It’s poor form to make light of a serious issue, but surely we need to have a laugh every now and then. This gives us energy to take our vitriol to ever greater levels.
The Roar‘s two infamous private sports detectives, Mill Pharlowe and Miss Danno, have been assigned to the case…
It was hot and damp down here. The flame from the torch revealed moss-covered walls cut out of solid rock. But it was the stench that was our best guide. At the bottom of the staircase the walls opened out to an underground corridor lined with barred cells.
We had found the 198 football fans locked in the dungeons beneath Allianz Stadium. There were rows of sullen faces. Miss Danno stopped near one of the cells and addressed someone inside.
“So, it’s you Snake.”
“Miss Danno,” Snake hissed through a smile missing a fair few teeth. “You must help us.”
“But I know for a fact you’re a dirty rotten crook.”
“It’s not about me, it’s about them. Some of ‘em haven’t done nuffin’ wrong and they have no right of appeal. C’mon Miss Danno, you’ll help an old friend now. Doesn’t that weekend in Bali mean anything to you?”
Miss Danno blushed for a moment before composing herself. “Oh, alright Snake, I’ll see what I can do.”
As we left Miss Danno picked up a key hanging on the wall and placed it around her neck.
Because my recent record wasn’t up to scratch, this time it was Miss Danno leading the investigation. I was stuck with the leg-work.
I caught up to the first person on my list. “Mr Gallop, I want to ask you about the leaking of the list.”
Clearly flustered Mr Gallop kept walking. “I was obliged to share the list with the authorities. Why don’t you ask them?”
“Superintendent, I want to know who leaked the list. Did you share the information with anyone?”
“Of course we did,” he replied. “Obviously the venues needed access to the list.”
I went to one of the venues. “Of course we knew about the list. How else were we going to keep the riff-raff out? We also shared it with the transport operators who needed to know.”
The bus driver said, “Yeah, we don’t want those types catching our buses. We also shared the list to the local shops.”
I asked at the nearest 7-11. “Yes, we’ve seen the list. We don’t want suburban terrorists eating our chicken hero rolls.”
The net was getting wider. At Central Station I saw a down-and-out busker named Old Mick, playing on a guitar minus a few strings. On the off-chance I asked him about the list. “Yeah, I’ve seen it too. I don’t want to busk for those scumbags.”
Lucky them, I thought.
Then Old Mick pulled out the list from his top pocket and placed it on the ground in front of him. His mangy dog walked over and marked his territory on it.
Next day I reported to Miss Danno at Café Bozza near Circular Quay. She was looking swell.
“What did you find out Mill?”
“It seems as though every man and his dog knew about the list,” I replied.
“Not much chance of keeping a lid on that,” she said. “The good news is that it means the evidence for the bans should be just as easy to find.”
It was time to catch up with Mr Gallop again. He turned on me straight away. “Look I’ve reduced their rations to bread and water and turned up the heat. What more do you want from me?”
“A bit touchy Mr G. All I want to know is what happened to the dossier of evidence?”
He told me that it was confidential and had been passed on to the authorities and no copies had been kept.
The authorities told me a similar story. Everywhere I went it was the same. It was top secret and had been passed down the line with no one keeping a copy.
I ended up at Central Station where Old Mick was giving a dreadful rendition of Boulevard of Broken Promises. People were throwing him coins just to stop.
“Old Mick, you wouldn’t have seen the dossier of evidence at all?”
He stopped playing then leaned forward and whispered something in my ear.
Over at Café Bozza, I checked in with Miss Danno. She still looked swell but there was an edge to her voice. “Mill, what did you find out this time?” she asked.
“That leg-work is really tiring.”
“About the dossier of evidence you imbecile!” she shouted.
“Oh, that. You know Old Mick, the busker at Central Station?” I said. “His dog ate it!”
“Oh!”
Miss Danno took the key from around her neck and began to swing it.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Throwing the key away.”
“Wait!” I cried out. “I’m going to call the only person that can get the FFA out of this mess.”
“Who’s that?”
Looking at the sign above the Café, I squared my shoulders and said, “Bozza!”
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