’t have been able to keep the deception going ?”
“Which
is why they had to steal the John Noakes Trophy back again. The Real FA rigged the 1970 World Cup so that
two countries that had won the tournament twice would meet in the Final and
keep the Trophy permanently. Who do you
think poisoned Gordon Banks and tried to fit up Bobby Moore over the bracelet
? In 1966 a Brazilian official had
commented that the theft of the trophy was a sacrilege that never would have
been committed in Brazil
because the country loves football too much, and yet it was apparently stolen
in Brazil
and apparently melted down. In fact it
was the Real FA reclaiming the John Noakes Trophy to cover up their crime.”
Torchlight flickered on the Chieftain tank.
PCs Dan ‘Fancy’ Smith and David Graham were doing a routine
inspection of the lorry park looking for illegal immigrants, overladen lorries,
bald tyres, anything to alleviate the boredom of the graveyard shift. They were a partnership that would be played
in a film by a comedy double act, such as Cannon and Ball in their Boys in Blue
era before they found God and God got scared and ran away, or a young Brian
Blessed and Colin Welland, although the roles would need to be expanded by a
decent scriptwriter.
“Well, it certainly looks like the missing tank,” said
Smith.
“Fancy, what are the chances,” replied Graham. “That there
are two tanks driving around Lancashire in the
early hours of the morning ?”
He clambered atop the vehicle and shone his torch into the
tank. It was empty.
“Pity,”
he said. “I haven’t made an arrest in ages.
Better call the station and tell them we’ve found it.”
“The conspiracy has been well known for many years,”
O’Riordan carried on explaining to T F-P. “But fear of the Real FA and their
methods has stopped many people going public with what they know. Then Mike Blackstone published ‘The Brown
Sauce Is Off’, which, devotees allege, contains many clues to the whereabouts
of the Jules Rimet Trophy. And that is
why we must visit one of Blackstone’s closest allies, Steve Field.”
At that moment a jovial figure entered the Service Station,
the sort of person, thought O’Riordan, who would be played in a movie by a
stand-up comedian, or even at a push Shane Richie. “Taxi for O’Riordan,” he called, which was
odd as the professor and T F-P were the only two customers in the café.
“Now,”
said O’Riordan. “We can find out more
about this whole thing or whether, as The Specials sang in Pearl ’s Café, it’s all a load of bollocks.”
To be continued…
Any
resemblance of any of the characters to any person, living or dead,
particularly Steve Field, is purely coincidental.
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