By PelerinStJames
December 29 2012

Part two of Pelerin St James' epic tale of derring do...

Tongy Weigher and the Fez of Desire (part 2)

The storm clouds blew across the grey MK sky as Rylan Tartley led his troops out to do battle.   The Professor had tinkered once again and Tongy now found himself on the bench sat alongside Timmy Is who had lost his place to Waldorf.  True to form, Timmy was busy making the best of a bad situation and was merrily tweeting away.  Tongy checked his phone….

 “Even when you think there is nothing else left that you can do, do something, do anything.  Every action has an effect, small things change the world”

Typical Timmy he thought, and his attention turned like to the match that was about to kick off.  PJ Gargoyle blew his whistle and the Battle commenced.    Right from the start the Wolf pack tore straight into the Scrimmagen, and recovered the ball from their kick off, back it went to their playmaker, Harley Bodgitsoon, who immediately sent the pill skywards in to the misty grey atmosphere.  Today was not a day for quick, fast, running mugby, it was cold, damp and wet, and Ken Dolphin ran forward like a man possessed and leapt high into the air to take the ball.  Instinctively, the Sarries raced forwards, this was second nature to them now, running forward whilst the ball sailed high way above their heads.  Dolphin caught the ball and landed back on terra firma just as the hit came in. He knew he was in for a long afternoon.  The ravenous wolves swarmed all over him, howling at the Gargoyle to penalise the Scrimmagen, but the Saintsmen stood strong and maintained possession.  Smiler gladly cleared down field at the game was on. 

The first quarter passed very much in the same vein, key to the result was the territorial control.  If the Saintsmen could win that crucial battle and force the Saracens to attack from deep, then they were in with a chance.  Sarries were not known for their attacking play, but based their game around their monstrous defence, preferring to counter attack of the back of their opponents’ mistakes and build the pressure that way.  It was this coupled with their extreme knowledge of the Dark Arts that hadn’t won them many friends amongst the neutrals, but for the Black Army who had followed them throughout the dark ages, this success was utterly beautiful, such was the power of the Fez of Desire.  True to form, the pressure told, and they won their first penalty on 21 minutes.  The ice cool Bodgitson calmly knocked it over as the Saracens pressure began to build.  Far and wide across The Shire, hearts suddenly felt that little bit heavier, the Dementors were on the march, and the residual warm glow of the Winterfest was starting to fade as the dark clouds gathered all around, 3-0 to the Saracens.  The Safety of the Shire was under threat.

The relentless monotony of the Kick chase was starting to pay dividends, although they had little possession, the Saracens were clearly winning the territorial battle, and even the man himself, the man who had once lit up the Shire with his individualism, electric running lines and devil may care attitude, Fish Cashton had fallen beneath the spell of the Fez, and was now happily forming part of the defensive wall, and stifling the life out of their opponents.    Professor Dallinmore could only look on in sadness as he watched the man who had once been the life and soul of his attacking team, full of joy, energy and vigour, the man who only lived to score tries, now celebrating 3 points for killing the ball as if he had won the lottery.  Such was the power of the Fez of Desire.

As half time approached, not much had changed.  The pattern of the game was simple, Saracens in control, the Scrimmagen was being strangled, and the life was being slowly sucked out of the Saintsmen.  Fortunately, despite his genius in controlling the tempo and pattern of the Battle, Harley Bodgitsoon was not having a good day off the kicking tee.  He had already missed several opportunities, cleverly one by the Wolf packs deceit and deception at the breakdown, who seemed to have PJ Gargoyle well and truly on their side.  And now on the stroke of Half time, he had another opportunity to extend the lead from right in front of the posts.  Jumbo watched on, he had known Harley for a long long time, and despite his mercurial touch with ball in hand, he had always struggled off the kicking tee.  Everyman had a flaw, and this was Harleys’ (and ultimately the Saracens Achilles heel).  For all the pressure, discipline and endeavour shown by the Wolf pack, it still needed someone to convert this into points.  It was only small chink of light, but it seemed that this was beyond even the power of the mystic Fez.   Up in the stands, the Saracen faithful were already wiggling their outstretched fingers in their attempts to influence the kick.   No, this was about one thing and one thing only, the ability of one man to kick a pigs bladder through a set of posts, which on this occasion Harley duly did.  6-0 and the mood in the Shire fell once more.

The suffering in the Frankworts dressing room was tangible.  Jumbo could not fault the effort, he could not fault the desire, but confidence was low and morale was shot.  Right now the only thing keeping them in the game was the misfiring boot of Mr Bodgitsoon.  An eerie silence hung over the players, even Timmy Is had nothing positive to say, and the players all sat staring at the floor, no one dared speak.  When they did, nothing but arguments broke out amongst the players.  Outside, the strains of “Stand up for the Saracens” could be heard which of course did nothing the general mood of all concerned.   Jumbo knew that across the Shire, the mood was no better, the Saracen advance, although faltering was strong.  The stench of despair flooded the changing room like the smell of Rylans’ boxers, Jumbo knew he needed to do something, and do something fast.  He looked around the room, and then it came to him…..”Hope.” Hope defeats despair, and right in front of him, was hope personified.  The Saintsmen were not losing to the Saracens, nor to PJ Gargoyle, but to Dr Ventnomore and the Fez of Desire, and there, right in front of him was the only man ever to escape the power of the Red Hat.  Tongy Weigher had done it once, so he could surely do it again.  “Tongy, you’re on” and that was the extent of the Professors team talk.

The rain lashed down more and more heavily, and away to the South the distant rumble of thunder heralded further gloom heading towards the Shire.  Milton Keynes was soulless at the best of times, and now as the Saracens song reverberated around the battlefield,  all that stood between the Shire and the Saracen Dementors were 15 men dressed in Black green and gold.  Rylan tried his best to rally his troops, he knew they were being outplayed, he knew there were dark forces at work here, but he wasn’t going down without a fight.  No, there was still time, and where there is hope there is light, he for one could not tolerate the thought of Saracen sneans wearers taking over the Shire, but he also knew it was not looking good.   Even the voice of saintly optimism and proud possessor of the Philosophers Stone, Sir Geoffroi d’Alene, seemed somewhat disheartened as he announced Tongy’s introduction.  And this was the man who had served the cause of St James for centuries, the man who had seen or taken part in every major battle since time began, and who had answered the call at Gommarche and survived.  If Sir Geoffroi, was wavering, what hope was there for the Shire?

The second half kicked off, and on a matter of seconds, the familiar pattern returned.  Frankworts although they had plenty of possession, they ran and ran into the Brick wall of defence.  Behind the posts a pantomime came prowled the dead ball line, complete with its oddly shaped hump.  To the distant eye of Jumbo, it looked distinctly Fez shaped.  It couldn’t be could it?  No wonder we can’t score, they have hidden the Fez of Desire in Sarrie, and are exerting a force field across the tryline preventing any access to the Saintsmen.  Jumbo’s heart sank.  He knew that there was nothing he could do, but even if they could get down that end, it was highly unlikely and virtually impossible that his men could penetrate this mystical force field. 

And so the monotony continued, with the Saintsmen defending for all they were worth.  Even if they couldn’t score, Jumbo was proud of his men’s’ desire not to concede.   The clock was now up 60 minutes, the mist and fog were drawing in and the rain lashed down on to the soaking Scrimmagen.  With a monumental effort, Frankworts won a scrum deep in the Sarries 22.

  “Crouch……Touch…….Set” and the two mighty beasts locked horns, each scrabbling for the upper hand in the hit to no avail. “Stand up” barked the Gargoyle, “For the Saracens” howled the Wolf pack.  Rylan steadied himself once more and called for one more huge effort, and this time the scrum steadied and Dickie Lee put the ball in.  JG held it at his feet as the mighty Scrimmagen prepared itself to march forward.  The months of practice overseen by Westrid all came together as the strength and power of all 8 men joined as one, the power came straight through the entire beast and Professor Smooj, Rylan and Tongy drove forward and up.   Bulky Spritzers head popped out as the Scrimmagen moved slowly forwards through the mud “penalty advantage green” called the Gargoyle, “STAND UP FOR THE SCRIMMAGEN” shouted the saints.

As the wolf pack howled their protests to Gargoyle, inch by inch, they drove on, edging closer through the rain.  8 men came together as one, and had the wolf pack were in retreat….Gargoyle saw nothing wrong as the power came through, and as the pace quickened, 6m, 5m, 4m, before the Fezs’ force field was encountered and the Scrimmagen slowed right down.  Tongy felt the energy, he had encountered this before, he knew the power of the Fez and knew it was impossible for any human to break through.  There was only one chance, and one chance alone.  With an immense effort he surged forward once more, and then went to ground.  He held his breath as the Scrum collapsed on top of him.  “Black 3 collapsing the scrum, Penalty try” shouted the Gargoyle and ran behind the posts.   The Scrimmagen cheered, and around the ground there was a deathly hush.  Frankworts had scored without crossing the line, and with Smiler now adding the extras, they were 6-7 in front with 15 minutes to go.

Of course, the Saracens were not done yet and laid siege to the Frankworts line.  Wave after wave of attacking Saracens play came forth, orchestrated as ever by Bodgitsoon.  Gaps were appearing and it was taking all the Saintsmens strength to hold them out.  With only a few minutes left, Sarries were camped 3 yards out picking and driving towards the line.  Rylan was leading the defensive effort on the front line, and the hope across the Shire was starting to grow.  Maybe, just maybe, they could hold out as the Rylan once more went in to seize the ball….”Penalty black, Green 2, not rolling away” called the Gargoyle, and as the whistle went, Rylans heart sank, and with a flash of yellow, he knew his game was over.  2 minutes left.   Not surprisingly Saracens called for the scrum.  Bereft of their leader, the Saintsmen huddled together whilst an injured Saracen was treated.  Silence, Utter silence.  Any residual hope of winning disappeared in an instant.  A man light, it was unlikely that the Scrimmagen could resist.  Tongy felt the despairing eyes of his team mates turn to him.  “Come on Tongy, tell us your secret, how do you resist the power of the Fez of Desire ?” Tongy closed his eyes, and paused, he knew his team mates, the Saintsmen and the Shire were looking to him, desperate for a message of hope to resist the impending doom. “The truth is” he said quietly “it wasn’t me who broke the spell…..it was you.   It was your friendship, your support, and your belief that had made me what I am, who was I to go against my friends and my team, you are my family.  The messages from across the Shire wanting me to stay meant so much, and were so powerful, the spell of the Fez of Desire stood no chance.” The 14 Saintsmen drew closer in their huddle. “ I believe that together, we can defend our line, defend our friends and defend our countrymen from the evil Saracen threat.  Who would have thought that at half time, we would now be winning.  2 minutes from glory, that is all.  I believe that we can do this, the question is ‘Are we Men of War or Men of Shadows’”  and with that Tongy started singing softly “ou Haine descente, ou haine descente, ou haine descente, Gommearche, Chinon, Oyez Juan Toby, homes des guerres n’ombres, ou haine descente Gommearche, Chinon.

One by one, the warriors joined in, and as the Saintly choir got louder, the Saintsmen around the ground joined in as the noise and the belief grew.  17000 saintsmen found their voices in Milton Keynes, and over the airwaves on Shire FM, Mystic Dig had joined his comrades in song.  The message had reached the Shire.  Believe.  As they sang and waited for play to resume, they felt their spirits soar as they turned to face their foes.  Maybe it was Tongys imagination, but he was sure that out in front across the pitch, the ghostly images of Frankworts legends past were dancing across the pitch.  There was the great Buck Shelford and Pat Lam leading the charge forward, behind him Jeff Butterfield and Dickie Jeeps danced through the Saracens defence and down the to tryline.  In the far corner, Dawson dummied and went for glory as the great and the good of the Proper Tradition of St James arrived in force at Milton Keynes.   Help had been called for and help had come.

 The Scrum was set, Timmy Is had been sent on into the centres whilst Ken Dolphin packed down behind Tongy to make up the 8.  Saracens won the ball, and tried to push forward.  The scrimmagen resisted manfully, again the second shove came through but the Scrimmagen stood firm.  Plan B for the Sarries was coming, they didn’t need a try, a drop goal would do it, and in one last attempt to destabilise the Scrum, Tongy drove forward, and felt a sharp searing pain down his right leg.  By now Bodgitsoon was set for the Drop goal, the ball came back and the Saints men flew forward, Tommy Is leading the charge flung himself towards the Saracens Maestro.   The ball cannoned off his chest and bounced free.  One of the Peasleys then put their boot through it and the chase was on.  As Fish ran back, his old mucker Ken Dolphin was right alongside and just got their first.  “Unlucky Fish” he said as he hacked the ball forward and into touch around the half way line.  The Saintly noise grew stronger across the Shire.

Tongy lay on the ground in real pain, he wasn’t sure what he had done, but his leg hurt.  With only 20 seconds left, the Gargoyle was not about to stop the clock.  Bulky Spritzer threw the ball in, and it was safely gathered by the Wolf pack.  The Scrimmagen checked the advance, and the ball once again came back to Bodgitsoon as the time turned red.  “One more leap to claim the glory” thought Ken Dolphin who had been fielding the high kicks with ease all day  and sure enough Harley kicked….only this time it didn’t so much as go up, it went across, nice and flat to the far touchline where the Fish had been stationed.  Dolphin had been caught out of position as Saracens utilised their man advantage.  Fish caught the ball and was away, screaming down the touchline.  Hearts and Hopes across the Shire fell.  Tongy got back to his feet, he had to stop the Fish.  Ignoring the pain in his leg, he ran towards the corner.  If only he got get there in time and knock him into touch.  Grimmacing, Tongy sprinted as hard as he had ever done in is life.  If he dived, he might just make it, and as the Shire held its collective breath, Tongy leapt in to the air, arms outstretched as the Fish approached the line.  But Fish had seen him coming and had cut inside leaving a desperate Tongy flying through the air into touch, taking with him the both the touch judge and camera man before rolling into heap right on top of the pantomime Camel, crushing its hump, and squashing the Fez of Desire.

Tongy looked up.  How many times had he seen this sight.  Fish Cashton running in a try unopposed, waving to the crowd.  He also knew what was coming next, he had seen it many many times and always celebrated the moment with him as only team mates can, but now Fish was on the other side, and his trademark dive for once would provide despair not joy for the Shire.  Tongy felt sick. In the crowd, a mobile phone sounded, which jerked Tongy back to life as he remembered Timmys' tweet from earlier.  “Do something, do anything” and with that Tongy bellowed his frustration and anger out loud.  “LEEEEGUIZZZZZZZAMONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN” at least that was what it sounded like to those closest to him.

Tongy wasn’t sure if it was the momentary distraction of the sudden noise, or whether he could truly believe his eyes as the ghostly image of Edgar Mobbs shot across the turf shouting “I’ll get the bounder” and just as Fish had reached the apex of his magnificent try scoring Salmon dive and began the descent to place the ball, it slipped from his grasp as if someone, or something had knocked it out of his hands.   Fish flapped furiously to regain control, but to no avail, the ball fell gently to the floor, all of its own accord, and Fish landed in a disconsolate heap.  17,000 Saintsmen roared their approval as the final whistle went.  The Shire had believed and The Shire was safe once more.

Professor Jumbo Dallinmore sat alone amidst the mayhem.  He knew the Saracens would come again, even if Tongy had squashed the Fez of Desire, they were a strong team, with a strong belief.  This time the men of St James had come good, but there was more work to be done, that was clear, but for the moment, The Shire could celebrate.  He watched the sad Sarries, slowly make their way of the pitch and caught the eye of Harley Bodgitsoon.  Those fans closest to him had they been paying attention, may have the seen the most miniscule of winks between the two of them, but Jumbo Dallinmore was sure that there were far greater battles lying ahead.

News: Tongy Weigher and the Fez of Desire (part two)

Discussion started by ComeOnYouSaints.com , 29/12/2012 13:46

ComeOnYouSaints.com
29/12/2012 13:46

What do you think? You can have your say by posting below.
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St.Rich Joe, Niamh and Sam's Dad
29/12/2012 14:05

No alcohol for January. I'm a dryathlete in aid of cancer research.

Dryathlon

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RugbyBiker
29/12/2012 16:13

Good grief man, a match report on Lord of the Rings epic scale and the match hasn't even happened yet! You realise that you are going to have to do it all again tomorrow evening? (Unless of course you saw all this in the Mirror of Galadriel and so it comes to pass!)

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To Mega Therion
29/12/2012 17:10

If you did it in the style of the Star Wars trilogy, I'd have understood. As it is; it's far to clever for me! Well done, though.


Who removed my H.R. Giger picture?

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St.Rich Joe, Niamh and Sam's Dad
29/12/2012 22:20

Star Wars is a six film epic and if you didn't realise is a love story. Despicable use of science fiction to trick geeks into watching 6 chick flicks. Lucas hold your head in shame!!!

No alcohol for January. I'm a dryathlete in aid of cancer research.

Dryathlon

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