In 2010, a crack commando pool team was sent to prison for a crime they didn’t commit (OK, maybe we did it ). They promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade (Great Yarmouth Open Prison) to the Milton Keynes underground (you tell me!?). Today, still wanted by the EPA, they survive as pool players of fortune. If you have a problem, if no-one else wants to play for you, and if you can find them, maybe you could hire the RAFA Stingers.
The Story So Far: Back in the year of our lord, 2007, them former playboy heroes turned underworld fugitives, The RAFA Stingers, were embarking on a quest to save an erstwhile colleague. Zared had been kidnapped by mobsters The Bangkok Kokbangers, who subsequently bet huge amounts on a Stingers league title. To avoid seeing the Stinger legend mutated into a ladyboy and put to work on the Bangkok streets, the Stingers had to seal a 4th consecutive title. One week in everything was going to plan…
Week 2. Dog made contact with his team in the days leading up to the second match of the season. He brought more news from the far east. The bookie who had taken the £1,000,000 bet on a Stinger league title had got twitchy in the wake of week 1’s easy win. He had laid off much of the liability to the Kokbangers underworld rivals – The Backalley Boys. Although not so powerful in Bangkok where the Kokbangers ruled supreme, the Backalley Boys had their figures in all sorts of pies in the UK. They pretty much controlled the Gay nightclub scene and with the English pool circuit at the time being gayer than a night out with Clary, Norton and Barrymore, it spelt one thing – trouble. Some of the team couldn’t grasp the importance of this development. Dog explained that every gay in the league would be out to sabotage the Stinger title quest. Anyone with a Pink Punter membership card would be on orders to play their best. By that premise, anyone playing their best MUST be a Pink Punter.
Conspiracy theories were put to one side for the visit to Roman Park Residents Club. But on arrival the paranoia came rushing back. The table was in a foyer. Not even in the bar. What was that about? Had the Backalley Boys ordered it to be moved knowing the Stingers couldn’t survive without alcohol close at hand? On top of that, the Stingers were seeing (or rather not seeing) red balls on a red cloth. Eh? With the Roman Park mob being a few years younger, was this a ploy to gain an advantage in the eyesight stakes? The final straw was that the place was ‘No Smoking’. Once the paramedics had calmed Jody’s epileptic fit and made sure no more convulsions were forthcoming, Chapdog pointed out that they only had a few yards to walk for a swift fag. Jody’s condition subsided to ‘distinctly edgy’.
On the table Doggy was up for saving his mate Zared’s dignity. 1-0. Lil’ Jamie, fresh from brand new supremes, struggled with the runt of a table but made it 2-0. Jody’s condition was adjudged to be ‘just enough nicotine to last 10 minutes’ so he fought out a 9 minute win. 3-0. Andy 4-0. Gee 5-0. Andy 6-0. Perhaps the Backalley Boys had yet to get instructions over to their sleeper cells? This was all a bit too easy. A spate of anti-McGoogling made it 6-2, before Stingertime resumed for the final three frames.
Them magnificent men returned to their flying machine to find two bits of paper under their windscreen wipers. One was a reminder of their task from the Kokbangers “Win league or lady lady ladyyyyyyyboy!”. The other was from an anonymous writer. He claimed to be from the Botty Liberation Front and said he’d be in contact to ‘make an offer’. The handwriting was familiar to Dog. Very familiar… (to be continued)
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