Hooliganism

[Aardvark]

The Kings School. Private, expensive, a target of ridicule and hatred for all those who do not attend. Also has mad fields EVERYWHERE, just ripe for hooning. You cannot throw a halfbrick without hitting a field that's asking for a few doughies. But, like all good things in life, getting in is a challenge. For the Kings School is guarded fiercely. The guard, one anonymous rent-a-cop, armed only with his brightly marked car, his flashlight, possibly his baton and his blind hope that the little authority he has is enough to protect the treasure of the Kings.

 

After a day of idling, waiting for my exhaust to be fixed, I was bitten. My car, new exhaust system, running better than before, sounding like some infernal cacophony. I had to drive. I had no other desire but to drive. To put this exhaust through it's paces. Burn it in. So we, myself and my large Brazilian friend and comrade, set off on a grand adventure that would lead us into the jaws of death. But our party needed a cleric, healer or someone of the sort. The closest we could find was Jesus. He was coming. He had no say in the matter and he knew it.

 

The first idea was food, but food could wait. I'd been bitten. We all had. We needed to hoon. So our voyage took us to the far reaches of the land, to a remote place that just happened to have every man and his dog standing around, looking dopey. So we went and ate, then returned. Upon our return, we find the field of loose gravel totally empty. It was ours for the hooning. Suddenly, disaster struck. An official looking gentleman arrived and informed us that he had to lock the gate. This would entrap us unless we left right away. One handbrakie out of defiance and we were gone, in search of fertile new soils to plunder.

 

The next target was another field, notorious for the sort of behavior we were practicing that night. With fields of loose dirt waiting for four wheeled nutbags. But once more, fortunes did not favour us. For the park was filled. People everywhere. With cars. Playing... tennis. That sport of derelicts and losers. That most insidious of games that takes up valuable network television time that should be devoted to children's programming, but isn't, instead being wasted on this mindless game that falls somewhere between paint drying and grass growing on the grand list of exciting spectator events. Still, in the depths of this place, we did find a small area that was adequate for our purposes. A little practice to get back into the swing of hooning and we were out of there. As we left, we dared another small hoon on the main arena, in perfect view of the tennis buffoons, then we were out, knowing that reinforcements would be coming directly.

 

At some point on our little adventure, we witnessed an honest citizen being harassed by the authorities for the smallest of infractions. A broken tail light. How was he to know? He never looks at that end of the car. The two harpies in uniform must've realised this and let the poor individual go with a warning. We watched this from dangerous range, waiting for them to leave, knowing we were the next victim if we left first. Soon they were gone. We changed sides of the road and waited, hoping they would return. Sadly, they did not.

 

Finally, we came before the great empire of the Kings. We knew the fate of all those who tried to gain entry to this fabled fortress. They never made it far. The last known expedition lasted a whole ten feet before the guardian had them cornered and, in the gruffest, most menacing voice he could muster, told them to leave the grounds immediately. But we were filled with courage, bravado and pure foolishness. We were invincible. We were gods. We were going in... and we were probably going to get shot trying.

 

The gates were open. The drawbridge was down. Someone had drained the moat. Entry to the school could not have been easier. The guard wasn't even at his post. So we ventured forth into the grounds. At the first sign of movement, we halted, killed the lights and waited in silence for the end. This was when we caught our first glimpse of the guardian. He was escorting a trespasser off the premises. He hadn't seen us. Too engrossed in his capture, most likely. So we took this as a good omen and delved deeper into the lair of the beast.

 

Inside, we found and loitered near several residences of sorts, whether they be student or teacher, we were not to know, but we knew that at any moment, death was certain. Out of nowhere, the guard or his hordes of manmonkey zombi ninjas would jump out of the bushes with machine guns and rocket launchers to tell us to move along. But no manmonkeys came. We pressed on, going deeper into unknown territory.

 

Soon, we'd reached one of our objectives without realising it. A map of the grounds. Nice and confusing, totally worthless without intense study. We had no time for this, however. Onward we drove, into the unknown. To glory or death.

 

It was about this time we witnessed the first sign of habitation, other than the guard at the entrance. Some dude working on a car or something. We doubt he thought anything of us, even though the car was loud enough to wake the dead. We passed him and made a startling discovery. The cricket pitch! The legendary cricket pitch of the Kings School. Larger than any cricket ground in history. Infact, larger than every cricket ground in history, all glued together. It was big, man. At that moment, we knew we were in the very heart of the enemy school. We knew we'd gone further than any man. And we were determined to live to tell about it.

 

But first we had to chuck a handbrakie. How could we not?

 

On our way out, we passed the guard. He'd decided to investigate the noise, but instead almost ran into us leaving the grounds, victorious. We'd done the impossible. We'd won. We'd beaten the guardian and we'd penetrated the very heart of that reviled school. We were legends, heroes.

 

We needed more people. Now that we knew it could be done, we needed more people to do it. Our attempt to gather up more troops failed. Not that we tried hard. Lacking communications devices hampered our efforts, but we did try. We just failed.

 

So we returned to the Kings School. We couldn't just leave it at that. We'd breached their defenses once, we had to do it again. This time, the guardian was awaiting our return. He had parked at the gate, facing outward. One pass and we'd located him. Another pass and we knew his alertness. On the third pass, we instead turned into the neighbouring complex, turned and parked facing the gate. He couldn't stay there forever. Eventually, he'd have to patrol again. To satiate that thirst all security guards have of making sure everything they can't see is secure.

 

He never left his post. He knew there was no other way in, other than that gate. With his kingdom hooligan free, he was content to stand guard at the gates, ensuring they stay fast against all invaders. It was time, we decided, to use cunning. There had to be another way in.

 

After a lot of wasted time and failed attempts, we found it. The sister school to Kings. Tara. There was a construction entrance just off to the side. We took this windy dirt road, merely to see where it went. How far did it go? Did the two schools join up/ They couldn't... that would be too easy. We took the road.

 

We'd won again. We were back in Kings. We'd found the secret back entrance. First thing we did was head back to the cricket pitch, knowing full well the guard was still sitting at the front gate, feeling all smug and secure. Oh, what grass we tore up that time, my friends and allies. If only the car had been a little bigger, we would've left our black rubbery mark on the cricket pitch. It was decided that we had to exit through the main gates. But first, we loiter at that residence a little. We were sure he had to come. He had to know we were there. He didn't come. And I badly needed to take a piss. So, it turned out, did my compatriots. facing away from the vehicle, we all emptied our bladders, desecrating the grounds of the school. The ultimate victory, we decided. It was time to leave.

 

On the way back, we ran into the guard. He was traveling up a road, toward a T junction. We were traveling across that junction. With a flick of the wrist, I gave the enemy the one finger salute and floored it. He gave chase through the narrow streets of the Kings School. Around a sharp bend, we lost sight of him to the rear. Almost taking out a low brick wall, we took a side route, stopped the car, killed the engine and the lights. Then we played the waiting game. We were fairly well concealed. Two cars parked behind us and trees to our side, the only way he could really see us would be to drive up next to us.

 

He paused at the low wall, contemplating which route we took. The road that lead somewhere or the road that lead to the dead end. He went somewhere. Once out of sight, we left our hiding place, our spirits lifted by our successful ruse. Not only had we beaten our enemy, we'd humiliated them in the process. We returned to the main gate, our plan being to wait there for the guardian, for one last defiant gesture before retreating.

 

Damn, he sure took his sweet time returning. We got bored at the gate waiting for him, so parked on the roundabout instead, facing the exit. He didn't come back. We got bored, so decided to loot the area. The hats of witches and several guiding posts were taken before we decided he wasn't coming back. Using a bright barricade, we blocked off the route back to the gate and left to deposit our booty elsewhere, incase of capture.

 

Our loot offloaded, we were about to return, only to see him in the distance. We saw him leave his vehicle to move the barricade, then spent a small amount of time wandering the area, probably thinking that something was indeed missing, but unable to remember what. Then he decided to resume his patrol, incase we were still in the grounds.

 

When he returned, he found us. Parked just inside the gate. Facing outward. Our car sprang into life and we left the grounds with one final parting wave. I'm sure he wasn't sad to see us go.

 

 

He'd see us again that night. We weren't done with him. Not by a long shot.

 

We took the secret entrance again. This time charting it, incase we had to use it as an exit. As we approached the gates, we decided to make the approach in reverse. Then my Brazilian friend and companion got spooked. Flashing red and blue lights. I swore they were on an ambulance, he swore they were on a paddy wagon. We decided it best to flee, incase he was right.

 

Out of the school and onto the main road, we choose to do one more pass, just to see if the guardian had called for backup. We saw him alone at the front of the school. A broken man. Pissing on a tree. We gave him the parting gesture, only to have him return it in kind. We left triumphant. Entire security procedures would have to be rewritten from the ground up. Extra guards would have to be hired. More surveillance. Lockable gates. Oh, we'd well and truly conquored that place, my dear friend. We were the champions and we left behind us a broken opponent.

 

 

 

Later it would occur to us that he would not be recording the events that happened that night, as it would mean more paperwork to him and admitting he lost and couldn't do his job properly. Which is why two transcripts of the nights events were recorded and taken to the furthest reaches of the earth for safe keeping, lest the enemy ever get their hands on the truth.