One can say a great many things about life in Cincinnatus, but surely one claim that cannot be issut is that it is unmarked by turbulence. ‘Twas only last week that word arrived that the Bengali Tygers (who still favor me with employ for who knows how much longer) contracted another brigand for the purposes of footballing. Have I joint a footballing squadron or a penal colony? This is only meant a clever jape, but sometimes I wonder.
The ruffian in question is said to have once been known by the appellation “Packman”. Bully, I thought, a fellow from the shipyards. A blue-collar laborer much like myself. However, when I approacht him and asked which vessels he had packt cargo, he responded with a lengthy list of women’s vaginae. Now, my sensibilities are as sensitive as the next Irishman’s, which is to say, as numb as an opponent’s face in the 8th round, but these statements scandalizet me.
More troubling is the legend told that he once made the sky rain paper currency. Heavens! Who knows what other sorcery this voodoo priest is capable of concocting. I think it best to keep my distance. Haymakers (for all their strength) achieve little effect against the dark arts.
By steering clear, I had hoped this would been the temporary end of the dolors. But no, as if by incantation by the voodoo priest Packman himself, more dolors arrived. Just last day, the strange Negroid Spaniard, using his mystical birdspeak device, made a communique that the Bengali Tygers were to acquire the quartered back JaMarcus Russell.
A number of things rankle me about this.
Firstly, the Tygers are sufficient at the quartered backing position. There is Good Sir Palmer. There is Palmer the Younger. There is myself. Perhaps it is only the vainglory speaking, but that strikes me as enough. Another quartered back will disrupt the balance. Yes, Good Sir Palmer travailed last season, but one must place faith in their appointed leader.
Penultimately, his name: JaMarcus Russell. It is the tradition of those of Afrikan extraction to favor odd twists when naming their brood. Were he a man of Irish extraction, he would have a honorable moniker, such as McMarcus O’Russell. If I should ever cross paths again with Packman, I will suggest he grant this name to his next unintended son.
Lastly, while little is scientifically known about the dark continent of Afrika, explorers have noted that in Akrikan tribes, those of great social stature are also those of large physique. And if this JaMarcus is anything, he is largely physiquet. I fear this means he is held is high esteem. But, ultimately, I care not. Mother O’Sullivan, saint that she is, did not raise her son to shrink from a challenge.
I have bested large men in the past. An advantage in size does not equal an advantage in will. Once, I fought a rotund cur who issut choice words about the quality of mother’s potato stew. He appeart imposing, yet I barely connected with one haymaker and the man could not be roused until the next day.
If the Bengali Tygers see it fitting to import malefactors and large Afrikan quartered backs, they will have to also deal with a cuss of an Irishmen, for he will not be dispatcht with ease. Ho!