His bulbus head lifted out of the white Hilux ute he had arrived at the ground in. The girth of his eyebrows seemingly providing a lower boundry for his pronounced forehead as they danced and intertwined millimetres above the bridge of his nose. Nostrils flaring he hobbled with an elderly person's gait to the mountain of bags, cigarette clenched in right hand, balls cupped in his left palm. It was the debut of Geoffery Werner as a coach and although football didn't know it yet, it's course was set to change forever....Nick Deluca laces his boots in a criss cross fashion, eyelets dancing in the early afternoon sun to the song falling from his lips directed at the man he considers his closest and most revered friend, "Hey Rens, ready for the season. I reckon Geoff's gonna be an arsehole". Reynolds replies in a quickfire tone, loaded with wit in almost Wildean prose, "You're a season. Snap!". Nick fondles for a response but realises his best friend has just served him up with some cooking straight from 'You got served' kitchen.
"Ahmmm", Geoff clears his throat. His crows feet stretch and wrinkle as he widens his eyes to take in and observe all that lies before him. Like the great Macedonian named Alexander, he feels that he owns all of the known world. Johnny English gazes upon the newborn coach with listless eyes, his soul begging to be vocalised so it can scream 'what the fuck?'.
"Ok guys, Rens you're the best keeper and striker so I am not sure where to put you...."
I don't remember what happened after the that. I blacked out after he actually said the fat ass was competent at 2 positions. I guess what matters is that Geoff isn't here anymore. Yay for progress!
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