Torado had always been the most dependable of defensive midfielders, a calming influence on the team, but not beyond occasionally delighting the fans with a 40 yard wonder goal.
Recently though, his behaviour had begun to take a worrying turn. He had appeared these past few weeks, sluggish and sleepy during training. He had also seemed disinterested during the squads late night philosophical debates that he had always been such an active participant in. Gargagno had also though it prudent to mention, Torado’s failure to appear at the last few of his twice weekly book evenings. This Gargagno noted was especially strange as they were currently reading Wuthering Heights and it was no secret that this was one of Torado’s absolutely favourite books.
At first it was unclear what was ailing my vice-captain and old friend but as I became more and more concerned about the mental state of my grandé amigo, I started to notice more odd things about his behaviour. I decided to try and reach out to him, so after a huge amount of bribery I managed to get us 2 tickets to the Polish premiere of the new Almodovar film who happens to be Torado’s absolutely favourite auteur of all time. I presented the tickets to Torado, which had incidentally cost me an agreement to host a five a side match in the lobby of the multi kino cinema but he just told me that he was feeling a little unwell and did not think he would be able to attend the event with me. Instead I ended up taking Acosta’s new husband Xavier the Spanish flamenco guitarist, who thought an evening spent at a Almodovar film would go some way to soothing the homesickness he felt for his beloved Girona.
The evening itself turned out to be most enjoyable and Xavier was an interesting and cultured companion. He told me the most wonderful stories about the history of flamenco over a late night coffee in the Rynek. We had both enjoyed the film immensely though I had to agree with Xavier that the pre theatre nibbles of miniature pierogi did not really constitute being classified as tapas, which is what they had been advertised as on our glossy golden invitations. After the film we had sat and talked late and long into the night over caffé con pan. Xavier had very flatteringly told me that he almost saw the rhythms and movements of his beloved flamenco in the way the Rio Grande team played. When we finally started to make our way home it must have been at least 2.30 am.
As we had started to turn the corner I caught a glimpse of Torado heading down a back street that ran parallel to the hotel, what an earth was he up to? I asked myself.
I thanked Xavier for his fascinating company and bade him goodnight and at the moment decided I would follow my vice capitano to wherever it was he was headed. I kept a safe distance behind Torado as not to arouse his suspicion. I didn’t want to get to close as I have often found that when walking alone at night one seems to have a sort of extra sense that lies dormant in us the rest of our lives, a throwback maybe to ancient times when the ability to sense another creature close to us could have been a matter of life and death.
I did my best to lurk and remain in the shadows that criss crossed the street, never getting closer that a couple of hundred metres of my old amigo. Every few minutes Torado would glance furtively around, he appeared to me, to be very nervous, where an earth is he going I thought? He headed over the footbridge, over the Odra and onto the island that separated the north and the south of the city. I followed, nearly losing my balance at one point as I tripped over a sleeping drunk, who lay unconscious and spread eagled across the path, he was carefully balancing a can of Tyskie beer on his stomach, the can gently bobbed up and down with each heave of his chest, I quietly circumnavigated him. Torado was almost out of sight now as I hurried over another footbridge and there I was for the first time on the north side of the city. The streets were dimly lit and quiet, but with an underlying menacing atmosphere that seemed to hang over them in the silence. I could see Torado hurrying on in the distance, a late night rendezvous perhaps I thought, with a lady of questionable morals, now that would have gone some way to explaining his recent behaviour. He could be distracted by love or more likely lust. As I followed him further into these strange northern streets, I noticed that Torado appeared more anxious than ever, he kept glancing over his shoulder, forcing me to dive into the nearest dark alcove I could find, then he would plunge his hands deep into his pockets and start to walk more swiftly than before. There was a left turn up an unlit alley, then through a courtyard where you could hear homeless dogs howling. Finally I watched as he turned right into a wide street, which seemed to have only one light emanating from its far end. It was a neon sign but I could not make out what it said from where I was crouching. I watched as Torado walked into the building that lay directly under the flashing sign. As I stood there waiting I watched a steady stream of rather dishevelled looking characters stagger in and out of this building, on their way out they all seemed to be laden with varying amounts of cans and bottles.
A process of simple deduction led me to believe that this building must contain some sort of 24 hour alcohol shop. After about five minutes I saw Torado step out of the building carrying two plastic bags bulging with what I guessed was alcohol. I stepped back into the dark alcove of the doorway behind me to avoid being spotted but as I put my foot down behind me I felt a squelch, there was no need to examine what this squelch was caused by as I already knew. I had stepped into a large pile of dog shit. Dog shit makes an unmistakable type of squelch far different to that of mud and the moment you hear that squelch you know there is no hope. Torado walked past me without even glancing in my direction as I stood there in my soiled shoes, I let him walk past a couple of hundred yards before I followed keeping a prudent distant, which is more than I could say of the smell that emanated from my shoe. We walked back over the footbridge and onto the island and into the pitch blackness of the park. At some point as I alighted from the bridge I lost my footing and tumbled down onto the muddy path. Torado must have hear my fall as he stopped dead and turned around, I could not risk being spotted by him and knew the darkness would give me a few seconds of cover before he would recognise me, so I rolled as best I could into the nearby bushes. I came to a halt under the bush on top of something wet, after a second or two the smell left me in no doubt as to what it was I now found myself lying in, dog shit again!!!!
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