Rivermarsh
United
George Jenkins called to
order the one hundred and twenty-fifth annual
general meeting of Rivermarsh United Football
Club. ‘I’ll begin this meeting with my
report as chairman,’ he said, ‘and then
move to the matter of the sale of the Club.’
‘Last season,’
George continued, ‘the “Marshes”
finished last in the Southern Hampshire Sub-regional
Football League for the eighteenth consecutive
year. Once again we failed to score any goals.
There was, however, encouraging improvement from
last year in that just five hundred and twenty
goals were scored against us in the twenty-five
games we played.’
‘That was despite
being hit by sickness and injury,’ enthused
Eric Henderson, Club Coach. ‘If more than
two of our players had turned up for the game
against Winchester, their team would never have
scored in treble figures.’
‘Nevertheless,’
George pointed out, ‘we continue to have the
poorest record in English football.’ He
glanced at the meeting agenda. ‘I will now
move to our second item which relates to the
potential sale of the Club. Can I ask our
Treasurer to explain?’
Henry Baker, Club Treasurer,
lifted a letter from the table. ‘We’ve
had correspondence from the Russian billionaire,
Vladimir Gangstervitch,’ said Henry.
‘He’s offered two hundred thousand
pounds for Rivermarsh United.’
‘That’s loads
more than it’s worth,’ noted Eric. What
does he want with the
“Marshes”?’
‘Wealthy foreigners
have bought Premier League clubs,’ answered
Henry, ‘and then paid millions for the
finest players. I gather Mr G wants to invest
forty billion pounds to create the most
successful team on the planet. He wants an
established team with a long history, but I
believe he also thinks it would be amusing to
transform the country’s least successful
club into the world’s best.’
Eric looked worried.
‘He’d want to get involved with team
selection, then?’
‘He intends to field
the greatest international players.’
‘So he wouldn’t
want Nobby in goal anymore?’
‘Probably not
alongside Rooney and Ronaldo.’
‘But Nobby’s been
playing in goal for forty years. Now he’s in
his eighties, getting out of the old folks’
home on Saturdays to play for the
“Marshes” is all he lives for.
It’d break his heart to be dropped.’
‘It’s likely the
whole team would change,’ confirmed Henry.
‘Even Stanley?’
Henry reflected
nostalgically, ‘I remember when we got
special permission from the FA for Stanley’s
guide dog to join him on the pitch, but Mr G may
want someone who isn’t blind in the centre
forward position.’
‘It’s not just
Nobby and Stanley,’ pleaded Eric.
‘There’s Bert with his arthritis and
Walter with his Alzheimer’s…’
‘And there’s also
the ladies of the village who do the refreshments,’
interrupted Mildred, George’s wife. ‘We
can manage tea, sandwiches and cakes for thirty
people, but I doubt we could cope with a hundred
thousand seater stadium.’
‘The village would
never be the same again,’ concluded Henry.
‘Perhaps we should put
this matter to the vote,’ said George.
‘Those in favour of selling Rivermarsh
United Football Club to Mr Gangstervitch, please
raise your hands.
No hands were raised.
‘Those against?’
continued George.
All hands rose.
‘Can you write to Mr
Gangstervitch, Henry,’ said George,
‘politely declining his generous offer.’
George consulted the sheet
in front of him. ‘Now for item three on the
agenda, preferred fillings for after-match
sandwiches…’
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