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And another Beckham outing
It was during the last summer, when we got to know eachother in
a nightclub called “Peking duck” in Seoul. He, David
Beckham that is, was on a tour through Asia with the Baiser Real
Madrid and I was working with Mr Li, my interpretor for south-corean,
who had introduced me to another Mr Li, coincidentally his brother
in law, who took care of the Real stars.
We talked about Asian food, SARS, the Misters Li and Li, about the
fear of flying and free kicks. Just a half hour later the wing-deity
whispered in my ear: “I don´t do this usually but would
you come up to my hotel room a little later?”
Admitted, I was flabbergasted, Styrian bloke which I am, drank some
snake schnaps to get a hold of myself and took a couple of tiger
penis pills and monkey tail pills, which another - a different -
Mr Li had talked me in to at the airport for the eventuality of
wanting to perform things I don´t usually do and found myself
dashing off like a middle forward from the wing right into the penalty
area called Shangri-La-Hotel, where David was waiting for me in
the offside.
Pst, didn´t he close his lips with his finger, he wouldn´t
do this usually?
He guided me through his suite to his bed and started to kiss and
caress me. Cucumber! He plunged his hand down my pants and I recognized
immediately that I had taken far too much of the powdered tiger
and monkey jewels. Goal robbery! Yellow card! Despite that almost
everything was perfect, very passionate, sensual, close man-to-man
cover, with tremendous spin and maneuvers we got to know eachother
and if he wouldn´t have demanded penalty shots repeatedly
and yelled out “Foul” and “Out” this could
have been really wonderful.
Afterwards we lighted up Havannas, thought of poor chubby Diego
Maradona, who wasn´t doing that well at that time already,
and David who was probably thinking of his wife said: “You
know, I love Victoria, but it´s more like brother and sister.
I don´t find her as attractive anymore as I used to, she´s
so thin.” Mhm, I thought, not spiced-off enough, patting my
tummy, pulling it in and pushing it out again. Just before I realized
what that could lead to he already called the concierge and ordered
Russian champagne and French caviar, “for the falseness of
the false often turns out to be more real than the real thing”.
His driver was sent off to fetch more condoms, after all the night
was young and we were merely on a half time break.
As young as the night was as thin were the walls of the hotel. Suddenly
Beck´s doctrinaire team mate Ronaldo stood at the door and
yelled: “Stop! David! Think of Victoria, think of your children.“
Presumably this was a diversionary tactic because parallel to this
Roberto Carlos and Luis Figo had taken posession of a gondola for
cleaning windows, in which they now appeared on the outer glass
storefront of the suite to intonate “My pony is over the ocean”.
At the same time Zinedine Zidane had been creeping in the ventilation
system of the Shangri-La where he had meditated so loud that his
monastic Om resonated from all the grids.
The rest of the team was busy getting totally wasted on rice schnaps.
As if that would not have been enough, to top things off, Raul had
informed all my pursuers who were now pounding at the door arguing
about the publication rights screeching: “Hang in there, Franzobel,
this will be a bestseller. Finally! The TV rights are sold already,
after that we´ll make a movie I don´t do this usually,
a musical.”
As I woke up, frightened by all this opulence, I found a glossy
mag next to me which shared insight on Beckham´s crazy adventures
on several pages. Obviously I had fallen asleep over the magazine.
Serves you right, I thought and picked up the frantically ringing
phone, a voice whispering: “If something gets out I will be
in deep trouble.”
© by Franzobel
Translated by Alexander Moore, 9.6.2004
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