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BACK TO ROARY VERSUS ... MONTY MAGPIE
Pundit's Prediction: Monty the Magpie is a member of the bird family Spucatum taura avis, literally meaning 'bullshit bird' and is native to only one particular area of north-east England stretching between Durham to the south and Washington to the north.
The pica species of this family is exceedingly rare as due to its 6ft height and wearing of a tacky black and white shirt, it is easy to see coming and pick off. This is exasperated by its tactical deficiency when attempting to deal with predators, often relying on the same one trait, known in the ornithological world as the Shearer gene, to get them out of trouble. This is worsened by the blinding cases of conjunctivitis which are at present endemic on Tyneside, a bit like the false hope, delusions of grandeur and inflated expectations that are often associated with the bird.
Like all magpies, members of this species are also notorious kleptomaniacs. It is this that could be to the bird's advantage as intelligence suggests that he may be hoarding a selection of treasures that could be used to threaten the lion. However this is unlikely as the Geordie species is not too adept at picking up shiny objects, as is testified by the lack of cups in the Newcastle United trophy cabinet. The birds are also rumoured to have extremely weak bladders, indeed it is a commonly held view that they have the urinary tract of a 71-year-old man although strangely this is at odds with their inability to piss all over the opposition. Yet this could still be a significant weapon in terms of attack and thus Roary will have to watch himself when in the ring.
Moving on to his specific opponent, despite his popularity on Tyneside, Monty is seen as the laughing stock of St. James- even more so than Titus Bramble- and thus he goes into this bout being reasonably low in confidence. This is largely due to the seeming belief in the boardroom that stealing is not a serious enough accusation to warrant not being allowed to set foot on the sacred Geordie turf. This is exasperated by Monty's fragile nerves, which are largely due to fears of racial abuse as, being predominantly black, he is always on the lookout for certain players in case they try to beat the shit out of him. All this suggests that Monty would provide easy pickings for Roary, a view that is enhanced when we consider the more docile nature of the bird, particularly when in competition in recent years. Yet despite this, the widely held rumour that 'Mary Poppins' has been feeding the bird 'tuppence a bag' whilst dressed in Victorian women's attire has since been discredited, so maybe he is not as domesticated as first appears.
There are many methods that Roary could employ to defeat his opponent. Looking at the stats, Roary has stature on his side, an advantage that is enhanced when we consider that the magpies are notorious for being unable to soar above a certain height, or fourth in the Premiership as it is more commonly known. Roary can also pretend to be victimised and weak to outfox the enemy, as curiously, the species has problems devouring smaller prey such as the Wolverhampton Slow-worm, often turning to the larger animals in order to obtain sustenance. Thus victory can come from both standing tall and acting small although like with all sport, a win is not necessarily guaranteed. Indeed despite the favourable odds, we must be careful not to completely rule out the possibility of a strong challenge from the magpies this year, no matter how unlikely it is. After all, in reality you'd expect a lion to overcome a mere magpie with ease, but this is the world of Fluffy Mascot Wrestling and anything is possible. Still, I'd bet on a narrow home win as the tidings are looking far from good for the Geordies this season.
The match: The atmosphere is electric as both contenders run out to the comforting sound of Pigbag reverberating around the stadium, to the sight of thirty thousand fans excitedly waving their flags, all anticipating an intriguing battle ahead. And here comes their hero, Roary the Lion, amusing the partisan crowd by performing the dance he is programmed to do, whilst Monty looks on in an air of superior derision, expecting this bout to be easy despite his low confidence. Photographers snap and cameras whirr as Roary spies members of the crowd wearing his trademark lion ears- a bargain at a mere £24.99 from the club shop- deriving confidence from their singing 'Who's our lion in the red?' as he playfully waves to his adoring fans. He is also comforted by the venom directed towards his opponent, their chanting of 'Where's your eyesight gone?' being a particular favourite as he spies Monty cowering in pain at the atmosphere induced, and urges the crowd to sing ever louder. Then the crowd go wild as Roary flexes his muscles, standing like an Adonis for the cameras in front of the ring, the ladies screaming in pleasure as he does some provocative shots, fierce yet sexy with claws outstretched, ready to rip the cameraman apart and take the camera asunder. And then the atmosphere is ruined by the tunes of a lively Mark Page, who starts playing 'Come on Eileen' in an attempt to wind up the bird. Except Page gets confused and plays the worse TalkSport cover, and with this the crowd turn against him, booing furiously. Monty meanwhile just cracks.
Looking up in anger, the bird spies Page in the gantry, a smug grin plastered across his cheeky face, a grin that slowly slides into a frown as he sees Monty heading his way, with eyes piercing a stare through the gunge encrusted around them. Focussed and spurned he edges ever nearer, unaware that most of the crowd are silently with him, hoping he'll throw a punch at MP so they would no longer have to endure the noise masquerading as music that he incessantly plays. Bubbling with rage, Monty finally reaches the top but his impatience takes over as he prepares to launch his first blow. He drunkenly swings, yet his focus deserts him, causing him to miss his target completely and clip a seven-year-old kid almost full in the face. Expecting stronger contact, this causes Monty to lose balance, to become confused and disorientated as his footing expires, conscious yet clueless as to which direction to go and unsure how to get out of this spiralling tailspin. This is gleefully noted by the crowd who start singing 'There's only one Kieron Dyer', although this is not heard by the magpie whose world resembles a dizzying whirl. This feeling of dizziness isn't helped by his height, as like all Geordies, he fears being top of the tree, believing that the only thing that should ever exist at this altitude is one of Shola Ameobi's less wayward shots. Scared by his circumstance, he tries to do what every good magpie should to do- to crap on all those who are mocking him from below. But in doing this he only emits a tiny fraction of acid, acid that merely trickles its way slowly down his left leg. His last defence expired, he starts to bottle it, getting a beak bleed to add to his mountain of woes, and still he is twirling with no idea as to which direction to turn, his mind racing in fury and blanking his thoughts. However he doesn't have to wait long for the decision to be made, as his path is soon chosen when the injured kid rises and with determination etched into his young face, he aims a sharp kick to his balls which sends him falling back down the stairs. As he keeps rolling, the crowd drown out the pain, his squawks being eclipsed by their torrent of noise as with every step that is conquered the crowd cheer ever louder, his wincing disguised behind his big furry head. Indeed he struggles to retain it as his momentum increases, aware of the crowd laughing as he clutches his nuts with his wings, but as he stands up at the bottom with his pride firmly shattered, he shakes himself down, determined to reek his revenge. And after a few minutes recovery, it's time to begin the first match as both competitors head to the ring to commence the fight. Both put on their special furry mitts and spar off one more time as the bell starts to ring signalling the bout to begin.
Ding ding. Who left that Victorian fire truck in here?! Round one. There is little time for the combatants to feel each other out as Roary heads straight for the jugular, prompting Monty to perform an illegal arm move that goes unnoticed by the referee, despite the crowd's vociferous protestations. Yet Roary remains focussed and tries to see off the bird with a few decisive jabs, jabs that unfortunately have good intent but fail in their final punch, always lacking in power as they get closer to their target. This increases Monty's confidence, who makes a direct move of his own, throwing a manicured wing dangerously, yet half-heartedly, in Roary's direction. He didn't expect much to come of it, treating it more like a warning shot across the bows but Roary's concentration wavers due to a lovelorn in the crowd screaming 'I want your cubs Roary!' at the precise moment Monty's wing arched round. Distracted, the lion receives the punch full in the face, making him reel backwards giddily towards the elasticised ropes. It was a shocking mistake to make. For the rest of the round he finds it hard to recover, the giddiness never leaving him, his concentration never fully restored. This is largely due to the attractive woman who had just propositioned him, which in turn led to one of his recurring visions that included three or four lionesses in a purr-den of iniquity. He is able to see little else for the rest of the round, thus getting the full Geordie experience. This was exasperated by his wondering how the Geordies remained sober enough to notice that their blurry eyesight was due to a disease rather than drink, thus he makes little headway for the rest of the round. Indeed both sides cancel each other out and at the bell, Monty is one up on points.
Round two starts off in much the same way as the first. Except the fire truck has been removed and sent to the fire station in Bude where it is seen as state of the art equipment and becomes a local object of worship. Thus the crowd just have to make do with an attractive woman wearing next to nothing at all, carrying a big board with the number 2 written on it whilst blowing a whistle. The start of the round and Roary huffs and he puffs but does very little until, with twenty minutes remaining, his coach suggests he make a substitution- from water to a popular energy drink that apparently allows top athletes go for 33% longer*. However in taking this drink there is an element of risk as little is known about its effects on blokes in furry suits, whilst many are sceptical as to the claims that are made, believing that amphetamine would be the better substance of choice. Still it is worth a go Roary thinks, particularly when laced with his secret weapon, a bottle of Newky Broon. So he concocts this mixture in the middle of the ring, knowing he must knock it all back due to his manager's belief that downing was now the only chance that he had of salvaging a point. His efforts almost immediately pay off as upon tasting the drink Roary is spurred into revenge, revenge against the city that inflicted this alcoholic filth on the world, as he launches shot after shot at the hapless bird. A few minutes later and the breakthrough is made as Monty gets clocked straight across the face, allowing Roary to equalise with the crowd going wild. Meanwhile thoughts abound in his head that his success may now generate many more chances for cub making tonight. Again fixated on these thoughts, this relief quickly pales into complacency as minutes later all the good work is casually undone when he becomes too excited and trips up the magpie, which causes his head to roll on to the floor and out of the ring. The crowd start cheering as Roary instinctively follows it, determined to play keepy-uppy whilst the bird recoils in embarrassment, trying to preserve his dignity by covering his naked head with his wings. And then a game of football develops and everyone is distracted, particularly the pundits who start commentating on the action.
'The cameraman, to the promoter. Takes it past one, past two, out wide to the crumpet with the board, she crosses it in, three are waiting in the middle. A drag back, a pass and GOAL!' a talentless pundit screams as the head sails back into the ring and lands at the feet of the bird, who puts it back on and prepares for the penalty punch. This is in accordance with FMF rules which, for a tripping offence when on the offensive, allow one free punch on the offender, who must stand in a crucifix position on the ropes, awaiting his punishment. The crowd boo and whistle in an attempt to put off the bird but his arrogance rises above it (but not higher than fourth remember) and he scores, running around and sticking his left wing in the air, devoid of any other celebration because he's such a boring cunt. Dejected, some of the crowd start to make for the exits, feeling their hero has let them down again, that the poor starts to the campaign were to continue forever, that their pre-season optimism was misguided and that it was the same usual Roary. But this was where they were wrong. With minutes to go he was still gallantly battling and, with a deft flick he launches one final offensive, arching his fist from the left side and using his arm and his head to smash straight into the bird's face and claiming a point. The crowd look at the referee convinced the move was illegal but no sound is made, the referee being distracted by the earlier woman in the crowd who now wants his babies with Roary's as a product of a threesome. The ecstatic crowd cheer as the bird sinks to his knees, the final hooter a death knell as the music begins. First result a draw, and a very credible one at that as both contenders trudge off to the sound of an emptying stadium.
* that of course is to the toilet rather than anything related to performance. Figures are generated from tests using standard athletes and standard tap water in laboratory conditions somewhere in the south of England. Percentages rounded up and adjusted to account for inflation and the price of a McDonald's Happy Meal in Luton, Bedfordshire. The athletes used in our tests are in no way linked to the commercial aspect of the product, despite their images being used on our advertisements. The value of a loan may go down as well as up. Your home is at risk if you do not keep up with repayments on a mortgage or other loans secured on it, written details available on request although it's usually a hassle for us to forward these details to you so we often ignore you and don't bother doing anything. Not that you're reading this small print anyway because you're too blaze and you think you know it all already. So all that's left to say is anyone who thinks this product is good value is quite clearly a twat, and an ignorant one at that, for if you can't see how much we're screwing out of you then you deserve to be screwed. It's a dog eat dog world out there and you're merely the hors d'oeurve. Congratulations, you're our millionth customer, you've been entered into our prize draw.
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