A SIMPLE TASK

The ambience of the “GLORY” lounge was far from its usual extravagant style. Rather, the setting was more somber and dull, with only the dim red bulbs being switched on. In the background, a soft and romantic number of the “BACKSTREET BOYS” titled “QUIT PLAYING GAMES WITH MY HEART” was played. The bartenders were missing; so were the usual party poppers. The T.V. set was switched on, with a domestic T20 game being broadcasted.

There, in one corner, near the inventory of the beer bottles, sat Joe Simmons, the owner of the lounge, with a green coloured Carlsberg bottle in his left hand, and a pen in another. The layers of chin hanging around his neck, and the presence of tiny but numerous blisters on his dark face, made him resemble nothing less than a monster. Joe, or popularly known as the “SIR”, fidgeting with his metallic PIER-CARDIN, said in his husky voice, “Listen Brian, my fella, you got to lose tomorrow’s critical tie.” “The odds placed on you, are really sky-rocketing, and if you win, no crisp notes would be minted, and surely there wouldn't be any raking in the moolah,” continued the fifty year old gangster. “So, are you in for this SIMPLE TASK of just purposely losing the game,” inquired the bulky Joe. “Just for giving up early, you get $40000.”

“$40000 is too humongous an amount to refuse,” came the reply from the person sitting on the next sofa. “You get $20000 now, and the remaining, after the job is done and dusted with,” concluded the gangster, passing on a bundle of notes to the person sitting on the next sofa.

The person was none other than Brian Brown, the nation’s ‘Numero Uno’ wrestler. Brian, a brawny thirty year old man, with tattoos all over his body, had been going through a lean patch in his professional, as well as his personal life. The results in the past few matches had gone against him; and to rub the salt on the wounds, his wife too left him for another man. But the most significant blow to Brian was that, he still had to clear all his debts, and the deadline period, was all, but over. Brian took the notes, and without even counting them, walked away from the lounge.

Apart from going through a turbulent phase in his life, there was another integral factor that had been playing on Brian’s mind. It was regarding his condition of “dissociative amnesia”. It had been a condition, which had resulted in Brian having no memory of certain events in his life. The amnesia had already created a ruckus in the thirty year old wrestler’s life. It was the consequence of amnesia, which had caused his wife to cheat on him, and elope with another man. 

“Whatever! I will lose the game tomorrow and for just being knocked down for 30 seconds, I’ll earn a massive $40000. No task can be as simple as this,” thought Brian, as he opened the door of his rented room.

The annoying sound, sourcing from the hammer striking the metallic ring, indicated the start of the fight.  Brian’s opponent was Dave, a rookie in the wrestling industry. As the robes of both the wrestlers were taken off, Brian boasted of his muscular body and tattoos, and looked real like a hungry and menacing beast.  In contrast, the young rookie, Dave, had a moderate build, and nothing worth boasting as compared to his opponent. Brian was the clear favourite, and a lot of money was bet upon Brian’s win. Joe Simmons knew about this well in advance and hence decided to do the “out-of-the-box” by ensuring that Brian did not win. As a consequence of this, all the bookies on Simmons’ payroll would derive immense profits; so would Joe, by himself placing the bet against Brian.

The fight began, and as expected, Brian had the upper hand. The rookie was not even able to challenge Brian. Simmons entered the arena, and quietly sat among the audience, in the front row.

As the fight was into its tenth minute, Brian stepped back a few steps and halted his actions. Simmons thought that Brian was doing the job, he was paid to do, but it was something else. Brian ceased to attack his opponent and rather began taking the punches on himself.

Dave, the rookie had the ball in his court now, and was bruising Brian. Brian, in the meanwhile had his vision blurred, and blacked out for a few seconds. To everyone’s utter surprise, Brian was going through an amnesia attack. This sudden amnesia attack resulted in Brian, completely losing his memory about the meeting that he had with Simmons.

However, within a couple of minutes, Brian pounced his way back into the fight and punched Dave on the neck, for once and for all. The rookie wrestler lay down with excruciating pain, and lost the fight, as the referee ended his count of three. Brian didn't remember a thing about his meeting with Simmons, and regrettably, that was the only part of his memory that he “lost”. The fight ended, with the referee terming Brian as the winner.

Brian, in spite of winning the fight, had failed the SIMPLE TASK of just acting to be knocked down. As Brian, kissed his champions belt, he could see a man, staring at him with vengeance and fury. For Brian, he was just another spectator, but in reality it was JOE SIMMONS

The Confession

THE CONFESSION

“I was frustrated the way life was callously treating me.” I was still in two minds before uttering these words. But someday or the other, the world had to know the truth.

THE BITTER TRUTH

Mary, the hostess of the ‘WORLD CHATS NOW’ talk show was flawless as ever and conducted her job with precision. “Shall we begin from the beginning, when it all began,” asked Mary, who was obviously referring to the path selected by me and was playing with words really well. In cricketing terms, the ‘path’ selected by me is better known as ‘SPOT FIXING’ and ‘MATCH FIXING’. Then finally began my CONFESSION.

The world knew me by the name of Graeme Mathews. But I branded myself no less than a prolific All- Rounder. 75 Wickets in 15 test matches and a couple of centuries to go along with it. The numbers spoke for themselves. But still, the burning desires within me were never extinguished. People usually feel deprived of two aspects.

MONEY and FAME.

I had achieved the latter, and in no time that too. To achieve the former, was my premier objective and ambition. I had strived really hard to reach where I currently was, but still I wanted to advance much further. Earning a quick buck in no time is every Tom Dick and Harry’s dream. I was no exception either.

Apart from playing for my national side, England, I took privilege in representing Essex, my home county. These were just my national and ‘home’ operations. Hand-in hand, I even represented the ‘Melbourne Stars’, the most extravagant and affluent, Australian club. However, my lust for a greater prosperity simply enhanced and had reached to a new level altogether.

The only possible way of fulfilling my appetite for riches was to become a cemented part of the lucrative and the plutocratic INDIAN PREMIER LEAGUE (IPL).

A few of my mates too enrolled themselves in the coveted Indian Premier League. The auction was not too far away and as the days neared, my anxiety levels peaked new heights.  Then finally came the ‘D-Day’, the day of the auction. It was really a sensational feeling to see my name flash on the T.V. screens and below, my base price was mentioned. “Graeme Mathews,” said the auctioneer and there flashed my face and my career stats. I was like, “now someone will raise the placard and battle for my services.” But I was wrong!

“Graeme Mathews. Remains unsold” These words uttered by the auctioneer shattered all my hopes and future ambitions of earning jaw-dropping amounts. All I wanted to do was, just shatter the T.V. screen into pieces, just the way fate had done to my heart. The insult to the injury was that Chris White, an Aussie, had been bought by a franchisee for more than a million dollars. He certainly didn’t deserve that high an amount and his stats too were against the amount he got. This was irony indeed.

Enough was enough! All I wanted was a lucrative amount and a contract. To fathom my ill-fate, I made a visit to the ‘DEVILS PUB’ and had already gulped down four strong pegs of Royal Whisky, but still wasn’t satisfied.

A man of Asian origin sat beside my chair and gave me a gentle smile. I guess from my expressions, it was evident that I was flabbergasted at some issue. In fact, the entire nation was flabbergasted that a player of my caliber was given a cold-shoulder at the IPL auctions. The Asian man approached towards me and tried to sympathies me, but his motive was something fishy.

“50000 pounds for a couple of No-balls at the upcoming T20’s against the Kiwis.” These words were said by the main horse, the Asian man himself, proclaiming himself to be a ‘money-minting machine.’ Without even thinking twice, I gave him the go and accomplished the task at the T20’s against the Kiwis. 50000 pounds was an eye-popping amount indeed.

My friendship with that Asian just blossomed and he told me that his name was Riyaz. There was no looking back after the Kiwis incident. Purposely bowling no-balls and wides in return of astonishing amounts of pounds had become a daily routine for me.  From tests to club level T20’s , I always played against ethics and my conscience. As a courtesy of dealing with Riyaz, I was able to buy my dream house in the heart of London.

Finally, like all other fairy-tales, came a turning point in my life. On this occasion, the amount offered to me was a galvanising 500,000 pounds. But the job was equally up hilled. This time it was against the Aussies in an Ashes test match. And what was my job??

To get out in the nineties and ensure that I don’t cross a ton.

Considering my form with the bat in recent times, scoring a ninety was as easy as scoring a twenty or a thirty. While batting, my nerves were jangling and legs were trembling with fear. “Should I go against my conscience”, was the question hovering around in my mind.

I did as Riyaz asked me to do so. I got out on 99 and as a consequence of my money-minded behavior; I had let my nation down. More significantly, l let myself down. What was more??

We went on to concede the Ashes to the Aussies, who were jubilant.

It wasn’t long before Riyaz was caught by the Interpol through an independent sting operation conducted by a leading News Agency. And my life was messed up once again!

Riyaz blabbered everything about me and the payments which I received. Finally, the cops were at my place and got me handcuffed. Then what followed is known by each and everyone present here. Due to lack of ‘hard’ evidence such as the evidence of our ‘meetings’, the court acquitted me.

I was motivated to receive payments as my other companions too did it with a broad chest. However I wouldn’t want to name them. I acknowledge that I have let my nation down and deserve the most stringent chastisement for my activities.

This is what I have to confess with an open heart!