Distraction on the Team Bus.

Two middle aged men greeted each other like old friends with a hug and a warm handshake. They stood outside a six-year old white 52 seater bus. The bus had a blue stripe down the middle saying O'Brien's Coaches.

"How long has it been Jim?"

"Sure it must be near ten years! How are you keeping?"

"Sure grand. How's the clan?"

"Not a bother! And yours?"

"Not bad, all things considered. The reason we moved down the country was because eh, we were looking after the mother-in-law."

"And how is she?"

"Eh, she passed nearly a month ago."

"Ah shite - I'm so sorry Tony."

"Ah sure she lived a great life Jim - eighty nine at the end. We had to sell up and would you believe both of us kinda missed the old area."

"So you're back for good?"

"Aye. Back in the old homestead."

"And are you working for O'Brien's?"

"Nope."

"Oh?"

"I bought him out. Proceeds from the will. Might as well do something with the money. You're still involved here then?"

"Probably until the day I croak it Tony. Same shite politics though."

"So what the feck is going on here today then? This is a new one to me Jim - this would never have happened in our day!'

"I know Tony! But I'm just the kit-man! I don't have a feckin' say!"

"This is well odd."

"You're not alone there thinking that Tony."

"Why warm up at some other pitch? What's he thinking, like? Why leave it so late to get there?"

"Listen - I don't know either. I think it's some sort of mind games to be honest."

"I hope they're not going to be running up and down the aisle of me new bus in the time it takes to get there!"

"No they won't! Don't be silly for fecks' sake!"

"I'm just saying! Them bloody studs better not leave big holes in me carpet!"

"The ground is hard out Tony - they'll be wearing moulds. They're like runners with good grips - no actual studs."

"Oh right - good. 'Cos I was told it was only replaced last year."

"They'll probably just be doing some light stretching and motivational speaking en route."

"Grand so. But Jimmy - it leaves us feck all time - like no wiggle room at all! What happens if we get
stuck in a bit of traffic or, or something else?"

"He's not thinking that way. But in all fairness to him Tony - there should be feck all traffic between here and the pitch. Sure it's only about two odd miles."

"I know that! But you never know like! Will they be long?"

"Shouldn't be. Anything new in that newspaper you were reading?"

"Not much to be honest. Some poor fecker of a child stuck a pencil in her head by accident - how some one does that I'll never know!"

"Well they do say that children should never run with sharp objects!"

"True for you Jim."

"Anything else?"

"Ah jaysus, there's another article about how men get easily distracted driving in this weather."

"Whatcha mean like?"

"Well 'cos it's warm, women wear less clothes and our attention isn't exactly on the eh.."

"Road!"

"Yeah. That shit doesn't affect me anymore Jim - I'm long past me sell by date. Sure Moira barely even looks my way anymore unless she's looking for me to get the coal in from the bunker."

"Sure my Anne is the same! Only calls me by my proper name when (a) I'm in trouble or (b) she's looking for something!"

"We're forty years hung next year. Next February."

"Are you jaysus? Feck Tony, I'd never have thought that! Me and Anne are thirty three - a fair bit behind ye two."

"Sure ye two are only childer!"

"Here they come Jim - start the bus. This fecker will want everyone loaded up in less than sixty seconds. I've to tick them off on this bit of paper as soon as they board."

"What's that for? Surely you could just count the feckers as they get on?"

"It's not my call Jim. Ah feck this pen isn't working! Have you a spare?"

"Eh, I've a pencil here on the dash - will that do?"

"It will surely."

Jim ticked them all off, one by one. All 26 players and management accounted for.
The new manager spoke whole-heartedly as Tony drove along the main road. They all sat quietly listening intently. Jim sat directly behind Tony.

A young girl cycled by in the opposite direction.
Her light skirt fluttered in the summer evening breeze.
Her red beret and pale yellow cardigan glowed.
Her nubile bare legs shone like torches in the darkness.

Twenty seven sets of male eyes followed the cyclist.

Tony braked late.

He turned the wheel right as he craned his neck.

The bus stopped two feet short of a telegraph pole on the far side of the road.

Jim's pencil went flying too. Missing Tony's head by inches.