Au Cochonnet Marin

On the eve of a highly publicized tournament, Bill Zeebut suggested that to secure a victory, Marcel ought to slightly “incapacitate” one of his main challengers.
Maybe trip him to bruise one of his legs or arrange a little car accident. Nothing serious mind you… just a little fender-bender to shake his confidence…

Marcel who desperately wanted to win this tournament toyed briefly with the idea. After all, he had not been asked to kill somebody, just to scare him a little.
It is done everyday… in business, in politics, in the affairs of the heart…
It is common practice… it’s no big deal…

But the idea still bothered him. He was glad to be successful, to be recognized as a good player, but it seemed to him that people were not as friendly as they used to be.
Everybody seemed tense and hostile.

Ultimately Marcel decided that he couldn’t harm anybody. He would just play his best and leave the rest to fate. He had after all become a good player and could win this event on his own.

The day of tournament, to the surprise of many he started to play very erratically. His boules went all over the field.
Desperate to score, he tried to mind-control his balls, but they seemed strangely unresponsive.
In spite of repeated urgent messages, they were now following a capricious course, often swerving away from the cochonnet.

He went into a cold sweat realizing that he was losing control of the situation.  Suddenly he recognized Bill Zeebut among the spectators. The man was smiling malevolently.
Marcel understood right away that Bill was punishing him for disregarding his instructions.

He tried to concentrate on the game and regain control of the situation but to no avail. And the worst he played, the broader Bill’s smile became.
Marcel grew very angry. As he was getting ready to shoot, he saw Bill Zeebut at the opposite end of the field, still grinning.
He threw his boule with the despair of a man firing his last javelin.

He saw the ball moving in slow motion toward its target, and beyond that he also caught sight of the smirk of his former benefactor.
Suddenly filled with a murderous rage, he summoned his waning powers and ordered his boule to strike that evil grinning bastard.
The boule seemed to hesitate…
“Hit him, hit him” moaned an exhausted Marcel.

The boule regained momentum and sped toward Bill Zeebut.
A few seconds before impact, Bill suddenly vaporized leaving in his place a small sulfurous cloud.
Strangely few people noticed his disappearance.

Marcel lost the tournament by a wide margin.
After this, he never heard from Bill Zeebut again.

He now wins very few games but he has regained the friendship of his peers and his wife has stopped sulking and is cooking for him again.
Even his kids are now (sparingly) talking to him.

He is looking forward to Christmas and can even joke about his losing streak.

Moral of the story:

“The problem with winning the rat race is (that after winning) you are still a rat.”
Lily Tomlin

Alain

Joyeux Noël et Bonne Année a tous!

 

Marcel walked slowly home and went to sleep without dinner. His wife asked him if he was sick but he was too unsettled to even notice her.

The following Saturday he went to the pétanque field and got into a game. He played poorly and was widely off the mark.

On the second game, he resolved to try Bill’s screwy suggestion.
When he saw his boule curving away from the cochonnet, he closed his eyes and thought hard “left, left”… To his surprise, the boule immediately altered its course and moved toward the left.
This is amazing he thought.

As he kept playing, his mind-controlled shots became more and more accurate until most his boules came to rest within an inch of the cochonnet.
His companions were amazed.
Marcel just smiled, good-naturedly.

And this went on for a few weeks. Marcel had now become a respected pointer.
He had not heard from Bill for some time and wondered once in a while what became of him, but it was just a fleeting thought.

One day, as he was crossing the street, he saw an older woman in front of him stumble and fall to the ground.
His first impulse was to lend her a hand, but he thought that he heard Bill’s voice urging him to do nothing. Against his better judgment but mindful of his mentor’s advice, he continued walking without looking back.
He felt a little uncomfortable but rationalized that Bill certainly knew better.

In the meantime his game improved significantly.
He tried his hand at shooting and after a while he became quite good at it. Like an air traffic controller he carefully monitored the flight of his boules and with incremental corrections he managed to hit his targets eighty percent of the time.
To his great satisfaction, he became known as a “decent shooter”.

But with increasing success, his mood seemed to change.
The humble, easygoing Marcel vanished.
Following Bill’s endless suggestions he became arrogant and quarrelsome.
He grew gradually aware of this but he felt too indebted to Bill to change his behavior.

One day, Bill urged him to cheat to insure a victory.
Reluctantly, but driven by hubris, Marcel discreetly pushed a boule forward to secure an extra point. And this became a habit.
But little by little a rumor started to spread. Marcel was a cheater! He had to be watched!

To go from bad to worse, things on the home front started to unravel. Out of the blue his usually amiable wife started to balk and his children to rebel.
Marcel noticed but could not resolve to stray from Bill’s pernicious guidance.
Everything has a price he told himself, and to continue winning he was willing to put up with a few minor aggravations.

To be continued…

Marcel was an average guy. Everything about him was average.
He was of average height, had an average looking wife, and lived in a non-descript house.
He was driving an ordinary looking car and was moderately happy.
One thing gnawed at him though.

He was an assiduous pétanque player and after twenty years of laboring in the shadow of “stars” he longed to be recognized as better than “average”.

He practiced and practiced but this didn’t seem to help his game.
His shots were always too short, too long or way off the mark.

He fell into a deep funk. And with Christmas approaching he felt even worse.
Everybody around him seemed to be happy and excited, but he was not.
If only I could win a tournament, he thought. That would really make my day… Even a second place wouldn’t be bad… or a third…

As he was forlornly walking home, a distinguished looking man approached him.
Excuse me sir, said the stranger tipping his hat, could you spare a minute of your time?
Marcel looked up and was immediately struck by the gentleman’s piercing dark eyes and an assertive handlebar moustache.

-What do you want? asked Marcel.
-First let me introduce myself. My name is Bill Zeebut and I have a business proposition for you…
-Really?
-Well Marcel… yes I know your name, I have been watching you for a while and I think that we have a lot in common…

Marcel was not especially patient but there was something about this man that intrigued him.
-Go ahead mister Zeebut, he said.
-You can call me Bill continued the stranger, but let’s first go to a place where we can talk. As a matter of fact, I know a tavern around the corner where we could chat without being disturbed.
Trancelike, Marcel followed the man.

Once seated in a booth, the stranger said to him:
-Now listen to me carefully Marcel, because I am not going to repeat my offer.
-I am listening.
-As I told you, I have been watching you for a while and I know that there is something that is bothering you.
-What would that be? asked Marcel.
-I know that you wish to be a better pétanque player. Is it not true?
-How do you know that?
-I have my sources…
-If this was true, how could you make me a better player?
-Well Marcel, if you agree to my proposition, you will be able to better control the trajectory of you boules.
-How?
-You will do this through a technique called “mind-control”.
-Mind-control?
-Yes. You will think “left” when you want your boule to go left, and “right” when you want it to go right. It is that simple.
-You must be joking, said Marcel. Nobody could do that.
-I can make it happen Marcel. Trust me. I can definitely make it happen.
-Let’s say that I agree to you proposition, said Marcel, what then do you expect from me in return?
-Very little actually. I just want to be your friend, your mentor; I want you to listen to my suggestions… even when you don’t entirely agree…
-Is that all? It sounds too good to be true…
-It is true my friend, it is true. Do we have deal?
-Well, I want to be a better player…
-Then, put it there my friend… cross my heart and hope to die.
Go forth Marcel, and be a better player. Just remember… use your mind to control your shots and listen to my advice.

And before Marcel realized it, Bill Zeebut vanished into the thin air.

Alain

Definitely to be continued…