Richard Keys In… The Devil Rides Out

In Football on January 28, 2011 at 10:33 am

Gareth Wood completes his hat-trick with his take on Richard Keys and his resignation


‘There are dark forces at work here…’


Richard Keys: Fearing the occult?


Some nights you just can’t keep the monster away.  You stroll the house aimlessly kicking stray objects against stained walls and ingesting substances to steady your mood.  I found myself in such a tumultuous funk only last night…


The walls were barbed with ugly remnants of previous outbursts; fist holes looked back at me from the feeble masonry like the gaping mouths of inflatable sex-dolls and I fingered them in the same way.  The cracked shards of bare brick felt good on my throbbing skin and my tension eased slightly.  I drank a pale ale and smoked two or three cones of strong weed…my mood eased even more, even to the point where my woman felt it was okay to take the bolt of the bathroom door and peer out into the ether to see whether my rampage had ceased…even my dog peeked from beneath our sofa with a humble, expectant concern seeping from his baleful gaze.  Things had alleviated…


We attempted to continue our evening in the normal way however, when I happened upon Jamie Oliver’s imperfect faux-Londoner jabbering on the television screen I once again began to transform into a werewolf and, for the love of my kin, decided it was time to go out.


In the cool vale of darkness I climbed the fence to a nearby park and resolved to do some pull-ups on the monkey-bars of a children’s playground.  The gates were sealed but I scaled them with my superhuman abilities.  The park was a tomb; no-one but dead memories stirred amidst the pining wind and blue flares of long-off strobe lights.  I began my exercise, pulling up and lowering with a rhythmic ease, my transformed muscles ripping and repairing, sending endorphins to my boggled mind and –to a degree- making me somewhat less murderous.


Having decided to stop for a rest I was immediately aware that I was being watched.  ‘Come out you fucking pig!’ I howled; the yelp of my voice sounding like a hundred burning infants.  An overcoat appeared from the cover of brush and slinked towards me, ‘dear god’ I thought, ‘I’m about to be raped; a twisted punishment for my equality piece’.  As the figure approached I recognised the unsettling stare, the pallid grill and the slithering shape…it was Richard Keys.


As he got within three feet of me I warned him, ‘Don’t come any closer Keys! I’m a werewolf! I will literally rip you to pieces with my teeth…none of this media punishment! My shit is real!’
He spoke; ‘I’m not here to hurt you’ he began, ‘I’m looking for a virgin…’ ‘Oh Richard’ I said wearily as though all the sadness in the world had just been ejaculated in my face, ‘Richard, Richard, your career is still salvageable, you don’t have to take the Gary Glitter route, why don’t you contact that human shit finger Max Clifford and see if he can get you embroiled in a scandal where you are the victim…pop on a few pounds maybe and the cunt can get you onto Celebrity Fit Club…’‘No!’ he protested, the fear in his eyes like frozen piss, ‘I’m no pervert…I need the child for a…ritual…’


As you can image, for several minutes there were no words spoken between us.  I was doing my level best to transform into a lycanthrope, for self-defence purposes, but all the straining just made my ass hurt.  Keys, meanwhile, was edgily looking around him, feverish with fright like a mouse eating a morsel in the open air.  As soon as he realised that we were truly alone he enlightened me…


‘It’s the dark forces…they are at work…they have come for Andy Gray and now they want me…I have a friend with a conservatory and we have 12 members ready to call…ready to call up…Satan.  We will bargain with him, proffer a sacrifice and in return he will see to it that I am reinstated on Sky Sports…’


I told him in no uncertain terms that he was misinformed.  ‘You need a circle of 13 in order to perform such a ritual and, whilst Satan will grant you an audience, it is only a possibility that he will repair your shattered life’.


‘It’s worth a fucking shot!’ he said desperately. ‘Will you be the 13th…Wolfman?’


I agreed.


The hunt for a child was a simple one.  There is a 24 hour Asian supermarket only a moment away, the owners small son usually sits on a chair near the counter eating sugary treats and playing with a Batman figure.  We walked in and I did the talking, ‘Hassan, I need to take your son.’ I had to be candid; I knew he’d appreciate my honesty.  He also knew of my being a werewolf and didn’t want his life and business risked by acquiring such a dangerous foe. ‘Please don’t hurt him’ he said.  I gave him my word as a liar that I would not kill him, however, Keys promised no such thing.


We arrived at the mansion and a hooded servant opened the door with a slow lingering motion not unlike a geriatric wiping his arse.  I could have sworn it was Paul Merson by the way a front tooth fell to the ground as he greeted us but, as Keys had explained, we’d all agreed a vow of anonymity.  Placing Hassan’s son in the centre of the pentagram we took our seats.  Keys began reading the incantation, wan shadows danced in the corners of the room, lights flickered in distant butcher shops and the moon itself juddered like a shimmering sea.  A cloud of ashen dust began to rise from the ground, Hassan’s son played with his toy utterly uninterested and totally unaware of the impending danger…


…the dusted smoke formed a figure and, as its features became apparent, it had an air of wretched familiarity that could not be denied.  The images below, almost too shocking to look upon, are the closest approximations to the terrifying and gruesome manifestation that we beheld…


…Yes! The demon had appeared…It looked upon us with a curious gaze; as though it was not quite sure why it had been summoned.  Keys immediately fell to his knees and said ‘Oh, Dark Lord! I have brought you a sacrifice soust thoust spare my career onst Sky…’


‘Why are you talking in that way?’ the creature asked in a booming Northern voice.


‘I…I thought that’s how you…’ Keys mumbled.


‘Nonsense!’ the creature protested.  ‘And what is this?’ he enquired, pointing to the young boy.


‘He’s the sacrifice oh Dark Lord oh…’ Keys whispered in an embarrassed tone.


‘Sacrifice?’ the beast snarled, ‘What about an ipod or a fucking guitar? I don’t want a boy.  I’ve got enough boys here from the Hitler Youth.’


Keys was understandably disappointed.  The beast began to leave.  ‘Wait!’ screamed Keys, ‘What about my career, my life, my future?!’


The beast turned, ran his fingers through his thick lacquered hair and said ‘You can’t expect me to save you; it’s not as though you murdered a man or ate a baby…you passed a slight remark against a female official you filthy deviant…you are finished Keys…finished…’


And with that he was gone.


I returned Hassan’s son as the light broke for dawn.  He asked no questions and I gave him no information; I imagine he was pleased enough to see his son again without any missing limbs, machete-carved insignias or scorched eyes.  What of Keys? You ask.  Well the last I saw of him he was attempting to persuade the other 11 at the ritual to help him find the arc of the covenant…or at least give him a lift to ESPN…they were struggling to understand him though; he was speaking in tongues.  A tragic turn really, but let’s face it; he was a smarmy snake-oiled pimp to begin with and perhaps the dark forces that he so feared have done us a solid…


As for me…I’m done with the occult.  The lycanthropy persists to a degree but I’ve managed to cover the rage holes in my living room with photographs of angels and, at least for the time being, that might be enough to keep my powder dry.  But, it’s a full-moon tonight, the sky is ablaze with a Hessian of smog and fire and I can feel the curvature of my bones altering to that of an animal…and somewhere, beneath the same canopy under which you lie, Richard Keys is wandering dark parks speaking in tongues and hoping his next leap will be the leap home…


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