It’s a pretty convenient way of covering a whole lot of story in a very few sentences, and since I’m paid by the page I can legally pad half this story with out-of-date stock market columns and copyright-expired strip cartoons and still come away with the same pay cheque. Pretty sweet hook-up, eh? You probably think it’s your right to be provided with every comical, quirky detail about the werewolves and their high-jinx cricket antics, since that’s what the book’s back cover advertised and what the publisher is paying me for. I can respect that. I think you’re right. Really. What I can’t do is linger around here until April Fool’s Day to hold a mirror up so you can swap notes with the Fool of the Year. Maybe we can arrange for an autograph and get ourselves back to the story, if you don’t mind. You may glare down your nose at these unworthy tactics, since it means you’re denied all the nitty-gritty details and noteworthy incidents of those previous six matches against the likes of the Skulls XI and the Savage Cannibals X (who ate their eleventh team-mate for lunch).
