Our Columbus Crew blogger David Burgin is taking a crack at writing his own novel about the Beautiful Game. Each week we'll publish a new chapter. Enjoy!
Helton Janglom’s Template for Life
By: David Burgin
Helton Janglom is a young boy with some big dreams, and some even bigger obstacles to overcome. Follow Helton as he tries to steer his way through his universe of rotten brothers, a father and mother he never sees, and the mind bending world of soccer on Helton’s planet, Earth.
Helton Janglom will be coming at you once a week on GlobalFootballToday, is written by David Burgin, and occasionally edited by the good people at GFT.
(This is an edit by the good people at GFT. Okay, so the GFT guys have to edit each and every new episode for hours. Mr. Burgin can’t spell b.a.n.a.n.a., and thinks a past participle is a one night stand he had with a woman in Fargo, North Dakota)
Cheers!
Chapter 1
Mortar shells exploded all around Hsrah Macs Macs. Hsrah ran in a straight line, trying to avoid the exploding shells. Running in a straight line on the side of a mountain is difficult, but Hsrah continued his unbending course nonetheless.
Knowing that the Nhah Warriors, who were trying to blow him up, could not calibrate nor shoot their weapons accurately, Hsrah thought it best not to weave left or right. If he did, he would surely be blown to pieces.
Hsrah finally spotted what he hoped was a door into the mountain temple. The Temple of All Lasting Knowledge of Nothingness or Too (TALKNOT) was discreetly hidden inside the mountain Hsrah was running for his life on. He made his only adjustment in course, and headed directly to the hoped for entrance. Hsrah didn’t remember ever using this particular door before, but he didn’t really care. The explosions were getting closer.
Hsrah slowed a bit as he ducked to enter the somewhat small and well camouflaged doorway. The entrance to the temple was cloaked via a hologram, as all passages into the TALKNOT were, and looked like a pile of Gua Gua dung.
Gua Gua are tremendously large animals which inhabit the mountain planet, Coinfenced. Gua Gua can best be described as one big round gray ball resting on four short powerful legs. Small squinty eyes and a flat nose float in the roundness of their faces barely above a massive mouth.
Gua Gua do two things exceedingly well. First, they are able to eat rocks, digest the rocks, and then poop large piles of Gua Gua dung which eventually turn back into rocks. The fact that there is very little to eat on Coinfenced, besides rocks, makes the Gua Gua’s ability to eat the rocks advantageous, not only for the Gua Gua, but also for the other inhabitants living on Coinfenced.
Because Coinfenced is a planet made up entirely of mountains, and because rock is the most abundant feature on the planet, inhabitants other than the Gua Gua are quite happy the Gua Gua have a ready supply of food, because the diet of pretty much all other inhabitants on Coinfenced consists exclusively of Gua Gua.
The other inhabitants on the planet, like Hsrah Macs Macs, are able to hunt and kill Gua Gua despite of the animal’s enormous size, by virtue of the fact that the Gua Gua are the most peaceful, easy going, and slow animals in Coinfenced’s solar system. Though they have been killed and eaten for thousands of years, the Gua Gua have never developed a fear of other species. If you are hungry on the planet Coinfenced all you have to do is walk up to any Gua Gua and smile while slitting its throat. The Gua Gua don’t seem to mind, as long as you smile.
One theory as to why the Gua Gua don’t mind being slaughtered, is tied directly to the other thing the Gua Gua do exceptionally well. The Gua Gua reproduce like earth’s mice. At least four times per Coinfenced’s calendar year the Gua Gua give birth to two new Gua Gua. (Some rogue tribes on the planet like to eat baby Gua Gua, the rest of the planet’s inhabitants frown on the practice, and steer clear of such tribes due to the rumors that said tribes also eat other inhabitants) And, every Gua Gua reproduces. The Gua Gua don’t need to have sex; if fact, they never touch each other.
This lack of physical intimacy is most probably the real reason the Gua Gua don’t mind being slaughtered. Each time someone smiles at a Gua Gua the Gua Gua’s squinty little eyes roll into the back of its gigantic head, and it shakes uncontrollably. So, if you are not put off knowing that you are pleasuring a Gua Gua at the same time you’re killing it, you will never go hungry on Coinfenced.
As always, these thoughts of the Gua Gua passed through Hsrah’s mind as he ducked into the pile of Gua Gua dung. Luckily, Hsrah was correct in guessing this particular pile was really a hologram. Otherwise he would be a sticky, smelly, Gua Gua dung mess. Mistaking Gua Gua dung for a hologram passage is something which happens to young Yogi Monks in training way too often. When young monks get lost on the outside of the mountains, and have to try and find one of the hologram entrances back into the Temple of All Lasting Knowledge of Nothingness or Too, a shower and change of clothing is usually their first order of business.
Once inside the mountain temple Hsrah breathed a sigh of relief. He had cut it close this time. Hsrah routinely left the safety of the temple to go and play Bumble Jump with the armed Nhah Warriors which lived outside on the mountain. Bumble Jump was really just the poker game, Omaha8 or better. Hsrah was really just, Bob Smith, from earth.
Hsrah, or Bob, had taught the Nhah how to play so that he could gamble with them and take their quidmium crystals. Quidmium crystals are the gold of Coinfenced. How the Nhah find so much of the valuable crystal Hsrah has no idea, but if he can win enough of the crystals he can buy the fuel he needs for his solar system shifting ship.
The Nhah Warriors are not the brightest inhabitants on Coinfenced. Their bulging pouches of quidmium are easily won in a game of Bumble Jump. There is only one problem for Hsrah: he always has to make a run for it after winning the Nhah’s quidmium. In Hsrah’s favor, the Nhah Warriors are slow. They have great difficulty operating their weapons and they forget things within seconds of having seen them. The forgetfulness part comes in handy whenever a Nhah Warrior accidentally steps into a hologram doorway to the TALKNOT. The Yogi Monks usually just shove the Nhah out of the temple, and the Nhah forget where they just were.
Hsrah wouldn’t have to play Bumble Jump with the Nhah if he could find out where they get their quidmium. Hsrah had a hunch that the Nhah didn’t even know where they got the quidmium. “Damn heathens probably forget, and then have to go find it again every day,” thought Hsrah.
Hsrah was very close to having enough quidmium to buy his needed fuel. It was a good thing he was close, because he was bleeding. Shrapnel from the mortar fire had scratched his right cheek and arm. The wounds were superficial, but reminded him that the Nhah were beginning to remember who he was each time he returned to their camp.
“I guess even the Nhah don’t stay stupid forever,” worried Hsrah, as he counted his loot. Hsrah walked with his head down, a gesture of submission to all the nothingness or too which Hsrah had yet to learn. That’s how anyone in the temple would see Hsrah’s submissive posture. Hsrah was really walking in this manner because he didn’t want any of the Supreme Yogi Monks to spot him with the forbidden quidmium as he slunk through the temple hallways.
From just ahead and to his left Hsrah heard voices. “Odd?” thought Hsrah. “If someone is talking in the temple, they will be expelled.”
Talking is not permitted, ever, in TALKNOT. That is the one constant. Hsrah got around the draconian rule by talking up a storm whenever he played Bumble Jump with the Nhah Warriors.
As Hsrah got closer to the room on his left he could swear the voices were speaking in an urban combination of Wolof and French. Hsrah froze in place. If there were Wolof/French speaking humans here on Coinfenced, in the temple, they were certainly after Bob Smith.
You see, Bob Smith, known as Hsrah Macs Macs in the TALKNOT, had fled earth, specifically Senegal, a year ago, to get away from bookies he owed a lot of money; two million Euros to be precise. Bob Smith had lost the money on last year’s Senegalese Open Cup soccer semifinal. Some serious chicanery had taken place in the game, but the bookies didn’t care.
Hearing the voices, Hsrah was about to bolt. “I’d rather take my chances with the Nhah Wariors,” thought Hsrah. Before fleeing, Hsrah’s mind registered the fact that what it was hearing were the announcers from a televised soccer match. Hsrah couldn’t help himself. He poked his head through the door. There on the far wall of the tiny, almost closet like room was a soccer game from Senegal. “How did someone get a digital projector into the temple?”
The teams playing were familiar to Hsrah Macs Macs. Diamond FC and Basur FC were going at it on the beautiful pitch of the Senegalese national stadium. The former Bob Smith was drawn into the small temple room. A man in typical temple dress, body length dreary brown robe, slippers, and stocking cap sat cross legged on the stone floor staring at the game on the wall. Hsrah sat down next to the man and bowed his head. The man was startled, but composed himself quickly and bowed back.
Hsrah could spot a newbie to the temple from a mile away. This man must have just arrived on Coinfenced and somehow snuck a tiny digital dish/projector into the sacred halls. Hsrah/Bob Smith didn’t care. He hadn’t seen a soccer match in exactly one year. The amazing thing was that the teams playing were the same teams which had led to Bob fleeing earth.
Bob Smith sat riveted by the action on the screen. One thought kept going trough his head: I have got to get off this damn mountain planet. Bob offered his match viewing mate a slice of dried Gua Gua. The new Yogi Monk in training accepted the food graciously. Bob had more dried Gua Gua, but couldn’t stand the thought of eating it at that moment. He was sick of the stuff.
Chapter 2
Helton Janglom stared out his bedroom window; a permanently sealed window made of triple paned glass. Helton’s parents apparently believed Helton would throw himself out the window if given the chance. That or they thought he was a klutz. Mostly Helton’s parents didn’t want him falling fifty feet into the rose bushes directly beneath his fourth floor bedroom. They couldn’t bear to see their youngest son any more messed up than he already was. Of course, Helton’s parents never see Helton as it is and Helton never sees his parents. Helton’s parents can be found almost anywhere on Earth, or one of the many planets near Earth, just not at home.
Outside the triple paned glass window, which reflected Helton’s longish brown hair and soft facial structure, are wide open green spaces which stretch for miles. Helton wasn’t looking at the incredible, unending view outside his window, but ratehr he was peering down into his front yard. There, four stories below Helton’s room, were his three older brothers.
Helton would have been taking in the miles of beautiful scenery if he had his contacts in. Helton’s contacts are the most powerful contact lenses known to humankind. The contacts had been commissioned by Helton’s father and designed by the pre-eminent ophthalmologist on the planet. When Helton wore his super lenses he could see a hummingbird up to four miles away; even on a cloudy day.
Currently Helton did not have his contacts in and so Helton was staring at the blurry forms of his three brothers below him. Helton’s three brothers were playing soccer. The only reason Helton knew they were playing soccer was because they had told him they were going out to play soccer. The three brothers only came up to Helton’s room to tell him they were going to play soccer because they knew Helton loved the sport. Helton’s brothers loved to tease Helton any chance they got.
Helton was jealous of his rotten brothers, but not because they were good at soccer. In fact, Helton’s brothers were terrible at soccer. If you asked a random passerby what she thought the three teens were doing in the front yard, the random passerby would shift from foot to foot becoming increasingly agitated and unable to say exactly what she was looking at in Helton’s front yard. Finally, any normal passerby would shake their head angrily and stomp away after realizing the three boys were attempting to play soccer.
Helton Janglom had watched many soccer matches on his father’s twelve foot 3D viewing screen. The screen was in Helton’s parents’ bedroom on the fifth floor penthouse suite. Helton sneaks up there whenever there is a big match on. Sometimes Helton misses matches because he has to nap or do homework. Helton’s nanny is a real tyrant.
Because Helton is such an avid fan of soccer, he knows what the sport should look like. What his brothers were doing in the front yard looked more like a spontaneous riot in a toy store on Christmas Eve. The blurry forms of his crappy brothers made Helton’s head hurt, and it wasn’t because he didn’t have his contacts in. It was because his brothers were getting it so terribly wrong.
Two of his brothers were using their hands. Helton’s oldest brother, Melton, was grabbing Helton’s second oldest brother, Kelton, by the hair and repeatedly punching him in the stomach each time Kelton tried to kick the ball with his feet. The two older brothers never stopped antagonizing each other because they both thought they were first in line to inherit their father’s vast empire and wealth.
Because the two oldest Janglom brothers were pummeling each other, Helton Janglom’s brother, Zelton, the forgotten brother of the Janglom clan, was free to play in any way he saw fit. Due to his never being noticed status within the family, Zelton took every opportunity afforded him to try and get someone, anyone’s attention. This very moment was no different. Zelton was doing cartwheels, back flips, and handstands whenever he got near the ball. To Helton’s utter amazement, Zelton never once tried to touch the ball. Not with his hands, not with his feet. Zelton was thirteen years old and he was a fantastic gymnast, but he didn’t know a darn thing about soccer.
Helton often thought Zelton would be the only good brother to hang out with; seeing that no one ever paid attention to Zelton. But Zelton ignored Helton each time Helton tried to be friendly and praise Zelton for his gymnastic prowess. For this reason, Helton lumped Zelton in with his other ridiculous brothers.
Helton finally turned away from his window. He couldn’t stand to watch his brothers butcher such a beautiful game. Helton was dressed in his Basur FC jersey and Addiddiddass shorts. He was sitting in his micro-turbine powered hover chair. The chair hummed quietly as Helton made his way to his bed. When Helton reached his bed, his hover chair docked with his floating air mattress. Helton used his hands to lift himself onto the gyronomically stabilized bed. Helton had to go through this same process every time he went to bed; whether it was for a nap like now or for his seven hours of REM sleep each night.
Comfortable under his pre-warmed silk blankets, Helton looked nervously around his room. He was checking to see if any of his nanny’s flying cameras were hiding in the corners of his room. His nanny, Miss Mudget, was very strict about Helton’s naps. Every day he had to nap for an hour. Miss Mudget used the flying cameras to check on Helton. She could fly the darn things into his room through the vents. If she caught him not sleeping, Miss Mudget’s loud, high pitched voice screamed out of the speaker over Helton’s bed. “Go to sleep, Helton, or I will not make you gummy fish soup for your afternoon snack.” Helton loved gummy fish soup. The gummy fish tasted just like bubble gum. Helton had no idea how the genetic fish farmers crossed gum with fish, but he thought they were geniuses.
At this moment there were no flying cameras in sight. And gummy fish soup was not at risk. Helton pulled out his micro-sized digital dish projection unit as he hid under the covers. Once the digital dish projector picked up a signal from the satellites orbiting Earth, Helton pointed the projection lens at the silk cover above his head. There, on the silken bed cover was a live broadcast of the semifinal round Senegalese Open Cup game. Senegal’s most powerful team Diamond FC, owned and operated by The Family World Diamond Corporation, was playing Basur FC, Helton’s favorite team.
Basur FC, an amateur team inspired by Poldinha, the greatest youth player on the planet Earth, had reached the semifinals for the third year running. The previous two years Basur had been knocked out by this same Diamond FC.
Two years ago Basur was knocked out on a controversial penalty call in which the Basur right back was called for unsportsmanlike conduct for helping a Diamond FC forward up after he had slipped to the ground. The world governing body for soccer, FIBBA, investigated the call and found no wrong doing after two minutes of debate on the matter.
That particular meeting of FIBBA moved quickly to the matter of Slumtown FC; another amateur side in Senegal, which was charged with allowing too many fans into their games on free tickets. The hearing on the Slumtown FC issue lasted just one minute and the faceless, yet smiling, board of FIBBA revoked Slumtown FC’s license to operate for a period of no less than five years. The board then ended their session and quickly boarded a non-descript stealth jet and presumably headed for their winter home in Qatar.
Last year’s Senegalese Open Cup semifinal was marred by three red cards to Basur players. The first two didn’t slow down Basur FC. Through Poldinha they continued to pound away at Diamond FC’s goal and held a 3-1 advantage in the 70th minute.
Poldinha himself was shown a straight red for running too quickly back to the center circle for the restart after he scored his third goal of the match and Basur’s fourth. The center ref judged Poldinha to be rubbing his goal in the face of Diamond FC and Basur fell apart. Three men down and Poldinha-less, Basur gave up six goals in the last twenty minutes, losing 7-4.
There was no protest of that particular game as Basur had used its amateur side protest the previous year (only one can be made every five years). Professional sides in good standing are allowed ten protests per season.
FIBBA convened a meeting the next day, even though there was nothing on their agenda. FIBBA had been offered a chance to have a group picture taken with Ingolstadt FC, the perennial top dog of the Swedish Women’s Underwear Soccer Hive (SWUSH). Ingolstadt had set up the promotion. They swore it was not a bribe. FIBBA agreed. After all, it was for the good of the game. FIBBA flew on their non-descript stealth jet to Sweden. While in Sweden the faceless FIBBA board of directors convinced the Ingolstadt Women’s Underwear team to fly back to Qatar with the board for more pictures.
The board explained that while the cold weather of Sweden had provided some wonderful photos, the warmth of Qatar would allow for a more revealing photo shoot. A duffle bag full of unmarked bills was rumored to have changed hands at this point and since that day the entire Ingolstadt Underwear team hasn’t been seen. New players were hastily assembled to take the former team’s place. None of the Ingolstadt fans complained.
When Helton found the game on his digital mini-dish, it was already the 20th minute and Basur FC was winning 2-0. Poldinha was still playing for the amateur team because he refused for the past two years to move to a bigger club. His only video taped press conference showed Poldinha reading from a cue card and professing his love for his hometown of Basur and Basur FC. He stated that he would not leave until the club won the Senegalese Open Cup trophy. Video tape forensic scientists swear that a portion of the background in the video had been blacked out and that there seemed to be gunmen with high powered laser rifles and bags over their heads standing directly behind and to the side of Poldinha. The forensic technicians said that the laser rifles were pointed at Poldinha’s head. No further inquiries were made into the safety of Poldinha after the forensic scientists were all found with their heads cut off and mini-soccer balls stuffed down their throats.
Helton watched the game, in awe of Poldinha’s skill and grace. One odd thing, thought Helton, was that Poldinha was looking over his shoulder every few minutes or when he made his only poor pass of the game. Oh well. As the match wound into the 80th minute with Basur comfortably up 6-0, Helton began to daydream.
Helton knew in his heart that he would someday be as good as Poldinha. As long as he could stay away from his brothers, he knew he could do it. It didn’t matter that he was the youngest son of the richest man on the planet, or that he was paralyzed from the waist down. It didn’t matter that he could barely see without his special contacts. Helton Janglom knew his soul was that of a warrior and that he could overcome all the obstacles in his way and anything else that life threw at him. Helton Janglom was going to become the greatest soccer player ever and nothing could stop him.
At the advanced age of eight years old, hiding under his warm silk covers, worried about being caught by his nanny, Helton promised himself that if he could just get his father to allow him to join the town’s recreational league he could begin his climb to greatness.
“Helton Janglom, I am not going to make you gummy fish soup if you are watching soccer under those covers.”
“Dang it!” thought Helton as he turned off the game, poked his head out from under the covers and stuck his tongue out at the flying camera. The camera wobbled side to side in a sad motion.
“Helton, do you catch flies with that tongue? Because I think I see one about to land right in the middle of it.”
Helton snapped his mouth shut, almost biting his tongue off and then ducked back under the covers. Helton Janglom almost instantly began dreaming about flying from end to end on the greatest soccer fields in the world.
