Gentle reader, El FC did not, in fact, win. My beloved hens and I were fighting the over-emotionality of others and predicted a win. Our optimism was wrong. We apologize for missing the score, but not the sentiment. If there is any positive to take from this match, it’s that Phil also missed his prediction.
I’m coming to a loss for words in respect to this team’s performance. They are impossible to predict, even for my powerful hens. This is no time for simple solutions. I must take them to the source, the font of ancient prognostication, the well-spring of augury. Yes, reader, I booked a flight for us to go to Etruria, the home of the Etruscans. Today, this area is more commonly known as Tuscany.
We hopped onto the auto-gyro
and made our way to Rome’s airport, near the town of Fiumicino.
Being the history nuts they are, San Julius and Wolfie asked to go to the hexagonal area just south of the airport. They knew this was the old Tranjanic harbor for the city of Rome, built in AD 103 and wanted to see it in person. Having been there previously, I know how atmospheric it can be. Alas, I explained to my poultry, we weren’t here for Roman places. We were here to drink in all things Etruscan.
So, we hopped on a bus and made our way up north, to the land of augury and divination. We stopped in the delightful town of Tarquinia. Today, it has a more medieval and baroque feel. But, in its day, it was a center of Etruscan civilization.
Off the main square, we entered into the local museum and were greeted by their 3rd century BC winged horses. These magnificent horses filled my hens with awe. Cast in one piece of terra cotta and several feet high and wide, they are a magnificent representation of ancient Etruscan handiwork.
We found a local guide who led us out to the nearby necropolis (“city of the dead”). It’s here where so many Etruscans are buried, along with so much of their knowledge. We make it out and decided which tomb to enter. Each door would take us to a unique tomb.
Wolfie chooses a door and we descend and drink in the wondrous 2000+ year old art in the Tomb of the Leopards.
We don’t speak. We sit. We drink in the wisdom. We live in the moment. I hear an exhalation and equally deep inhalation from both Wolfie and San Julius. I imagine it must be them letting go and fully accepting their powers.
They then deliberately turn to me, lock eyes, and align our chakras. Two united sprightly leaps to the right and one slow step to the left.
Yes, my dears, I understand and I hope this is true.
El FC 2-1 I Sleep All Night and I Work All Day
Louis de Ludovico
Viewing McKalla as his personal empire, Louis lives for the beautiful game. And food. Especially flamingo tongues. A chicken savant.
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