Archive for December, 2009

Four Lanes 1

The white & black held his vision, regularly interrupted by two fast-paced circles of black & sometimes, cloud of black in nonchalant pursuit of its origin.Fists clenched stiff to sides of d forehead, Faragamo shirt roughed up with sleeves improperly layered to reveal veins synonymous with interconnecting roots in some deep forest as d Amazon burdened d knee caps that long had begun courtship with d initial stimulus of pain, knees under navy blue denim with a streak of black streaming slowly down Luke’s leg.

She stopped short, for a moment forgetting her conversation on d Vertu Constellation. With collar of cream trench coat up, more out of fashion but still in sync with d weather, Michaela ended d conversation, dropped d Vertu into a pocket, left look – no need for a right – & strode across to d pavement that cut d four lanes of d expressway in d mid.

Michaela looked back from whence she’d come, he was as he was. She crouched, “hmmm”. Stood & turned her back on him, right glance & across she went. Again, she turned to him, “perfect”. Crouched, stood, then she looked around her. A bench; idle, worn, dark-brown more from age & partly from rain of d morning, sat just behind d gutter. She sat on it, not minding d design to be drawn on her black ‘pencil’ denim, d coat’s length would cover her blushes there.

Rummaging through her cream bag with gaze (& prayer) on Luke; who still adhered to d law of kinetics, Michaela pulled out a 12-megapixel Sony camera & powered it, all still with her gaze on him. *shutter*, “perfect”. Two more from d same position b4 standing to take three more. Instinctively, Michaela sat back with two Mercedes Benz S-class cars about confluencing from d opposite lanes, one Burgundy d other, Maroon. Camera & finger @ d ready, she waited for d picture to birth. *shutter*, she took d first @ d sight of d headlamps, *shutter*, at d sight of d tail-lights. She switched off d Sony.

On then she went in d direction she initially came, dropped into d Honda, bag flung to d back with keys in hand now. She made for d ignition…

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Wouldn’t it Be Fun?

Would it not be fun if Stuttgart the the football world a favour and pulled off the shock of the competition by defeating CF Barcelona in the Champions League second round?

How about French Ligue 1 leaders Girondins Bordeaux going all the way and lifting the last Champions League trophy competed for in this Millennium’s first decade?

And by the way, that Bordeaux win would come at the expense of an enterprising, yet unlucky FC Sevilla that came back from two goals down to force extra-time at 2-2, go ahead early in extra time, only to allow the Frenchies pull off a comeback of theirs and win 4-3 after 120 exhilarating minutes of football?

It would be lovely to see all that and a few more happen after watching draws for the knock-out phase of the competition made but thing is…most of it won’t (if not all) unless of course we get a re-run of FC Porto and AS Monaco from ’04.

In my opinion, Real Madrid looks sure bets for an umpteenth second round exit; Olympique Lyon may not be performing as well as they are used to in Ligue 1 (down in 4th place) but Real; with all the talent, didn’t quite inpress (me) in the group phase and Marseille could’ve got the ticket instead but they aren’t made of the stuff Lyon is and I count on Lyon to continue its good UCL record against Real.

As for the Italians, pity! Be not deceived by Chelsea’s current form. We’re talking of February; a time Drogba and Essien should be back from the African Nations Cup just as the league title race heats up (which is when Chelsea really get to stride).

Manchester United also get their stride at that period. Besides, Leonardo’s got no fan in me and recent Anglo-Italian history just doesn’t favour a fair return to Old Trafford for David Beckham and the rest of Rossoneri.

Truth is, everyone wanted to avoid the English sides (except if Liverpool had made it….actually, no!) so FC Porto (with one win in, what…a dozen visits to Queensland) joins the club of “oh dear” when they square up with Arsenal (who, hopefully for all Gooners, have acquired a forward or two by then).

Everyone also failed to list Bayern Munich on the Christmas wish list but Fiorentina was unfortunate…or are they now? the Viola did pretty well in the group stage and (to me) seem a most appropriate opponent for the Germans who I think are getting to their best.

In all, we’re in for some cool football (as usual) from the knock-out phase and sentimentally, I’d love for Arsenal to go all the way but the favourites for me are Barcelona while rank outsiders are Bordeaux…they’ve really impressed me!

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Days of Dread……

In a boy’s life, February 14 usually is a dreaded day…if only he understands the ‘skirt’ dealing man he’ll grow to (become). The boy also dreads mid-September because it marks the end of Disneyland fairytales and the return of School, home-work and those ‘damn’ teachers.

Monday! The boy hates this noun phrase of a day but it is not half as much as his father, “Gawd, Monday already!?!?!” he says when the alarm wakes him up abruptly well before six in the morning.

If you know someone actually named Monday, you find they actually are fun people (just a wild guess) but they just got the wrong name tag on dem birth certificates lol (no libel intended). So what of fellas named after the other noun phrase…Thank God it’s Friday? Unfortunately they can never be as fun as what happens on nights of dem days the world over.

Then there is Sunday, supposed pure of heart and all…and I used to know one like that but as time dey change, na so people dey change but some people overkill it with the change factor as well.

Anyway, these three along with millions more across the world dread the day she comes to him all yippee yay smiley…”I’m pregnant!”, a day even more dreaded when there’s no ring of proof (yes o). Some even do well not to be selfish…”baby, we’re having a baby…”, who’s been had now?

And much as women look forward to the D Day, it usually is that Saturday some seriously crunch football match is going down but dare his soul if he shows his regret (at missing the match, not at saying I do) because she is damn to elated…best to live up to the day or get deflated by her…literally.

He also dreads the day, years after, that his boy’s teenage sister would come home one day with some riff raff’s baby growing inside her…like he’s not got enough to settle with the madam already. Thankfully, that is an option in life – unwanted pregnancies but ‘book lists’, now that’s factory fitted feature in the daughters and they just keep coming (one’s in the University and the third is in Junior Secondary)

Time goes a bit further and he’s footing the bill of her wedding (the first) to another man, “I love him” she says to her father, “beans” he says…to himself. The other two follow suit, “double beans!”

On to the worse dread days in his life, she finds out after all these years…”you’ve been cheating on me! How could you, HOW?!?” He knows anything he says would be stupid but, “honey, it was the devil”…yea yea, and that devil’s prada was too much for your swagger!

Because they are Nigerians, they dread court days but that’s just the least of it. She dreads the day she’ll be the one among her peers on the end of goosip talk of having no husband or his money to flaunt, “Prisca had it real bad…not me!”. He meanwhile now dreads the day she finds out he’s helping himself with…on the maid/house-help.

Ah yes, the chores have piled up recently so he’s been lending a third hand all around the house. But (sh)it happens, she let’s go of vomit in madam’s presence, prompting basic instinct to set in, “who’s the bastard responsible???”. She’s thinking it’s Hassan the gateman but, “n…n…na…ei, madam abeg…na oga”…it’s over for Angela to house-help(ing).

Rage! “Hell hath no fury…” comes to life in full adrenaline flow and madam pummels the poor girl before going inside to make him his favourite dinner…no no, no poison, that’s for Nollywood!

They have an argument on his way to bed and at the top of the stairs, it gets very heated and she shoves him. He misses a step and goes down the flight of stairs, head banging hard on the marble floor at the end.

The worst dread days arrive abruptly, the day he dies…if only he had gone for confession rather than answer Coleen’s call; “stupid 300L ‘lag girl, why did y…” he dies!. For her, her worst dreaded day will come soon after, she now will face his relatives and this time, they’re right!

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