Thursday morning began with a scream.
Not an alarming scream. Not even a frightened scream. More the sort of scream produced by somebody who had just discovered something so exciting that normal speech had become temporarily unavailable.
The sound echoed across the stadium. Gerbils emerged from offices, tunnels, seating areas and snack queues. Several elephant shrew referees looked up from breakfast. A flag was dropped. A clipboard hit the floor. Everyone converged on the main entrance.
There, standing proudly beneath the giant World Cup banner, was a gerbil nobody recognised. She wore an enormous costume. The costume appeared to consist of a football, a flag, several ribbons and what might once have been a lampshade. Nobody could identify exactly where the costume ended and the gerbil began.
The stranger raised both paws. “I am the Official World Cup Mascot.”
Silence followed. Not because anyone doubted her. Simply because nobody had known there was supposed to be an official mascot.
The gerbil struck a second pose. “My name is Glory.”
The crowd immediately burst into applause. This seemed like the correct response.
A second unfamiliar gerbil stepped forward carrying a notebook. “I am Gazette. I handle media relations.”
A third appeared beside her. “I am Gusto. Security.”
Gusto was wearing sunglasses. The sunglasses were larger than her face. Nobody challenged her authority.
At that moment a fourth gerbil rolled into view on a pair of roller skates. Nobody had been aware that roller skates existed. The newcomer completed a surprisingly elegant circuit of the entrance plaza before colliding gently with a flowerpot. “I am Gallop.”
There was a pause.
“What do you do?” asked Gadget.
Gallop considered this. “Speed.” The answer seemed satisfactory.
Within minutes the entire stadium had abandoned whatever it had previously been doing. Training stopped. Administration stopped. The official standings remained unfinished. Even the inflatable banana was temporarily forgotten.
Glory was immediately surrounded by admirers. Photographs were requested. Autographs were requested. One enthusiastic supporter requested an autograph on another autograph. Glory provided both.
By eleven o’clock, Gazette had established a press office. This consisted of a chair, a desk and a sign reading PRESS OFFICE. Nobody questioned its legitimacy. Journalists began appearing. Most had not been journalists ten minutes earlier. Questions flew through the air.
“What inspired the costume?”
“What are your views on football?”
“Can the World Cup mascot influence weather systems?”
Glory answered every question with complete confidence. The answers varied considerably in quality.
Meanwhile Gusto patrolled the stadium perimeter. Several times she dramatically escorted perfectly innocent spectators away from entirely ordinary locations. This made her feel useful.
Gallop spent the afternoon discovering increasingly ambitious uses for roller skates. Some worked. Some did not. One experiment required assistance from three referees, two ropes and a wheelbarrow. The details remained unclear.
By lunchtime rumours were spreading throughout the tournament. Some claimed Glory had been appointed by an international committee. Others insisted she had emerged fully formed from a giant football. One particularly elaborate theory suggested she had always existed and had simply been waiting for the correct tournament.
Nobody knew the truth. Nobody seemed especially interested in finding out. The mascot had arrived. That was what mattered.
By mid-afternoon Glory was leading stadium tours, waving from balconies and posing beside flags from competing nations. The crowd adored her. The inflatable banana did not. For the first time since its rise to prominence, the banana found itself competing for attention. This development was received poorly. The rivalry would, everyone agreed, require careful observation.
The Gerbil World Cup had acquired an official mascot.
Whether anyone had actually made the appointment remained an entirely separate question.
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