Hamish McShanks

Ham Shanks Secret Diary w/e 11^th March 2007

Hope – noun – ‘the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best’ Or if you are a Scottish rugby fan; Hope – noun – ‘the brief moment of deluded elation that precedes your team entering the field of play soon to be followed by feelings of deep despair and despondency’

Actually to be fair I didn’t think we had a hope before kick off, but other than ten minutes at the start, Ireland did their very best to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. Scotland looked as sharp as ever, toothless? Us? How dare you! Take that back or I’ll dribble all over you with my suppurating gums. Were world champions at tooth decay I’ll have you know!

Switching off the television I drew the curtains and pulled on my faded black armband. Lifting up my arm I smoothed down the worn cotton ‘need to get a new one of these soon I suppose’ I mumbled whilst cracking open another tinny and draining it in one long draught. Two more cans and the desired soporific effect kicked in, the final can slipping from my hands as I drifted off into a snorting slumber.

‘C’mon Ham get warmed up your going on’, ‘ww.w.what?’, ‘get warmed up, your going on for Parky in five’, ‘who the fu*ks Parky?’ I exclaimed as strong hands pushed me out of my seat and on to the running track. The noise was deafening ‘Oh fuuu-‘ last thing I could remember was drifting off to sleep with the comforting aroma of empty pizza boxes and beery flatulence. Now I appeared to be warming up to play for Scotland at Murrayfield. The noise was deafening and the players looked a whole lot bigger from this close proximity ‘oh b*gger’ I mumbled.

‘Ready to go?’ enquired a voice above me, I glanced up to see an attractive young lady with what appeared to be a white sheet wrapped round her and an odd shaped wicker basket clutched in her hand. The garland of flowers round her head and the leather sandals suggested she wasn’t a local. This and the fact she was levitating in mid-air as she kept up with my laboured jogging ‘ah this must be a dream’ I mumbled as she waved a delicate hand in front of her rapidly wrinkling nose ‘Nervous?’ she enquired through streaming eyes ‘er yes, haven’t played rugby for a while’ I replied, speeding up slightly to leave the odour behind.

‘But I don’t need to worry do I? This is a dream isn’t it?’ the ferocious sounds of heavy collisions were audible over the noise of the crowd as I gawped at another bone crushing tackle in front of me ‘not exactly’ she replied sweetly ‘what do you mean not exactly’ I retorted hotly, ‘who the hell are you anyway?’, ‘Oh I’m the goddess of hope’, ‘but you can call me Elpis’ she replied brightly ‘Nice to meet you Elpis now what the smeging hell is going on’, ‘Well remember you really really really hoped Scotland would win today’, ‘yes’ I replied grudgingly as the Scotland trainer rushed past me to minister to yet another stricken player.

‘Well today’s your lucky day!’, ‘how so?’ I mumbled weakly as I saw the Scotland manager Frank Hadden gesture frantically for me to get my tracksuit off ‘Well you’re getting a chance to re-write history’ tears were welling up in my eyes ‘yes it is emotional getting capped isn’t it’, ‘b.bb.ut I haven’t played rugby for y.y.years’ I quavered in reply

‘Right Shanks I want you to replace Parky at fly-half and provide some dynamism in attack’, ‘mmm’, ‘I want to see you really take the game to the Irish and start running at their big men’ my eyes widened in horror ‘been a mm.istake t.t.errible mistake’ I whispered in abject terror, Frank didn’t seem to notice my wimpy trembling as he continued issuing a stream of what seemed like meaningless instructions. All the while Elpis was hovering behind him, mugging happily and giving the thumbs up ‘let’s get this game moving Shanks’ and I was on ...

They say the difference between club and international level rugby is the amount of time you have on the ball. At international level you don’t have any. They are not wrong. My initial relief at actually catching the first pass was short lived. The ball seemed to be attached to a rather large rhinoceros clad in a green shirt, at least I think that’s what it was, certainly felt like one as I was hammered into the ground, my front teeth digging a rather neat ‘dreel’ in the wet turf ‘oooommpfff!’ not content with splintering every bone in my body the gentleman in question then proceeded to give me a good shoeing for afters. The shrill sound of a whistle came to my ‘rescue’

The trainer ran on as I tried to balance shakily on my hands and knees, gingerly taking in lungfuls of air, waiting for one of my many fractured rubs to puncture a lung, it was only a matter of time. I could hear the ref chastising the Irish player ‘That’s dangerous use of the boot …’ meanwhile the trainer had opened a bottle of smelling salts under my nose and the acrid aroma was boring into my sinuses ‘jeeeesuschriiist’ I wailed as he practically inserted the phial up my nostril. Groggily I got to my feet and the crowd roared their appreciation ‘Well done Ham’ whispered the trainer, ‘Chris kicked the penalty and were two points ahead’, ‘Five minutes to go, keep at them’, ‘yeah right’ I mumbled through my remaining broken teeth.

Shakily I got back into position ‘Having fun?’ enquired the ethereal Elpis as she popped up on my shoulder ‘feck off!’, ‘Now now, I’m only giving you hope, that’s what you wanted wasn’t it?’ I stared at her through my one good eye ‘do we win now?’ I mumbled ‘lets hope so eh’ she winked before disappearing. Cursing the fickleness of gods I lined up for the restart. The Irish took a sneaky one, quickly changing direction for the drop out. With mounting horror I realised the ball was heading straight for me. I could hear the thunder of hooves as I kept my eye fixed on the descending the ball. I’m fairly sure I shouted ‘mine’ before the pain arrived.

Waking up I found myself in a hospital bed ‘feeling better?’ enquired Elpis from the end of the bed. My jaw was wired shut ‘mngfmm’, ‘yes you took a bit of a blow to the coupon, broken jaw they say’ She was munching on a bunch of grapes, my grapes by the look of it ‘let’s hope you’re feeling better soon eh’ I raised my good hand, slowly extending the middle finger with exaggerated care. She chose to ignore my efforts at non-verbal communication ‘well much as I’d like to I cant hang around here all day, I’ve got some Welsh fans to kick in the balls’, ‘see you next week for the French game then?’, ‘fgnckoff..mmyouffn..witch’

She swallowed the last grape, picked up her cornucopia and waved a hand dismissively ‘Don’t be so tetchy, I’ve been doing the English football gig for over forty years and they never seem to learn!’

Doei