The prospect of the Scotland vs Morocco game is disastrous for productivity.
The mascot has only just arrived. The inflatable banana is plotting revenge. Gallop has discovered stairs while wearing roller skates. Gazette is issuing press releases at a rate that suggests she may be inventing news. Gusto has expanded security operations to include several flowerpots.
And now Scotland are playing Morocco. At eleven o’clock tonight. The timing is catastrophic.
By mid-afternoon the entire tournament has entered a state of anticipatory distraction. Scotland currently sit at the top of the standings and Morocco have already established a reputation for being annoyingly competent. The match is important. Everyone agrees on this. Nobody agrees on why.
Predictions appear everywhere. Granite finds one attached to the standings. Gadget finds three attached to her office door. One particularly ambitious forecast involves seventeen goals, a weather incident and a ceremonial llama. The source remains anonymous.
By four o’clock, several gerbils have begun discussing team selection despite having absolutely no influence over it. Small tactical groups form around tables. Arrows are drawn. Counter-arrows are added. Counter-counter-arrows soon cover entire sheets of paper.
Glyph declares that victory will depend upon “controlling the important bits.” Nobody asks which bits.
Meanwhile Glory has enthusiastically embraced her role as mascot. She poses for photographs beside both Scottish and Moroccan flags before accidentally creating rumours that she supports both teams simultaneously. The resulting diplomatic situation requires Gazette to issue two clarifications and one explanatory diagram. The inflatable banana seizes the opportunity and publicly endorses Scotland. This proves controversial.
By early evening, supporters of Morocco have begun displaying banners insisting that sporting equipment should remain politically neutral. The banana refuses to comment.
As darkness falls, the atmosphere becomes increasingly electric. The giant screen has been prepared. Snacks have been assembled. Seats have been claimed with a determination normally associated with territorial disputes. Even Gallop has finally removed her roller skates. This is widely regarded as a sign that the occasion is serious.
By ten-thirty almost every gerbil in the stadium is ready. By ten forty-five nobody is capable of discussing anything else. By ten fifty-five silence begins to spread.
The screen glows. The flags stir. The mascot waits. The banana waits. The entire Gerbil World Cup waits.
Scotland versus Morocco is about to begin. And everyone is absolutely certain they know what is going to happen.
This confidence has never previously been justified.
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