Gentle reader, I believe Cicero wrote it best: “O tempora! O mores!” O, the times! O, the customs! Our beloved El FC has been, to be charitable, not reaching its potential. When passers-by see me and my hens as we stroll along one of our fair city’s avenues, I am often asked how I feel about the current direction of the club. My answer is always the same:
When asked why, I articulate the delusional gaffer, players in unnatural spaces, and good ole-fashioned poor luck.
I’m then pushed and asked if this means I’d like our Wolff to get the sack. I say no words. My body says it all.
This very situation happened yesterday. A lovely gent of about 37 years, delightful with salt and pepper hair, but distressingly wearing his white Supergas (it is after Labor Day, after all) pushed me on this.
Despite this faux pas, this most easy of the rules of fashion to follow, I obliged and replied, “The answer is simple: Ozymandias.”
He was flummoxed, so I began to quote the poem:
My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Staring blankly at me, Wolfie and I could tell that the elevator was not going all the way to the top, that he wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. So, being the magnanimous person I naturally am, I explained that Ozymandias was once a powerful king but now is irrelevant and impotent.
My new friend’s response?
At that moment, San Julius pecked at my foot as if to stop speaking poetically and lay it out bare. I can never go against my hens, so I acquiesced. I explained, in as simple terms as possible, all the current problems this team is experiencing yet maintaining, as best I could, hope in the future.
You see, gentle reader, I still believe in and love this team.
Finally, this interlocutor asked the million dollar question if El FC will win Sunday evening.
“Let’s find out!”
Then, I grabbed some ethically sourced, 100% organic, grain-free, pelleted feed and scattered it about the sidewalk. Some even rolled off the kerb.
My hens, in unison, ate twice to the left and then once to the right.
“We’re winning!” he shouted, full of delusion.
“No, my friend, I’m afraid not.”
El FC 1-2 Does it even matter at this point
Louis de Ludovico
Viewing McKalla as his personal empire, Louis lives for the beautiful game. And food. Especially flamingo tongues. A chicken savant.