This Slightly Odd Tale is about petty office politics and unsportsmanlike behaviour.
If anyone ever asks me where I get my ideas... Well, it's one of the many benefits of a cheese-rich diet.
Probably more of a side effect than a benefit, admittedly.
As the Rider regained consciousness, he could hear voices.
'Is everything ready?'
'I think so.'
'Shhh! He’s waking up.
Go!'
'AHEM! Bonjour,
Maillot Jaune. I trust you have rested
well.'
The Rider slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on a cold, hard bed in a simply
furnished hospital room. He raised his
hand to shield his eyes from the glare of the overhead spotlight.
'Where am I?' he asked.
Next to his bed was an athletically built man in his early
thirties wearing a black jersey, a white cap and fitted shorts. He sported large sideburns.
‘You've have been asleep a long time. Wake up and get changed into your Robes of
Office, Maillot Jaune. I shall return.' Then someone outside the room hissed 'Allez maintenant!' and he bustled away.
At the foot of the bed lay a pair of Lycra shorts, a grey
baseball cap and a tight-fitting yellow jersey.
The Rider stood up, coughed, and dressed himself. He noticed that there was a plastic
sports bottle filled with water beside his bed.
The Rider quenched his thirst, sat on the edge of the bed and waited.
A short while later the man returned accompanied by four severe-looking
men. They were also wearing cycling gear.
'You shall follow us, Maillot Jaune. Ralf, Florian, Karl, Wolfgang... Begin.'
In unison, the men chanted 'Ah! HURRR! Ah UR HURRR!' and then stiffly shuffled out
of the room. The Rider followed,
uncertainly.
--
The Rider was now inside a poorly maintained mini gymnasium.
At one end there was a ramshackle stage
and at the other a worn pastel-coloured sofa. The man with the sideburns bellowed 'Ah!
HURRR!', then pointed at the sofa.
‘Go! Speak to Oh, Maillot Jaune’.
There was a slightly chubby African-American woman sitting
there. She waved at the Rider and
beckoned him over. ‘Sit by me, Maillot
Jaune’ she instructed.
At the other end of the room the chanters climbed onto the
stage. They began to sing in a sonorous monotone while performing a slow,
graceful dance.
L'enfer du Nord: Paris
– Roubaix (Tour De France! Tour De France!)
La Cote d'Azur et
Saint Tropez (Tour De France! Tour De France!)
Les Alpes et les
Pyrennees (Tour De France! Tour De France!)
Derniere etape
Champs-Elysees (Tour De France! Tour De France!)…
The Rider sat down on the sofa next to Oh. Immediately the chanting stopped and the room
went dark. Suddenly the light from a
single spotlight dazzled them.
‘Maillot Jaune, I expect you to tell the truth.’ stated Oh
in a calm but firm voice. ‘Did you ever
take banned substances to enhance your cycling performance?’
The Rider looked at Oh, confused and horrified. ‘Sorry?
What did you say?’ he replied. ‘I
don’t understand’. The Rider could feel himself
starting to sweat.
‘Did you ever take banned substances to enhance your cycling
performance?’ she repeated, her voice sterner and more forceful.
‘Y-y-yes?’ the Rider replied hesitantly.
‘Was one of those banned substances EPO?’
‘I don’t know. What’s
EPO?’ the Rider replied.
‘ANSWER ME, MALLIOT JAUNE!’ Oh shouted.
‘I have no idea what you are talking about!’ The Rider tried to stand up, but Oh grabbed
his forearm.
‘You sit DOWN, Maillot Jaune. Tell me what I want to know and you shall be
allowed to go. Was one of those banned
substances EPO?’ Oh glared at the Rider.
‘…Yes?’ he responded.
‘Good. Now we are
getting somewhere. Did you ever blood
dope or use blood transfusions to enhance your cycling performance?’
‘I guess,’ answered the Rider. ‘But I don’t see what this has to do with…’
‘SILENCE! Did you
ever use any other banned substances such as testosterone, cortisone or human
growth hormone?
’I suppose so… I’m not sure.’
In all seven of your victories, did you ever take banned
substances or blood dope?
‘Erm… Yes?’
‘So you admit it then, Malliot Jaune. SHAME ON YOU!
SHAME! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THIS
MAN IS A FRAUD AND A CHEAT!’
The Rider looked directly at his interrogator. He could see the rage in her eyes. ‘B-b-but I don’t understand! What is happening here? W-w-who are you?’ he stammered.
‘You damn well know who I am, Malliot Jaune. (Oh my me, pardon my French!)’
The chanters resumed their song…
The chanters resumed their song…
Galibier et Tourmalet
(Tour De France! Tour De France!)
En danseuse jusqu'au
sommet (Tour De France! Tour De France!)
Pedaler en grand
braquet (Tour De France! Tour De France!)
Sprint final a
l'arrivee (Tour De France! Tour De France!)…
Oh gestured to the man with the sideburns. The Rider felt a blow to the back of his head
and he passed out.
--
The Rider awoke on the bed in the hospital room. He had a headache, but he appeared to be
otherwise unharmed. Beside him was a
tattered box file. He opened it. Inside
was a single DVD-R with ‘Lance Armstrong – The Oprah Interview’ scrawled upon
it, a brown envelope containing a music CD broken into several shards, an
official looking letter and a small plastic case.
The Rider examined the remains of the music CD; Kraftwerk.
Written on the envelope in small tidy writing was ‘How do you like them
now?’
The Rider then read the letter.
April 20--,
Dear Mr Armstrong,
In the light of current world events
and the on-going austerity measures, I regret to inform you that your
application for funds to purchase one (1) exercise bike for the Site Fallout Shelter
has proved unsuccessful. Additionally
the decision to reduce the Shelter Entertainment Budget by 100% was
regrettable, but necessary. A memo
instructing key shelter personnel to bring their own books, films and music
will be distributed shortly.
As a personal favour to a fellow
cyclist, I have provided alternatively sourced entertainment for you to enjoy if
the worst were ever to happen. I hope
you agree that the music CD has several catchy little tunes; even if you cannot
exercise on a bike as you originally intended, you could keep your spirits up
by jigging about to the music. Also,
there is an important message to be gained from watching the DVD; cheats never
prosper, Mr Armstrong. I know what you have been up to and I expect to receive
your resignation from the cycle club at your earliest convenience.
Yours sincerely,
E. M. Armitage
Procurement Officer (Civil
Defence)
Civil Contingencies Secretariat
The Rider sighed and refolded the letter. Then he noticed the Post-It note attached to
it. It read:
Sorry! I was a bit rough back there. You can be Wiggins next time and I’ll be
Lance.
Inside the plastic case was a pair of false sideburns. The Rider smiled.
Inside the plastic case was a pair of false sideburns. The Rider smiled.
Puzzled? These links might help give you some understanding about what this was all about. Perhaps...
Kraftwerk - Tour De France
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