....because it's bloody tedious seeing all those Gotye parody links. Full credit goes to:
http://www.thisisafl.com/forums/f6/carl ... ndex2.htmlA completely fictitious story about fictitious people working at a fictitious football club... who coincidentally share the names of real people working at a real football club that is based (partially) on real events.
There was a hushed silence in the room, the players stood perfectly still three rows deep, Chris Judd took the center position of the front row. A proud man, standing firm the hunch in his posture had become more noticeable in recent month. while he was never a strong man he had grown tired and weary of heavy lifting. Although he had his frailties, Christopher was looking younger than ever before.
To his left stood Marc Murphy, a young man just beginning to reach his prime with the gate of a Gazelle and a thirst for success, and Bryce Gibbs, a boy whose eyes were often compared to that of a young fauns. They were the future, a path to assured. The shoulders of these three men would stand above all others and carry the club to the fountain of success and a waterfall of glory for many years to come.
They had been standing now for close to an hour, many of the players minds were beginning to wander, although from what it cannot be said as no task had been provided to them no a reason for their congregation. That was often the practice Brett Ratten. Although a champion of the club, his absent mindedness and lack of forethought was a common critique and the players regularly found themselves with lots of time and little to do. A combination that often lead to trouble. But it was not Brett who had not called the players together today
The room was bare except for a banner at the front that read WE WILL BE GREAT AGAIN. Greg Swann was against the banner and had often tried to remove it. The admission that Carlton was no longer great hurt him deeply. But even when he succeeded he always found it had been replaced in a matter of hours. The decision was not his to make.
Trumpets. The players shared a collective gasp. Silent though. Bryce began to tremble in the fingers and Marc seemed not to be blinking. Of all the players only Chris seemed even the slightest bit comfortable. They took a knee.
It had often been said that the old clubs were run as mafias and up until a few years ago even for carlton it had been true. But no longer was that the case. The club was now a monarchy. A machine driven by a single unquestionable ruler. The club did not strive for the pettiness of success or fame, at least not anymore. It dreamt of larger things.
The doors to the room opened, at the head of the precession were five men, all dressed in black suits with black ties and black sunglasses. Each man also had a pistol mounted on his right hip, black steel in a black holster. The Queens personal guard, known commonly as the Silent Men, were rumoured to be the world's finest mercenaries, hand picked from militias, mafias and private armies the world over. Paid so handsomely that no one could ever tempt to change their loyalties. Gelding was also spoken of, but never in earshot of the Silent.
The five looked around the room and then at each other before giving the signal. Behind them came two young african children, a boy and girl both aged 11. Dressed in fine white silk robes they threw $100 notes onto the ground behind them.
Then she entered.