Jaztheman
Chairman of Selectors
2 years on the dole. 2 years too long. I had gone to University as a young, eager scholar that was willing to learn anything it took to get into Journalism or becoming a coach. I started numerous courses, ending up with decent results. I took a number of coaching lessons, resulting with a quite excellent outcome. Yet still, 2 years on the dole. Was I destined to waste away my life?
I peered up from my newspaper and slowly strolled towards the glass drinks cabinet. At the start of the week I had a few bottles of Zambuca, 2 bottles of Jameson, 12 cans of Stella Artois and a bottle of red wine. Now however, there was only one bottle of Zambuca, one bottle of Jameson and 2 cans of Stella Artois. The drinks had been flowing through my sarcophagus as quick as an eagle is to pick out its prey. And it was only Tuesday.
The cabinet door opened with a jeer, as if to laugh at my terrible effort of living my life. A fallacious assumption. I picked up the lone bottle of Zambuca and poured myself two shots. I had shut the glass cabinet with affection, before stumbling back to my 1970s antique armchair. My only two possessions these days that I am proud to call mine. A highlight of my past life. A highlight of my sensational past life.
No soon as I had crashed down into my armchair, was the newspaper back in my hand. I glared down at the paper, open on the Job vacancies page. I had applied for many a job in the past two years, with no luck. "You don't have enough experience", "You look like a twat" or "A few years ago, yes. Now? No." being the usual answers I would expect. I even got turned down for coaching an under 10s cricket team. They said I stunk of alcohol. I had only had 7 cans and a bottle of Ros? that day I told them! Not much difference that made.
My eyes were succumbing to an early night but as resilient as always, they scanned the pages for anything of potential. To give my life some spice. Some spice that you don't get at the bottom of a bottle. Three jobs drew my attention. The first one, a commentator for Sky Sports, who were looking for someone less qualified than myself. The second, a sports writer for Daily Mail, which could help me onto future ventures. The last, a sports coach for England... What? They were advertising the job of coaching the country in a bloody newspaper? A long shot but worth an application for sure!
I downed the shots of Zambuca before slamming the glass down on the table next to a pile of papers. I searched through the papers before finding a few copies of my CV. Should I try for the jobs? I was low on money and couldn't afford to print off an endless supplies of CVs. Ah screw it. I picked up the CVs, placed them carefully in an envelope before licking the seal shut.
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Quite a disappointing start to the story, for me, not the best piece of writing I've done by any means but it will definitely improve.
I peered up from my newspaper and slowly strolled towards the glass drinks cabinet. At the start of the week I had a few bottles of Zambuca, 2 bottles of Jameson, 12 cans of Stella Artois and a bottle of red wine. Now however, there was only one bottle of Zambuca, one bottle of Jameson and 2 cans of Stella Artois. The drinks had been flowing through my sarcophagus as quick as an eagle is to pick out its prey. And it was only Tuesday.
The cabinet door opened with a jeer, as if to laugh at my terrible effort of living my life. A fallacious assumption. I picked up the lone bottle of Zambuca and poured myself two shots. I had shut the glass cabinet with affection, before stumbling back to my 1970s antique armchair. My only two possessions these days that I am proud to call mine. A highlight of my past life. A highlight of my sensational past life.
No soon as I had crashed down into my armchair, was the newspaper back in my hand. I glared down at the paper, open on the Job vacancies page. I had applied for many a job in the past two years, with no luck. "You don't have enough experience", "You look like a twat" or "A few years ago, yes. Now? No." being the usual answers I would expect. I even got turned down for coaching an under 10s cricket team. They said I stunk of alcohol. I had only had 7 cans and a bottle of Ros? that day I told them! Not much difference that made.
My eyes were succumbing to an early night but as resilient as always, they scanned the pages for anything of potential. To give my life some spice. Some spice that you don't get at the bottom of a bottle. Three jobs drew my attention. The first one, a commentator for Sky Sports, who were looking for someone less qualified than myself. The second, a sports writer for Daily Mail, which could help me onto future ventures. The last, a sports coach for England... What? They were advertising the job of coaching the country in a bloody newspaper? A long shot but worth an application for sure!
I downed the shots of Zambuca before slamming the glass down on the table next to a pile of papers. I searched through the papers before finding a few copies of my CV. Should I try for the jobs? I was low on money and couldn't afford to print off an endless supplies of CVs. Ah screw it. I picked up the CVs, placed them carefully in an envelope before licking the seal shut.
Will consistency prevail?
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Quite a disappointing start to the story, for me, not the best piece of writing I've done by any means but it will definitely improve.
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). It's quality.
