15. Jam Tarts

In an effort to aid the local constabulary weed out a cabal of undesirable visiting spectators from the capital, Aces had installed facial recognition technology at the causeway access to their ground. Arsenal was more than slightly bemused when he first tested the system a few hours before the visit of Heart of Midlothian. The system greeted him with an Irish accent saying “Top O’ The Morning Monsieur Wenger” in what was later explained to be a ‘Derry brogue. Although already of sunny disposition (he had got up out of the right side of the bed clambering over Lilliput to do so) this positive reaction to his arrival raised Arsenal’s spirits. He was certainly in seventh heaven given that the investment was working and faces were being recognized. Lachlan it could be said was on cloud nine. It was his chump change that had underwritten the innovation in the first place. Now it was hoped the instigator of the trouble, Hearts’ supplier of jam tarts, could be identified and extricated from the mob before entry to the terraces was gained. Jam tarts had struck players on a team opposing Hearts on three consecutive week-ends and the carnage had to stop. Happily, a handful of very public arrests were made and the gig workers operating the security system were feted by the Aces front office staff. They were awarded free passes to observe the next nautilus work out session of the team. These passes were hard to come by.

 

Robert Foster was all loosey goosey on the afternoon of his first team debut. He had been a late addition to the Aces’ squad since his arrival from Buffalo, New York. The NFL Bills had considered him surplus to their needs and so he had been cut. After bandaging his hurt ego, Robert opted to adopt a different professional sport so he sent in an application to Anstruther of whose existence he had been apprised by the Internet. Robert was a kicker and used to launching place kicks into the strong winds that blew in off Lake Erie. Anstruther needed such a talent to reverse their first half losing ways fighting the gales off the Firth of Forth. And so the match up was made. Robert had an adventurous ride in from the airport upon his arrival in Scotland. He was bamboozled by oncoming traffic when he left the rental agency, unwisely for all and sundry in the right hand lane. He smartly opted instead for a middle course. He struck only one traffic island and afterwards reasoned that his weekly wage would soon pay for the damage. Meanwhile back in Toronto, Crocodile Dundee, presumably from some Scottish bayou or other, finally admitted defeat over Twitter and tweeted out that after all Buffalo could not be seen from the heights of Toronto’s CN Tower. He had hoped to witness the departure from Buffalo aerodrome of his sporting hero Robert, for whom he had developed a grand admiration.

 

Scottish football was experiencing an influx of foreign investment and burgeoning general interest in the game. French and Italian broadcasting conglomerates now showed two Scottish games per week on their 24 hour sports channels. The 2 am slots had become must viewing in these Covid times when rising early to go to work had become a bit of an anachronism. Perhaps it was Arsenal’s French connection that enticed the French baked goods firm to seek an advertising deal with the Aces. Terms seemed more than reasonable and the Anstruther Board of Directors was on the point of giving its assent to a contract when the Ladies Auxiliary got a whiff of what was up. They had found out that the French firm, though highly successful in the hexagon, was going to market their products in Scotland under the name BIMBO. Well, that soon brought out the naysayers. Charges of sexism, misogyny and fuddyduddyism were leveled. Some of the language and terminology trotted out was enough to make a crow blush. Fancy, the Scottish enlightened male sanctioning demeaning terms such as that in this day and age. Of course bimbo did not have the same connotation in the French language and the company’s directors were flummoxed at the arguments presented to them pointedly rejecting a financial agreement. Meanwhile all across France the BIMBO delivery trucks went on their merry way oblivious to the discord they were generating in certain circles. Anstruther found it had one fewer way in which to make ends meet. Rotter dozed beside the hearth totally unaware of his master’s throbbing headache.

 

Jinky also took the field prior to the game glad that the machinations of operating a profitable club went completely over his head. Sure enough it was a good head he had on his shoulders but his job was to produce on the pitch, not off it. He had been a bit leggy towards the end of his last match but to-day he felt much more energetic. Roman he knew was in good form also but how about this Yank who was in the line-up?  Jinky had heard he was a foster child which must mean he was parentless, something like little Orphan Welles in Citizen Kane, a favourite classic movie of his. Enough of these ruminations about some unfortunate’s kith and kin he said to himself, Aces are poised to make noise to-day. I need not concern myself that this foster kid could take my place. He can’t be a real man since he doesn’t smoke the same cigarettes as me he consoled himself with some satisfaction; besides he has a mustard stain on his lily white shirt. Initial impressions during training had also left Jinky with the disparaging impression that Robert had the attention span of a number less than zero.

 

In the pre-game strategy session Arsenal had assigned Robert to take all of the goal kicks into the prevailing wind. As invariably happened, Aces lost the toss at kick-off and were struggling into the fresh breeze. To the Fifers’ delight however at the thirty second minute mark Robert put the boot into one of these and stood god-smacked as the ball bounced at the extremity of the opposition’s penalty box. The high looping arc it then followed carried the ball wide of the desperate grasp of the goalie who had underestimated the force of the kick. There was nothing for the goalie to do now but retrieve the ball from the deep recesses of the net. A goal like that had last been seen in Scotland when St Mirren’s Campbell Money had conceded at Easter Road, victim of his opposite number’s clearance which bounced on the notoriously tilted ground over his head. One nothing Aces. The police report submitted to the Anstruther station sergeant at game end made no mention of any jam tart strikes and Hearts only scored one goal before the termination. All in all a creditable one-one draw was the final tally. Nonetheless Heart’s supporters, whose team was by far the betting favourite, were subdued as they trooped on down to the ferry which transferred them across the water to Leith. Fortunately Hibs noon time game was long since over which allowed the Tynecastle faithful to disperse through this unfriendly tribal part of town to their hovels incident free. One wee fella with a burgundy and white tammy did have his kola cubes stolen but that hardly counts in the crime statistics for the day, does it?