RAGEMME
Science Officer's Log: Personal report by Commander Spock, Stardate 2306.7.
Report commences:
The Enterprise was in parking orbit around Earth on a brief call to pick up new personnel. I requested permission of the Captain to beam down to Starfleet HQ with my universal translator, which had developed a minor malfunction. A specialist technician was to have been awaiting me to quickly repair it and return me to the Starship as soon as possible. However, when I materialised I felt a sudden jolt, the image of Starfleet HQ's transporter room blinked out and was replaced by an exterior location. By the air temperature I deduced I was considerably further North than before and. not in the same Continent. My surroundings were urban, with 3-storey red brick buildings on either side of a street. I had, in fact, materialised in a recessionary alcove which led to the dwelling places of the inhabitants and I was able to remain concealed there for a short time to familiarise myself with my location. There must have been another transporter malfunction, I realised, but I had the distinct impression that I had also been regressed in time, and this was confirmed when I noticed a newspaper lying nearby. Its date read May 14 1985. This fact concerned me, as I knew Captain Kirk would have considerable difficulty in finding me 500 years in the past. However, I found it necessary to adapt quickly to my location. Suddenly, there appeared to be a great deal of activity in the street as masses of the male population, bedecked in blue jeans, and either green-and-white or red, white and blue scarves, shirts and head coverings, surged up the street in the same direction. Confirming the old Earth adage of safety in numbers, and realising my blue Starfleet shirt was similar in colour to those which half the crowd was wearing, I ventured into the throng. I thought it expeditious to acquire some kind of head covering, however, as my Vulcan physiology may just attract unwanted attention. I noticed a piece of paper on the ground. I picked it up and saw the words 'Five Founds' printed thereon. British currency. Unsure as to the meaning of the different coloured headgear and scarves, I perceived a vendor selling tartan hats and purchased one of these, receiving some change. I immediately donned. the hat, pulling it down over my ears. Tartan merchandise immediately suggested the fact that I was in Northern Britain, e.g. Scotland, and a further look at local newspapers being read by members of the crowd confirmed that I was in the ancient city of Glasgow, famous for its shipbuilding and engineers. Possibly, I surmised, where Mr Scott's antecedents originated. A gentleman I was walking beside tapped my arm and said "Haw, Jimmy, 'atsa stoatir o' a bunnet, so itiz." I had no idea what this meant but, recalling I had my infallible universal translator with me, I turned it on and inserted the earpiece. I turned to the man and. requested him to repeat the statement.
"Yiz deef, mistir?" My translator translated.
"I regret I do have an auricular problem, sir." I replied. And how.
"OK. I just said: Haw, Jimmy, atsa a stoatir o' a bunnet, so itiz."
The translator hummed for a moment, then came up with: Here, James, that's a bouncer of a head covering, so it is." Bouncer of a head covering? What does that mean? I turned to the man and said: "Er, excuse me, sir, my appellation is not James, as you intimated, but what is the definition of the word 'stoatir'?" The man gave me a strange look, then turned to his female companion, who was flouncing along at his side. Pointing to the lady in question, he said: "Issiz ma 'burd. She's a stoatir, tae." The translator hiccuped a couple of times in my ear and came out with "This is my avian species. She is a bouncer as well."
I beheld the female and quickly came to the conclusion that she bore no resemblance whatsoever to the avian species, although a certain part of the girl's anatomy was most certainly 'bouncing'. I made an opportune exit from their company, adjusting the faulty translator as I walked. Another man walking beside me addressed me:
"Hey, mistir, you a P or a C?" I awaited a translation, but none was forthcoming. The machine stuttered a couple of times and said: "Untranslatable - untranslatable!"
I turned to the man and. said: "I am sorry, sir, but I do not understand you."
He gave me a burning look of hatred and uttered malevolently: "Away ye stumour ye!"
My translator suddenly emitted a high-pitched scream which nearly deafened me. It gabbled: "I cannot translate - I do not understand -I have failed in my task - I am unworthy of existence - ah, ah!"
I threw the earpiece and box away from me. It landed harmlessly in a front-lawn. Then it blew itself up.
---oo0oo---
I progressed with the crowd to the entrance of a large stadium. Curious to see what the event was, I found that I had just enough money to enter at the cheapest rate. I was standing amongst other blue-clad men, and I overheard the fact that we were located at 'the Rangers End'. The other extremity of the enclosure was designated 'the Celtic End' and a considerable feeling of animosity was projected in that direction. The meeting appeared to have strong religious overtones and the worship consisted of eleven young human gods on each 'side', eleven wearing red, white and blue and eleven in green-and-white. They met in a worshipful formation on the green expanse which a neighbour referred to as "The Perc" and, amidst chanting and singing, the twenty-two young gods kicked a circular object called locally 'raba'' to the opposite ends of the 'perc' and the object of this exercise was to put 'raba'' in 'ranet', which act was entitled a 'goal'. The eleven men who did this the most often were considered to be the gods of the week, if not the year. In the event, the first 'goal' was scored by the men in blue, and thousands of male voices erupted in acclaim of this feat, and this was quickly followed by the moving hymn entitled 'There's notta Team". This is a rousing paean which spurred the young men on to greater accomplishments. My neighbour, noticing my lack of involvement with the event, turned to me and said "Haw, Jimmy, uryou all right? Yiz look a bit green aroon' the gills." Without the assistance of my translator I was unable to determine the meaning of the second sentence, but I assured him I was in perfect health, to which he replied, placing a metal can containing liquid in my hand "Here, son, huvva bevvy." I sipped the liquid but did not like the taste, so returned the container to him. Whilst this was happening, the gods in green scored a 'goal' at the other end of the 'perc', which occurrence was met with complete silence amongst my companions, quickly followed by an outburst of what sounded like wild imprecations. I was glad my translator had ceased to function, as I felt that they were employing terminology the translation of which would not benefit future generations. At the other end of the 'perc' the wearers of green were in frenzies of ecstasy and unbridled jollity and this demonstration of emotion included the ritual of throwing long rolls of what appeared to be a soft type of papyrus into the 'perc' and at the opposing 'goalie', the man who was the last line of defence before 'raba'' goes into 'ranet'. This is a delightful effect, most colourful and varied papyrus being utilised. A supporter of the blues cryptically referred to this special effect as "A loada bumff." I have omitted to mention that there was a twenty-third man on the 'perc', dressed in black, with two other attendants who ran up and down the edges of the perimeter of play. The man in the centre of the action was variously called 'sodyheid', 'eedjit' and, less colourfully, 'ref'. When the 'goal' for the greens, called Celtic, occurred, my neighbours directed some other comments, as I mentioned before, which, if my ear for the language was correct, cast severe aspersions on his parentage, followed by another chant which related to his mental state in some way connected to basic physical and sexual reactions. These remarks I considered to be highly illogical, as he appeared to be perfectly normal to me. The 'ref', undeterred by these remarks, continued to monitor the progress of 'ragemme' and, after a certain time had elapsed, blew his whistle to denote an interval of play. It was during this interval, from occurrences I observed around me, that I determined not ever again to accept the offer of 'a bevvy" from any male in my vicinity.
At the end of the interval, which was referred to as 'hauf-time', the opposing colours formed battle formation again and 'ragemme' recommenced. After a short while, the blue team scored again, but the 'ref' appeared to disapprove of the method by which this end was met and 'disallowed' the 'goal'. This evoked a violent reaction, such as metal and glass containers being hurled overhead and rockets being set off dangerously amongst the crowd. I tried to move out of the way of the projectiles, but one unfortunately caught me a glancing blow on the temple and I felt myself falling, blood flowing from the wound. I automatically clamped my hand over the cut to stem the flow, at the same time realising that the sight of green blood in a decidedly blue area might prove fatal to me. I remember thinking, before losing consciousness, that I should have beamed down with an Andorrian, thus maintaining the balance of blue and green. I came to with the sight of a man in a dark blue uniform, emblazoned by a red cross, leaning over me. I still had my hand pressed hard against my temple, but saw the shocked expression on his face when he realised it was green blood. I rose shakily and attempted a reassuring human smile. I thought fast and came up with: "Like my theatrical makeup? Newest craze, just trying it out for realism." The man shook his head in disbelief, but I escaped quickly before more awkward questions could be asked. I decided I had had quite enough of 'ragemme' and would not wait to see the outcome. Still a little shaky, I found an exit into the street.
I stopped the bleeding with my Vulcan body control and found a place of ablution to wash the rest of the blood from my face and hand. Fortunately, there was no-one else there at the time, as my communicator chose that particular moment to bleep.
"Spock, Spock are you there? Come in Spock."
I sighed with relief - it was Jim's voice. I pulled out my communicator. "Spock here, Captain. Where are you?"
"Just stay where you are, Spock, we've got a tracer on you. I'll be right there."
---oo0oo---
Back on the ship, the Captain subsequently explained that there had been a severe electrical/ion storm caused by volcanic eruptions in the Starfleet HQ area, but in the 1985 timescale, which had caused the jump. The beam-down location was totally random, and the Captain had reluctantly to return to the Guardian to find me.
On my return to the Enterprise, Mr Scott was at the transporter controls. His eyes widened when he noticed the headgear I was still wearing. "Why Mr Spock, that's a braw tammy yir wearing. Ye werenae in Bonny Scotland by any chance?"
"Indeed I was Mr Scott and, having had direct experience with your antecedents in a city called Glasgow, I must confess that I am truly amazed that such an improvement was possible over the last 300 years.
"Whaddaya mean, Mr Spock?'
I deemed it expeditious not to reply, however, merely raising my eyebrow as I walked out of the transporter room.
Behind me, I heard Mr Scott's voice saying: "I think I've just been complimented by a Vulcan!"
You have, Mr Scott, you have.
Report ends.
---oo0oo---
* Hysterical - sorry- historical - note:-
The initials P and C relate to the Protestant and Catholic religions.
Glasgow Rangers are the Protestant team, and Celtic the Catholic team. Whichever team one supported also related to whichever religion one embraced. If one's answer to the question was not in accord with the questioner's beliefs, one was likely to suffer verbal and physical abuse, called in the local vernacular 'Putting the heid in.'
A 'stumour' can have many definitions, including idiot, silly person, twit or cretin. Take your pick.
---oo0oo---