This is the serial of the Ingenious One, my fantasy manager personification in Cole Sletten’s fantasy soccer league. All of the characters and events represented within are fictional. For more information, see my columns. Needless to say, the Ingenious One has returned as the EPL is peaking its beautiful head around that ever-nearing corner. Please disregard these posts as you see fit.
Out of the mist and ashes, he returned. August was on fire. There was no doubt that our little community would burn away, leaving nothing but a natural core of filth and pine. Who was he, the mysterious man who stepped out of heaven and relieved our suffering? He had no name, no clothes. He had only the long scar across his cheek and a tattoo sprawling the length of his back — a crest of golden lions that read: “The Treble is True to Itself.” He was an enigma and he saved us. He organized the town’s defenses, directed airdrops, and stood vigil against the sweeping tide. He staved off the licking fires of Dorning Mountain and redeemed an entire community. Who was he, this sagacious man?
I asked him, once, beneath the glowing embers of a burning tree. “Are you from God? Are you Michael?”
“Não,” he replied. “O Diabo é meu pai.”
Foreigners frighten me, however. I shied away and was a fool for it. This man — or angle — was my salvation, and I yelled, in fear: “The devil, the devil has come to rescue us!”
And the fire burned and it purified.
Then he stood, this man of grace. “For a time,” he said, “my name was Absent. I traveled the world. I lived among the monks atop Arunachal Pradesh. I flew the Salt Flats of the Thousand Needles. I breathed underwater. But now, I am alone and ingenious and I have returned.”
His meaning was clouded in apocalyptic transgressions. But his intention, beneath the layers of equivocation, held an unescapable metaphorical verity: this man, this spirit of unwavering justice, was calling for blood. Whatever his actions, he would succeed—he would succeed, he would kill, he would win.
May the Lord forever preserve me from the Ingenious’ rage.
Signed in Grace,
Mayor, Township of Dorning
The Day of Our Lord, 1493