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| I'm Phil and I have an addiction. |
Standing up from my plastic, stackable chair, the four metal legs scrape across the wooden floor as the seat is pushed behind me. I'm now stood up in the cold village hall where people gather weekly to discuss their problems, all eyes are on me and I'm expected to introduce myself to the waiting audience.
I face my fellow addicts sat in a half circle and I try not to choke on my words; "I'm Phil and I have an addiction."
I've joined a meeting for addicts and this is the first time I've openly and publicly faced my concerns. The members have heard it all before, people come and go from these meetings, many in denial though some, apparently, have been cured of their problems and gone on to live normal lives. My opening greeting and statement are met with a warm round of applause, though behind my wry smile I can't help but feel painfully patronised. The friendly reception is swiftly halted as I bring a new type of addiction to the table, and the response is one of silence and open mouths are aplenty.
"I scour the Xpert Eleven transfer market even when I know deep down I don't need any further additions to the squad. I blow tens of thousands of econ sending my exhausted scouts around the globe searching for tomorrow's superstars or even a young player I can quickly improve and make a quick buck on. I've been known to scan the tale end of the transfer market before the change report has even happened, my ever-patient chairman knowing I can evaluate players though I can't bid until the transfer market officially opens. The tension keeps me up at night and the prospect of being outbid at the last second distracts me from my other job as a cheese taster... I keep daydreaming."
I gingerly look back at the blank faces around me and try to draw any reaction or emotion from them. I can't. As I pull my plastic chair back towards me the screech of the metal legs again cuts through the vast open hall, but yet nothing distracts the fellow members from their stance. Suddenly the leader of the group, Margret, tries to start a comforting round of applause to lift any tension, but it's hopeless; hands barely touch around the group and again the feeling of being patronised comes over me. "Errr, thank you for that Phil. We've not, errr, had any addiction like that in this group." Those words do nothing to comfort me and I can feel my face going red. I nod my head at Margaret, as no words I could muster in my head seemed appropriate for the situation, then continue to sit down.
The silence in the village hall is deafening, and all eyes remain firmly fixed on me. I feel both relieved for having voiced my addiction, but ashamed as others now know of my dirty habit. How I'll cope in the future is anyone's guess, though the team are a very long way from what I envisage and a long term plan for Red Car Belgrade really needs to click into place sooner rather than later.
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2015-01-13 17:58
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2753 Views |
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Reporter:
Tiggyjosh
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