One Day Soon
04-11-2019, 12:55 PM
Waiting for Heckout
ACT 1
A football stadium. A turnstile.
Evening.
Hopegone, sitting on the ground, is trying to tear up his season ticket. He pulls at it with both hands, panting.
He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again.As before.Enter Hibbymir.
HOPEGONE: Nothing to be done.
HIBBYMIR: I'm beginning to come round to that opinion. All this season I've tried to put it from me, saying Hibbymir, be reasonable, 4-5-1 with Doidge as the lone striker might work. And I accepted no shirt sponsor. So there you are again.
HOPEGONE: Am I?
HIBBYMIR: I'm glad to see you back. I thought you were boycotting forever.
HOPEGONE: Me too.
HIBBYMIR: Together again at last! We'll have to celebrate this. But how? A stadium pie?
HOPEGONE: Not now, not now.
.............ACT 2
HOPEGONE: Ah! (Silence.) He didn't resign?
HIBBYMIR: No.
HOPEGONE: And now it's too late.
HIBBYMIR: Yes, now it's November.
HOPEGONE: And if we mutually consented him? If we mutually consented him?
HIBBYMIR: He'd leave us. Everyone he signed is as weak as a flea.
HOPEGONE: What is it?
HIBBYMIR: It's a player.
HOPEGONE: Yes, but what kind?
HIBBYMIR: I don't know. A Newell. (Hopegone draws Hibbymir towards the player. They stand motionless before it. Silence.)
HOPEGONE: Why don't we give him one more game?
HIBBYMIR: For what?
HOPEGONE: You haven't got a bit of hope?
HIBBYMIR: No.
HOPEGONE: Then we can't.
HIBBYMIR: Let's go.
HOPEGONE: Wait, it's St Johnstone.
VLADIMIR: They're quite bad.
HOPEGONE: You could see that being another draw.
HIBBYMIR: And that would leave us where we are?
HOPEGONE: True.
VLADIMIR: Let's try one more game all the same. (Hopegone takes out their season tickets which, as usual, don't work at the turnstiles. They look at the them.) We'd have been better with walk-ups. But is that commitment enough?
HOPEGONE: We'll soon see. Here. (They each take a season ticket and try again. It doesn't work. They are almost happy.)
HIBBYMIR: It'll need a steward now.
HOPEGONE: You say we have to come back next game?
HIBBYMIR: Yes.
HOPEGONE: Then we can go to the ticket office first.
HIBBYMIR: Yes.
HOPEGONE: Hibby?
HIBBYMIR: Yes.
HOPEGONE: I can't go on like this.
HIBBYMIR: That's what you think.
HOPEGONE: If we're relegated? That might be better for us.
HIBBYMIR: We'll post a lot on hibs.net tomorrow. Unless Hecky goes.
HOPEGONE: And if he goes?
HIBBYMIR: We'll be saved. (Hibbymir takes off his scarf, peers at it, feels the badges on it, polishes them, touches the Scottish Cup badge for luck, puts it on again.
HOPEGONE: Well? Shall we go?
HIBBYMIR: Put the season tickets away.
HOPEGONE: What?
HIBBYMIR: Put the season tickets away.
HOPEGONE: You want me to throw the season tickets away?
HIBBYMIR: PUT the season tickets away.
HOPEGONE: (realizing he still has them in his hand). Yes.He puts the season tickets away.
HIBBYMIR: Well? Shall we go?
HOPEGONE: Yes, let's go.
They do not move.
Curtain.
ACT 1
A football stadium. A turnstile.
Evening.
Hopegone, sitting on the ground, is trying to tear up his season ticket. He pulls at it with both hands, panting.
He gives up, exhausted, rests, tries again.As before.Enter Hibbymir.
HOPEGONE: Nothing to be done.
HIBBYMIR: I'm beginning to come round to that opinion. All this season I've tried to put it from me, saying Hibbymir, be reasonable, 4-5-1 with Doidge as the lone striker might work. And I accepted no shirt sponsor. So there you are again.
HOPEGONE: Am I?
HIBBYMIR: I'm glad to see you back. I thought you were boycotting forever.
HOPEGONE: Me too.
HIBBYMIR: Together again at last! We'll have to celebrate this. But how? A stadium pie?
HOPEGONE: Not now, not now.
.............ACT 2
HOPEGONE: Ah! (Silence.) He didn't resign?
HIBBYMIR: No.
HOPEGONE: And now it's too late.
HIBBYMIR: Yes, now it's November.
HOPEGONE: And if we mutually consented him? If we mutually consented him?
HIBBYMIR: He'd leave us. Everyone he signed is as weak as a flea.
HOPEGONE: What is it?
HIBBYMIR: It's a player.
HOPEGONE: Yes, but what kind?
HIBBYMIR: I don't know. A Newell. (Hopegone draws Hibbymir towards the player. They stand motionless before it. Silence.)
HOPEGONE: Why don't we give him one more game?
HIBBYMIR: For what?
HOPEGONE: You haven't got a bit of hope?
HIBBYMIR: No.
HOPEGONE: Then we can't.
HIBBYMIR: Let's go.
HOPEGONE: Wait, it's St Johnstone.
VLADIMIR: They're quite bad.
HOPEGONE: You could see that being another draw.
HIBBYMIR: And that would leave us where we are?
HOPEGONE: True.
VLADIMIR: Let's try one more game all the same. (Hopegone takes out their season tickets which, as usual, don't work at the turnstiles. They look at the them.) We'd have been better with walk-ups. But is that commitment enough?
HOPEGONE: We'll soon see. Here. (They each take a season ticket and try again. It doesn't work. They are almost happy.)
HIBBYMIR: It'll need a steward now.
HOPEGONE: You say we have to come back next game?
HIBBYMIR: Yes.
HOPEGONE: Then we can go to the ticket office first.
HIBBYMIR: Yes.
HOPEGONE: Hibby?
HIBBYMIR: Yes.
HOPEGONE: I can't go on like this.
HIBBYMIR: That's what you think.
HOPEGONE: If we're relegated? That might be better for us.
HIBBYMIR: We'll post a lot on hibs.net tomorrow. Unless Hecky goes.
HOPEGONE: And if he goes?
HIBBYMIR: We'll be saved. (Hibbymir takes off his scarf, peers at it, feels the badges on it, polishes them, touches the Scottish Cup badge for luck, puts it on again.
HOPEGONE: Well? Shall we go?
HIBBYMIR: Put the season tickets away.
HOPEGONE: What?
HIBBYMIR: Put the season tickets away.
HOPEGONE: You want me to throw the season tickets away?
HIBBYMIR: PUT the season tickets away.
HOPEGONE: (realizing he still has them in his hand). Yes.He puts the season tickets away.
HIBBYMIR: Well? Shall we go?
HOPEGONE: Yes, let's go.
They do not move.
Curtain.