![\"Babyfarms](\"http:\/\/www.yoss.info\/fgsilks\/bigrick.gif\")
What have I got myself into? Just three days back I was a happy man, an unemployed\u00a0freelance journalist without a worry in the world.\u00a0I was free to run naked through meadows, pick flowers with pixies and have conversations with mushrooms. But now look what has happened! I am in\u00a0deep, deep trouble!\u00a0And it all started with that damned early morning call: <\/P>
“We need you” said the voice on the other line.
“Huh, who is this?” i replied semi-awaking from a deep slumber.
“We need you” came the soft sultry response once again.
Still in\u00a0a daze i replied,
“I’ve told you i cant”
“Can’t what?” came the voice sterner now.
“I can’t play another season, im finished. Shaq’s too big and too fast\u00a0i cant\u00a0contain him” came my incoherent reply.
“What in gods name are you talking about? I just\u00a0need you to write an article” she said, her voice becoming familiar.
“So you don’t want me to play ball?” i replied skeptically.
“No! It’s me Roys you fool!\u00a0I need you to write a small article on a horse in the Derby. Don’t worry we here at the BTB all know about your creative limitations, so we’ve\u00a0lobbed you out to post position nineteen. No good horse ever gets post nineteen. When the posts are drawn jot down its name, its owner and make up something about how ‘it has a real chance’ of winning, ok?”
“So no ball then?”
“Just do it! You’ve got till saturday.” Click.
I didn’t know it then but i was well and truly about to be dumped way over my head.<\/P>
The day the post positions for the Derby were drawn started like any other. I awoke at the crack of mid-afternoon and hobbled to the answer machine, positive that this was the day i would get the call. Surely my numerous articles published in the now defunct magazine: Weevil’s Monthly had been recognised by some executive publisher and i would be whisked off my feet.
“When is it gonna be\u00a0my time?” i shouted, scaring the rat at my feet; gnawing on yesterdays dinner.
I stared at the flickering red number. It pulsated at me, mocking me as if to say:
“One message?’ Blink.
“In six weeks?’ Blink.\u00a0
“What a loser.” Blink.
“I bet its your mom.” Blink
“Oh wait she’s dead, i’m sorr….” My finger touched the new messages button, ending the machines insolence. Out came Roys voice:
“Your still in bed aren’t you? i bet you haven’t even heard yet! So Slew Me drew post nineteen! Did you hear me? S-O S-L-E-W M-E!\u00a0Oh god my careers riding on this! On you! Are you getting all this? You better not screw….” I cut off the insults once again. Tired of the noise, tired of the whole answering machine and\u00a0Roys conspiracy.
“They’ll get theirs” i told myself under my breath, passing the answering machine a menacing glance as i moved to pick up the morning paper.<\/P>
And then it all clicked. “post position”, “article”, “So Slew Me”, “mushrooms”, “derby” the words all came rushing back to me. This wasn’t happening! I ran to the paper now, ripping it from it’s plastic coccoon and flung it open to the final page. There it was, spelled out in bold type. A lazy, un-talented word-smiths’ worst nightmare:\u00a0 “Big chance So Slew Me draws outside gate in Derby”. Oh crap! People are going to actually read what i write!\u00a0I’ve got work to do.<\/P>