Good Advice

The boys were on their last warm down lap at the Visy Memorial To Creative Accounting Stadium when Brendan decided to approach Chris.

The prematurely balding captain was flanked by his pageboys, Bryce and Marc.

“That’s a lovely scent you are wearing today, Chris,” trilled Marc.

“Oh yes, oh yes, isn’t it fine, isn’t it smashing, isn’t it fabdabudocious,” squeaked Bryce in reply.

Brendan growled at them.

“Youse, Hi-5, piss off before I break your faces.”

The two boys scattered at Brendan’s approach, like rabbits in the shadow of an eagle.

“Gidday Brendan, how are you mate,” Chris said cheerfully, as the main group passed the sickening sight of Setanta beating a rookie-listed kid to death with a tree branch.

“You read books and shit don’t you?” Brendan asked.

“Oh yeah!” Chris replied enthusiastically. “My favourite one is the back of my An Inconvenient Truth DVD!”

“Then you might be able to help me with this problem I’ve got.”

“What is it mate,” asked Chris.

Brendan hesitated. He didn’t want to announce it too loudly, because the boys would lay into him if he did. It was like that time Nick Stevens did a shit in the clubrooms toilet so for a laugh, Brendan had done a shit in Stevens’ locker. Every day for a month. It had been a hoot.

So instead he leant down and whispered his secret into his captain’s ear. Chris’ faces grew visibly concerned as he digested what Brendan was saying. A frown spread across the enormous expanse of his forehead, a wasteland where the border between face and giant balding desert was never clear.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this mate, but I reckon you should go and talk to my missus. She’s a had a few issues with … ummm, confusion … in that sort of department lately. She might be able to help,” he said finally.