01-28-2025, 12:47 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-28-2025, 01:16 PM by HawkingsHalfpint.)
Tony could not have been sleeping more soundly.
Long ago he had made his reconciliation with the fact that his work/home life balance was going to be anchored in the latter. It made sense; his – quite horrendous – health issues were now behind him, and it made sense to step back. His beloved Amber was pressuring (in the nicest possible way, of course) for him to leave football, and just watch it. His children were saying the same. Even his grandchildren asked for the same, aside from headbutting a foam-filled unicorn from time-to-time (“I musssccht get that ccheckessed ooot”). It was time for Tony to leave football.
But… something happened.
As he slept soundly in his Celtic onesie, Boro slippers and Ipswich Town hat (Tony didn’t like leaving the heating on much), that something was a curious and very slight bump to the head. A huge irony, for a man who made a career out of bumps to the head. And it came in the form of an ironically foam-filled Baggie Bird toppling from atop his headboard, and saying “Tony, nevermore.”
“GNUUUUUUUURK!” Tony shot awake.
“What is it, my darling?” said Amber, as she awoke, distressed, with obvious concern. She did her best to comfort her clearly (slightly) distressed husband, hugging him as he uttered the words that woke him up. “Baggie bird schpoke to me….” he muttered. Clutching and almost cuddling our beaked icon.
Amber looked delicately into the eyes of a man she had loved, and supported, for decades. A man who she had picked back up from the depths of despair, a man who’s career she had always understood, followed and supported to her utmost, a man you would be proud to call your husband.
“I have to go back.”
Tony, what are you saying? She thought to herself. Clearly the author has given himself nothing to play with with that last quote.
“I have to go back. Get my scchliiperrs. Some guy called Bill Kill or something is on the phone, or scchhumthing.”
...
ALL DONATIONS TO CANCER RESEARCH CAN BE MADE HERE:
Donate To Beat Cancer | Cancer Research UK
Long ago he had made his reconciliation with the fact that his work/home life balance was going to be anchored in the latter. It made sense; his – quite horrendous – health issues were now behind him, and it made sense to step back. His beloved Amber was pressuring (in the nicest possible way, of course) for him to leave football, and just watch it. His children were saying the same. Even his grandchildren asked for the same, aside from headbutting a foam-filled unicorn from time-to-time (“I musssccht get that ccheckessed ooot”). It was time for Tony to leave football.
But… something happened.
As he slept soundly in his Celtic onesie, Boro slippers and Ipswich Town hat (Tony didn’t like leaving the heating on much), that something was a curious and very slight bump to the head. A huge irony, for a man who made a career out of bumps to the head. And it came in the form of an ironically foam-filled Baggie Bird toppling from atop his headboard, and saying “Tony, nevermore.”
“GNUUUUUUUURK!” Tony shot awake.
“What is it, my darling?” said Amber, as she awoke, distressed, with obvious concern. She did her best to comfort her clearly (slightly) distressed husband, hugging him as he uttered the words that woke him up. “Baggie bird schpoke to me….” he muttered. Clutching and almost cuddling our beaked icon.
Amber looked delicately into the eyes of a man she had loved, and supported, for decades. A man who she had picked back up from the depths of despair, a man who’s career she had always understood, followed and supported to her utmost, a man you would be proud to call your husband.
“I have to go back.”
Tony, what are you saying? She thought to herself. Clearly the author has given himself nothing to play with with that last quote.
“I have to go back. Get my scchliiperrs. Some guy called Bill Kill or something is on the phone, or scchhumthing.”
...
ALL DONATIONS TO CANCER RESEARCH CAN BE MADE HERE:
Donate To Beat Cancer | Cancer Research UK
