The Silk Manifesto: Quatrain I.

[Sly]

Recently, an old Scottish Estate was auctioned and I was able to purchase a chest. When I brought it home and opened it, I found a manifesto contained within. Alarmingly, the manifesto pertained to the 2001 and 2002 AFL Season.

I correlated the 2001 seasonal documentation with the actual 2001 Season itself and found it startingly accurate. In the end, I did some background-checking and sources portrayed to me that the manifesto is in actual fact a legitimate precognitive document.

So I've decided to reproduce the portions of the manifesto relating to the 2002 Season in the off-Season segment by segment, Round by Round. Due to legal obligations, though, the names of the characters contained within have been changed to protect the innocent.

So there's no use trying to decipher our code. Really, there isn't. In fact, we sent this coded document to the Central Intelligence Agency and even after pulling all their resources off the "War on Terror", they still couldn't decipher it.

So there.

Thanks.

S.


*

DISCLAIMER: This has been portrayed to us as a legitimate clairvoyant account, but due to legal obligations the names of the characters contained within have been changed to protect the innocent. Thank you.

*

ROUND #1, DAY ONE & TWO.
Smokin' Jack Eli sat in his Executive Box, a studious eye on his Carlton charges as they battled valiantly against the Kangaroos.
It wasn't easy being the President of an ailing Victorian powerhouse. With each passing year the AFL Commission were making it harder and harder to cheat - unless you were an Interstate Club - and that difficulty was commensurate with keeping the Club on top. (Not that Jack would ever admit Carlton were struggling, of course).
He sighed with sudden disgust as the Kangaroos ran the ball through Carlton's Center-Half Back position and kicked yet another goal. They were racing ahead and the prospective loss was looking potentially humiliating.
The problem was Carlton's Defense lacked height and, worse, credibility. The first could be exploited by the opposition's tall forwards. On a lucky day, though, you could cover the lack of height. But the latter was an invite for any moron to try and qualify for Goal of the Year - it was like when sharks smelled blood. They went in for the kill. Similarly, when an opposition could smell that a defense lacked credibility, they played for the kill and got away with murder.
If only Club Legend Steve Centuri hadn't retired. Damn ungrateful bastard. So his hip would leave him crippled if he'd played on. So what? He should be giving it all for the Club anyway. And then some. Losing the ability to walk and do the everyday things in life was a small price to pay for pulling on the mighty Navy Blue guernsey, (when it was, in fact, navy blue).
Jack watched as the Kangaroos scored yet another goal. He sighed again, this time blowing a long stream of smoke with it as he looked up at the Scoreboard. There was five minutes remaining in the Second Quarter and the Kangaroos were already 63 points up. This was going to be a landslide.
Then it hit Jack like a thunderbolt. When he was asked later, he'd cite that it was divine inspiration and that God was a Carlton-man. It was the only really explanation for the epiphany which hit him and awakened within his mind the unimaginable possibilities which would see Carlton skyrocket back to the top and keep them there.
He reached into his blazer pocket and took out his checkbook. "Fitz!" he called to one of his Directors as he began to fill out a blank check. "Fitz, get over here!"
Fitz, a former Club Champion himself and now a Club Director, took a seat alongside Jack. "What is it, Jack?" he asked.
Jack tore the check out of the book and proffered it to Fitz. "At Half-time," Jack began, "go down to the Kangaroos' President, give him this check and tell him to fill-out any figure he likes - but within reason, of course."
Fitz took the check and stared at it blankly. Then he looked up at Jack. "Any figure?" he asked. "For what?"
"We're buying the Kangaroos," Jack told him bluntly.
"You can't do that!"
"I can do bloody-well whatever I want to do."
Fitz was unconvinced.
"You go look in the AFL Charter," Jack challenged him. "I defy you to find a stipulation which forbids one Club to buy another during a match."
"And then what?" Fitz asked incredulously. "We get them to throw the match?"
"Don't be stupid, Fitz! That's not only illegal, it's unethical." Jack leaned forward and looked out at the Kangaroos Team. "For right now, just take their Center-Half Back Jason McCartman and put one of our jumpers on him for the Second Half."
"You're buying a Club to get a Center-Half Back?" Fitz asked, his disbelief growing.
"Can you think of any better reason to buy a Club?" Jack challenged.
Fitz held the eye of his President, but only for a moment - there was a real malevolence there. It wasn't the type of look which should be defied…or declined, and it terrified Fitz. He was used to Jack evoking a wide variety of emotions from him, but never this. This was unprecedented, quite manic and very, very real.
Fitz got up and hurried out of the Box.
*
Inside the locker-rooms of Colonial Stadium, the St. Kilda players were in the process of warming-up for their opening game of the Season. Sure, they'd finished last and second-last in the previous two years, but things were on the cusp of changing - there'd been a huge turnover in personnel, both on-field and off.
The young players looked the goods, the veterans were fit and the troublemakers were gone, traded to where they could do little or no harm - Sydney. And while their Coach might not have the background and apprenticeship of other burgeoning coaches, he knew how to relate to players and to manage them to get the best out of them.
Presently, the door opened and their coach, Thomas Grant, strode in.
Pre-game warm-up halted abruptly. The sudden silence was oppressive.
Their Coach was dressed in a Superman-outfit - right down to the red-cape. "Now that I finally have the job as Senior Coach here," he begun, "and now that we're politically stable off-field, I feel it's safe to reveal my true identity."
"Thomas…" Club President Rod Margarine begun.
"Just call me Saint Superman. You see," Thomas Grant said, beginning to pace to and fro, "while it may have been necessary to portray the mild-mannered Executive Assistant last year, this Club needs strong and indomitable leadership this year - and thus I've revealed myself to you. This comes at a great cost, a great sacrifice to my own personal identity on Earth, but it's the sort of sacrifice I'm prepared to make for the mighty Red, Black and White - and occasionally Yellow - and it's the sort of sacrifice I'm asking each and every one of you to make when you run out on the field."
Players and Administrators began to look at one another quizzically. Had the Coach lost his mind? To some degree, it was fortunate that Malcolm had been Coach for part of the previous Season - his style of management had accustomed them to the inexplicable and unexpected, although presently they were finding Thomas a little more palatable.
Saint Superman suddenly peered intently at the wall. Then he looked back to the players. "I see with my X-Ray vision that the Cheer Squad are beginning to lift the banner into place," he said. "You better get out there, fellas."
The players continued to gape at him.
"And remember, when in doubt draw from my strength, my leadership, and the Australian way of life," Saint Superman closed his address.
Almost in slow-motion, the players turned and begun to file out the race.
*
At the post-match Press Conference, Richmond Coach Danny Spud was preparing to field questions.
"Danny, you must've been happy with the performance of your boys today," one reporter said. "In the end, it was quite a comprehensive win."
"Yep, yep," Spud nodded, "extremely happy. The boys followed instructions extremely well, they had a dip and today was one of those days when everything just seemed to go right."
"With that sort of performance, you must be looking forward to a great season," another reporter said.
"Look, we don't want to get ahead of ourselves," Spud responded. "It's the first game of the season. So we'll just take it one step at a time."
"But you must be optimistic?"
"Cautiously optimistic."
Titters of laughter sounded around the room.
"Well, Spud, you recruited extremely well and shored-up players who came out of contract," one female reporter interjected. "Other Clubs have said you're one of the fittest Squads in the League, and you've improved undeniably and gained experience from last Season. Bradley Otto was superlative today."
Spud waited for a point from the female reporter, but when one wasn't immediately forthcoming he asked, "Is there a question there?"
"No, no," she said. "I just wanted to say all that."
"Spud," another reporter spoke up, "a lot of the media experts have Richmond finishing Top Four in their tips. You could finally shatter the stigma of finishing ninth once and for all."
To the surprise of one and all, Spud slammed his hands into the table he sat at and shot to his feet. "That's an unmitigated lie!" Spud roared. "The Richmond Football Club is a proud Club with a great tradition and culture and we'll continue to finish ninth in Seasons played during an even-year! How dare you sully our name and traditions!"
The reporter was pale-faced and shaken. "But surely you'd be looking toward a Premiership-" he tried to recover.
"LIAR!" Spud roared. "Purveyor of rumor and innuendo!" His hand shot-out to point an accusing finger at the reporter. "We're Richmond and we will give our supporters hopes and dreams and aspirations only to cast them into oblivion at the last hurdle and finish ninth!"
"But last year-"
"AN ABERRATION!" Spud exclaimed so loudly that every reporter in the room unconsciously drew back a step. "So don't you dare to write anything different!"
Spud upended the table and stormed out of the conference.
*
"A bizarre opening to the Season," Sports' Newsreader Tommy Watson begun his broadcast, "with the Carlton Football Club purchasing the Kangaroos Football Club for an undisclosed amount midway through their match today. In the Second Half, Kangaroos' stalwarts Jason McCartman, Saverio Berocca and Wayne Mary emerged in Carlton guernseys, and lead the Blues to a courageous 14 point win.
"Post-match, Carlton President Smokin' Jack Eli sold the Kangaroos back to their Administration for one dollar," Watson continued. "It's just very recently been revealed that the Kangaroos were actually going to file for bankruptcy later in the week, but the sale to Jack Eli has solved their problems of insolvency and they will complete the Season.
"Jason McCartman kicked three goals for the Kangaroos and four for Carlton.
"And in a game at Colonial Stadium, the revamped Saints went down by an alarming 89 points, prompting new St. Kilda coach Thomas Grant to cite the presence of kryptonite as the cause of the loss," Watson finished up. "We'll have more on that story as news comes to hand…"

*

In the AFL Commission's Office at Colonial Stadium, Commissioner "John" Jackson Wayne was extremely alarmed by proceedings - not least of all that he was the only Administrator to attend the meeting in a g-string, fishnet stockings and a garter belt. He'd gotten his damn days and meetings confused.
At any rate, there were other matters at hand.
Presently, four of the Commission's Mules - men hired specifically to undertake menial and heinous task the Commission's Administrators didn't want to dirty their own hands with - carried a huge leather-bound book over to the table. It was as thick as four telephone books and the leather-cover was musty and wrinkled with antiquity.
They put it down, the table creaking in protest under the weight, and then drew aside respectfully.
As Commissioner Wayne leaned toward the book, he regarded it in awe. On the cover of the book and stained in gold lettering were the words:

Tentatively, Commissioner Wayne played one fingertip under the front-cover. Then he looked around at the other Administrators, at their drawn, sepulchral faces with foreboding eyes as they held their breath in anticipation.
The people in the outside world didn't know the truth. Commissioner Wayne had been surprised by it himself when he'd been indoctrinated into the Commission, but the common people with their common problems who had their common complaints about the way The Game was being run didn't know the truth.
The couldn't know the truth.
But the Commission's Administrators knew the truth.
And Commissioner Wayne could see the dread in their eyes as they recoiled from it but remained steadfast in their duty to The Game and the common people who attended it. If they were to buckle, even for a moment, then it was over. Forget about wars abroad and theories of meteorites ending all life on Earth and all that sort of hyperbole, this was what it was really all about.
Commissioner Wayne flipped open the cover. As it overturned and hit the table, centuries of dust misted up into the air. A small black spider with a gruesome undercarriage crawled out from the binding and onto the table, around the book and then up onto the front page.
There, its undercarriage exploded and hundreds and hundreds of littler gruesome black spiders burst out, then converged on the mother and consumed her. The Commission's Administrators watched in horror, one of them even turning aside to retch noisily. The stench of vomit rapidly putrefied the room.
Commissioner Wayne looked at the other Administrators. "It's begun…" he declared.

*

To Be Continued…

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S.
The Last Remaining Bad Guy.
The Incandescent One.

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