mountain woofers social squash club, informal, by david jarvis 2022.

Act 1.

mountainous valley with evergreen forest against misty sky
The Hills are Greener : Photo by Krivec Ales on Pexels.com

Up on a small hill, in the year of our lord 1007, in the somewhat larger rural town known for its species of mountain dogs that are able to fart in a particularly loud fashion, yet produce no smell, a local squash coach discovers that exclusive tendencies is a normal way of life across the entire industry the local squash coach seeks to enter.

The local squash coach, whom declines to be named at this time, discovers and decides that it is time for some fellow players to enter a new competition. They have been happily dominating the socially exclusive squash group that meets every week on a friday night at the local recreation centre. The players express to each other that they are getting quite bored with playing each other in an endless round of weekly matches in which each quality athlete meets each other quality athlete every fourth week. Thus it is revealed that they are a group of four male players and one transsexual whom have reached the pinnacle of squash within the tight knit group known, informally as mountain woofers social squash club.

The inept yet somewhat keen squash coach expresses to the elders of the mountain woofers squash club that the five top players of that club really would like to play competition down in the big smoke, known as the victorian plains.  After a few minutes of deep consideration the elder leaders of the mountain woofers social squash club informal, state.

“We don’t want to be involved with the Squash Everyone on the Victorian Plains incorporated at all. Please don’t spend any of our money doing that please. In fact we think you should tell us how the whole process is going to progress, in advance, and preferably referenced in triplicate detail thank you.”

Most of them get back to drinking the local cask wine, served by a volunteer slave.

man wearing scarlet tunic holding a drink
Cask Wine, served by a volunteer slave : Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Thus begins our story about the efforts of an inept yet keen squash stakeholder to facilitate themself and four mates into the pinnacle competition of the wider state known as victorian plains.

Not knowing anything about much at all, the keen young squash player reaches out to the esteemed leaders of the highest authority about squash in all the land, known ironically as Squash Everyone On Victorian Plains, who reside in a office flat in the large urbanised area known as victorian plains pub. Which has both a magnificent asphalt car park and drab facilities packed with highly popular gambling machines, known as leechies.

These leechies have only three aims in life. The first aim is to be highly attractive to anyone with blood circulating in their veins, and secondly to aim to suck the blood from those veins, and thirdly to make the user pay for the blood leeching!  The leechies are lined up in medium sized rooms and flash their lights in spectacularly inviting displays, making wonderous music and welcoming verbalisations such as,

“Come, Come, Come, one and all, roll up roll up, please come and enjoy the show. Place your arms in the hole and everyone is a winner. Press your buttons and you’ll receive wonderous bliss of euphoria and be envied by your friends and family.”

man people woman bar
The One Armed Bandit : Photo by Pavel Danilyuk on Pexels.com

The music is itself composed by such esteemed musicians as classically great composers, industrialised funk bands, and big brass band babbling boys!

The victorian plains locals, who often aren’t squash players are utterly entrapped by the massively marketed displays of leechies all across the victorian plains pubs’ close knit communities and the buzz about the wonderous euphoria reveal that all and sundry are delighted to place their right arms in the holy holes provided and are somewhat comfortable with the small pin prick that occurs before the rush of participation gambling begins.

The victorian plains locals initially flock towards the leechies and massive amounts of blood are thus gathered by the leechies and quietly stockpiled to be funneled into unknown networks that contain such things. The gambling racket acquires significant profits and becomes known throughout the wider nation as a magnificently effective way to leech both blood and wealth from all participants.

As it turns out, the more blood and money one has, the less likely one is to invest in playing with the leechies and thus it is discovered that those most at risk of death by blood loss are also those most likely to participate in the leechies magnficent service provision.  Thus the less healthy get less healthy, whilst the blood of the poorer health people is redirected towards the healthiest and wealthiest squash participants of the wider victorian plains.

The poor discover that the pin prick leaves a permanent stain upon their inner elbow where the high quality low radius needle pierces their arm and thus they all become readily recognisable to those inclined to look at another persons arm!  Some take to wearing long white shirts to cover over the small discoloured tracks marks, which strangely are quite like the heroin track marks of junkies. Thus the wider social inclusion of the two groups leechies and junkies becomes apparent to the main community of the victorian plains wealthier and healthier squash playing peoples.

patient with iv line
Bloody Leeching : Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

Junkies and leechies discover that even though they don’t actually know much about squash, as soon as their first encounter with the leechies happens, and thus they loose some blood from the leeching, that in fact they are disinclined from playing any sports whatsoever because they have neither the energy capacity available, nor the fiscal means to do so! Because that is right, the leechies not only take the participants blood from their circulatory system, but the leechies also cost money to play, facilitated by the credit card slots and later as technology develops one no longer even needs the credit card slots but has the wealth accessed simply and cleanly through the leechies reading ones dna right at the point of the leeching, i.e. the pin prick at the inner elbow. The state government facilitates banking institutions using dna banking and approves legislation that encourages leechies to use dna banking as it must surely be cheaper and easier that way.

Thus not only is the blood leeched out of the participants, but their wealth is taken, all with the ease and amazing grace that only Gods themselves could achieve any more thoroughly. But wait there is MORE, the very dna that is thus taken through the leeching is then broken down into smaller chunks and reshuffled into private domains, that appear on preliminary inspection to be public domains, but are so expensive only the very wealthy can afford to enter those domains, thus are more practically described as exclusively private clubs.

One far northern senator writes about her exclusion from the exclusive toxic boys clubs lamenting that she can’t get a seat at the big tables, but after her constituents vote her in, she removes all her contact details from the governments own websites as she discovers that her constituents actually want to be included in the decision making processes themselves, the gall of some people! Thus by denying her constituents easy communications with herself she receives far less noisy distractions from her constituents and thus is able to concentrate on creating a more thoroughly inclusive girls club, which of course by definition excludes boys.

group of people happily talking
Girls Club : Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com


And thus, in this mixed bag world of dog eat cat, cat eat lizard, lizard eat worm, worm eat dirt existence, the intrepid and somewhat young inept fool squash player operating in mountain woofer area makes their way down to meet the senior attending growth and development manager of the esteemed organisation aforementioned.

animal biology blur close up
Lizard Eat Worm : Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


“G’day, i’ve got a team together of keen squash players who would love to participate in your victorian plains competition. Can we play next season please?”

“No.” says the senior attending growth and development manager of the esteemed organisation.

“Oh, that’s a bit weird, we’d really love to play in your competition, we’ve got some decent guys who have already played squash in the victorian plains and two others whom never played before. Why can’t we play?”

“I am disinclined to tell you why your five plebs cannot play in our brilliantly organised existing competition on the victorian plains.”

“What’s that? You won’t even tell my why we can’t play.”

“I’m not repeating myself to the likes of a leechy like yourself, go play with yourself, and or the junkies over there please and leave me alone. I have important work to do.”

“Oh.” the intrepid squash coach, now thusly excluded becomes somewhat keen to become an organiser of their four mates into the victorian plains competition, and is not deterred.

“I’ll write a letter and send it to you to just ask a bit more about the process of entering your competition.”

Whilst the barrage of leechy machine bells, whistles, music and flashing lights do there thing in the background, in the lovely park across from the asphalt carpark birds tweet, ants crawl across the wooden benches and from inside the pub’s kitchen is heard a snigger.

close up photo of person s palm
NO! : Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com



The mountain woofer squash enthusiast heads back up the hill and has a chat with their squash buddies after not training them in optimal ways, and in just playing matches repeatedly that don’t much improve their abilities. The details of that conversation are not recorded, but in brief, they all express disappointment about the exclusion from the victorian plains competition and lightly indicate to the squash coach, that if inclined they should keep at the task of involving them all in that victorian plains competition.

Thus a brief while later the esteemed Squash Everyone on the Victorian Plains Incorporated not for profit entity, receive a written request for the five squash players to enter the victorian plains competition.

The gumption of such a request fills the senior growth and development officer and their friends with disgust, imagine having such leechies in OUR competition, we must not assist them with such entrance in too friendly a manner, or they might believe that we welcome just anyone into any squash competitions at any time! Thus the terse reply is flicked through cyber space.

“You will have to affiliate with Squash Everyone on the Victorian Plains Incorporated prior to entering our highly valuable competition.” and with a single click of the button the message is sent. It is not quite the aforementioned “No” that was verbally spoken only a brief while ago, but it amounts to the same thing, also known as “Not yet.”

Great thinks the dimwitted squash coach of the mountain woofers, we’ve made progress and in the few minutes it takes to compose a reply he internally switches sexual preferences and requests to affiliate.

Seven days go by and no reply has come back to the enthusiastic yet inept squash coach. The mountain woofers social group squash participants and the elders of that group enquire of the young inept, yet eager beaver, “How is it all going?”

“Well apparently we have to affiliate to enter the competition, so i’ve asked to affiliate, but not yet received a reply.”

The elder female looks down her nose waves her fingers at the nearby slave and states regally.

“I’ll have another glass of cask wine thanks. Now about those victorian plains people. I actually don’t much like the one you’ve been liasoning with, he has repeatedly done nothing for me and has actually increased my own fees from $5 per match, to $5.50 gradually over the last twenty years. I find that increase of 50 cents to not be aligned with what I want from my daytime squash service provider and told him quite frankly that he isn’t any good at his job, and really rubbed his nose in that fact. I’m not content with you five players joining the victorian plains competition because that would contribute to making my, (cough), our club a whole lot noisier, and at the same time make him look a little bit better in his role. Thus you should quit whilst you are ahead. Waiter, where is my wine please, make it snappy!”

Another one of the elder ladies perks up with a snarling smile, she leans forward and states,

“The individual you are dealing with is utterly rude, when he organised a meeting in front of all us woman players he told us all sorts of things about how we could improve our skills with specific training. We don’t want to become better players at all i told him! We just want to have a laugh with our girlfriends and a quiet drink afterwards. The gall of a squash development officer telling me how to play my sport really gets up my nose. Please stop liaising with this officious and sexist man.”

woman in gray tank top
Hell Hath No Fury Like a Scorned Woman : Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

The minutes of that social meeting are not taken, as no formal squash club existed! It is just a group of twenty squash enthusiasts all keen to play more squash but entirely avoid any fee increases or any paperwork what so ever. And after all whom does like paperwork? The social players all work long hours at least five days a week for their own wages and earnings and thus just want a quiet time playing squash on friday nights without any interference from victorian plains people or enthusiastic squash coaches either, thank you very much.


The following saturday the intrepid mountain woofer finishes training with the mates and after a decent shower at home, decides to send out another letter email.


“Please Squash Everyone on the Victorian Plains, can you inform me of the status of the affiliation i have requested.” s/he writes, and gets on with his/her life of other community engagements and study and developing more sessions for their wider sports coaching inside public schools. The public schools love this coach and welcome their multi-sports programs, treating them with respect and the kids themselves speak up about the coach and typically smile and have lots of fun during the coaching services provided. Turns out that pretty much all the kids love multi-sports programs due to the wider choices available.

The following friday out of the blue the inept squash enthusiast receives a phone call from the Squash Everyone on the Victorian Plains Incorporated and is told.

“Only incorporated bodies can affiliate, thus you’ll have to incorporate before we can affiliate your club prior to accepting you into our inclusive competition.” stated by the senior growth and development officer whom is an excellent veteran squash coach also.


What the naff? What is incorporation thinks the enthusiastic squash player, I’ve barely heard of such a thing! So the unnamed individual goes back to the four training mates and asks them at the beginning of a training session “We’ve got to incorporate the squash club to then affiliate to be able to play in the Squash Everyone on the Victorian Plains competition.”

They are alarmed, to say the least! The fastest player, who is a genuine entrepreneur literally sprints back out into the carpark without even taking his squash bag with him, starts his car and drives off with his tyres squealing under the heavy footed accelerator. The youngest one starts shaking and crying and his lips go blue as he holds his breath in obvious dismay. That youngest one pipes up, in between trembling ragged breathing,
“My mother went quite mad attempting to incorporate her knitting group when she requested a new sewing machine from the local council. The local council community facilitator told her she had to incorporate the whole knitting group of five old ladies before the application for funding would even be acknowledged. Mum did indeed try to incorporate, but the stress of it all was detrimental to her health.  Mum was diagnosed with an eating disorder, lost thirty kilograms and spent over 6 weeks in hospital. Mum was so tired from her poor eating, she accidently put her hand in the wrong place whilst using the old sewing machine and it needled her hand with a four centimetre needle going right through her left hand. She passed out, smashed her head on the hard steel old sewing machine and hasn’t been the same ever since. Please, don’t try to incorporate us!”

macro photo of sewing machine
Sewing Machine Injury Waiting to Happen : Photo by SKYTONER on Pexels.com

After telling that story he also vacates the building, but is kind enough to take the fastest players squash gear with him as they live nearby to each other, presumably a few quiet beers will be exchanged for that considerate service.
“Incorporation, nooooooo!” states the strongest player strongly.

He elaborates, “Look, incorporation is incredibly powerful that is true, it means that no single person is ever responsible for anything whatsoever, if they honestly believe they are acting in the best interests of the incorporated entity. All the incorporated body has to do from incorporation onwards is redirect all its members, clients, or stakeholders to another department or individual of the incorporated body and thus can avoid doing anything at all. It works brilliantly for major corporations… and governments. Probably not a good idea for just us 5 squash players to go through all that to just play in the Victorian Plains competition.”

office industry internet writing
Incorporation : Photo by Markus Winkler on Pexels.com


The strongest player continues with his discussion somewhat elaborating,

 “If you are inclined to incorporation, then I suggest you will be well served by getting onto the main business site of the Flat National Government website and do some research. Incorporation is big business stuff! Oh dear this is going to cost us a fortune, I hope I don’t have to pay anything for this, I just want to play higher quality squash!”

He withdraws from training that day and decides to mow his sir grange zoysia grass instead, feeling that mowing lawns is now more beneficial for his leisure time activities than thwacking a double dot black squishy ball, certainly less risky towards his fiscal status as pleasantly wealthy.

After these discussions, the foolish but keen squash player discovers that the incorporation process is utterly massive, with a typical expectation of a fifty page document, that s/he will be required to provide, at her/his own cost to the state government, in writing, with a full weeks wages for themselves committed to the cause as their fiscal status is “severe hardship”. It takes them literally over twenty hours just to upskill their knowledge upon the subject during the first few months of research. The pit is deep, wide and uninviting with slippery slopes and appears to be filled with poison punjab sticks at the bottom.

S/He reaches out to the Flat National Government departments, the Victorian Plains State government departments and the esteemed Squash Everyone on the Victorian Plains incorporation not for profit entity, and is widely ignored and or redirected and or barraged with even more documents about incorporation, some of those documents are indeed useful, most turn out to just be red herrings.

stack of hardbound books
The Documents Pile Upwards : Photo by Anthony on Pexels.com

Another month passes by, and another, and yet another, in fact an entire 24 months passes by as the inept squash enthusiast continues to absorb the materials about incorporation whilst s/he also continues to undertake part time coaching work and higher education. They become less inept.

It is the year 1010 after death of Sami Our Saviour, on the new calendar.  During yet another friday night exclusionary social squash group, the elders accept yet another updated story from the now somewhat less inept and less enthusiastic squash coach, and note extensively, widely and loudly forcefully that still they do not want any of this incorporation bullshit to happen. But when or if, the incorporations constitutional documents are completed, then yes they are willing to pay the fee from the existing social squash club coffers, which an elder male and two signatories maintain on behalf of the social group. Time continues…

It is the end of 1010 and the squash enthusiasts team is actually already playing in the Victorian Plains competition and has been since 1008, but on behalf of one of the most popular squash clubs on those plains, the Boredwood Squash Club, which is operated by two sisters whom associate with a Godfather like character known for gnashing his teeth whenever given any grief.

The Boredwood team organised by the mountain woofer squash coach takes out the states grade 5 title and is widely hailed as the best thing to happen since melted duck fat was put on ripped bread. The transexual squash coach holding their head high states…

“We are indeed happy to win the state grade 5 title, it was a brilliant competition and heaps of fun. If however we were incorporated and affiliated, then that Squash Everyone on the Victorian Plains state grade 5 squash trophy would not be owned by the Boredwood squash club, but instead we would be holding it up here in our own mountain woofers squash club trophy cabinet.

medals tied on a trophy
Boredwood Trophy is Not Ours : Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com


The elder female looks down into her glass of white wine quietly, her eyes showing caring, for she remembers some obstructive things she said over the years that literally did not help, but literally just stalled the entire incorporation process and caused vast amounts of work for the inept squash coach continuing to live in severe fiscal hardship.

Lifting her glass she makes a proposal to the room,

“I think we should name our club the Mountain Woofers Area Squash Club, might get more people involved if we include the wider area than just the local township.”

person pouring champagne on champagne flutes
Raised Wine Glasses to the Toast of Victory : Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Thus ends the first act. by David Jarvis 2022, all rights reserved copyright.

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