WAITING FOR LAWRO
A tragicomedy in two acts
By Daniel Fitzsimmons
Gary
Alan
Martin
Garth
A Boy
ACT ONE
A swish BBC Studio. A tree.
Evening.
Gary, a velveteen owl-man, sits on a chair, pulling desperately at the Quasar boot on one of his feet. He gives up.
Enter Alan, a Frankenstein Scot.
Gary tries to haul the Quasar off with both hands. He gives up.
GARY
Nothing to be done.
ALAN
Strength. Power. Will to win. (He broods, nay smirks. Looks around at Gary). There you are again.
GARY
Nothing to be done.
ALAN
Aye. You’ve got to go long. Empty. Clear your lines. Nothing is something.
GARY
You’re saying nothing.
ALAN
Which is technically something. That’s the truth. I speak the truth. Technique. Agility. Control.
GARY
It’s nothing.
ALAN
Ergo, something. Pace. Ability. Something.
Gary waits for elaboration. None is forthcoming.
GARY
Come on, Jocky, return the ball can’t you? Once in a while?
ALAN
It’s bleak, isn’t it.
GARY
Desperate.
ALAN
I want to go. And if a player wants to go there’s no use keeping him there.
GARY
We cannot. We’ve to wait for Lawro.
ALAN
Is this the right place? Is it even the right day?
GARY
What day is it?
ALAN
I don’t know. What day did we say?
GARY
It doesn’t matter. He’s always around.
ALAN
Who?
GARY
Lawro.
ALAN
He’s everywhere.
GARY
Always. Forever.
ALAN
But not here. Not now.
GARY
(Furious) Why not!? Where could he be?
ALAN
We’re to wait by that tree.
Alan goes to stand by the tree.
ALAN
Bark. Leaves. Twigs.
GARY
What is he going to do when he arrives?
ALAN
Who?
GARY
Lawro.
ALAN
Oh… nothing very definite.
Alan and Gary stare off into nothingness. Occasionally disturbed by slick motion graphics and unimportant statistics.
GARY
Norwich have only won three league games against West Brom in their last ten visits stretching back to 1954.
ALAN
What?
GARY
Facts Alan. They don’t concern you.
Enter Garth, a pompous squashed man.
A terrible cry from the wings heralds the arrival of his slave Martin, a quasi-sentient gonk with a rope around his neck.
Alan and Gary snap to attention.
GARY
Are you Lawro?
GARTH
I beg your pardon?
GARY
We’re waiting for Lawro.
ALAN
Are you he?
GARTH
(Irked) How dare you suggest such a thing. I know of no Lawro. For I am Garth. Garth the omniscient. What I should be able to elucidate in small words and sentences I drag out interminably and sometimes vehemently so as to bore, surprise, amuse and generally frustrate all I survey, much like this pretentious piece I seem to be passing through. This approach has got me far in life. Further than your… Lawro. Has it not slave?
Martin starts to cry.
Gary, feeling sorry for Martin, approaches with a handkerchief.
Martin, in response whacks a terrible two-footed reducer on Gary. Gary moans. He gets up, and Martin jumps into his face, arms aloft, screaming.
Garth pulls Martin’s rope.
GARY
No Lawro then?
ALAN
No Lawro. Space. Movement. Vision. But no Lawro.
GARTH
Gentlemen, I must go. I will allow you to spend time in my studio whilst I am gone to ramble and pontificate with the National Treasure that is John Motson whither we will drive each other to distraction about the crippling minutiae of Steven Gerrard’s body language. I pray John won’t get on his vaguely fascist high horse again. Can I leave you with a parting gift in exchange for your exulted company during this rest stop?
GARY
We’d like some money.
ALAN
Shut up. We don’t need any extra money.
Alan burns a fifty pound note to a crisp.
GARY
Very well. We’d like Martin to have a think.
ALAN
And a dance.
Martin goes to jump into Gary’s face again.
Gary cuts him off.
GARY
He’s already had his dance.
Martin stands and begins to speak in rambling stream-of-conscience babble.
Garth leaves.
MARTIN
He’s a really good player but the referees are giving fouls for the merest of contact these days and I don’t like to see that I wouldn’t stand a chance in this day and age proper centre half me look at Cristiano Ronaldo there he’s got a leap on him hasn’t he like an NFL basketball player –
From nowhere, a Mitre Delta wallops Martin full in the face and knocks him into the wings.
Alan resumes standing by the tree.
Gary pulls his boot off finally. He looks inside of it.
GARY
Nothing to be done.
ALAN
Nobody comes, nobody goes.
A Boy enters.
ALAN
Are you he?
BOY
Who?
GARY
Lawro.
BOY
Yes.
Gary and Alan look at each other in amazement.
BOY
Not.
Gary and Alan slump in disappointment.
BOY
Ah. Disappointment.
ALAN
(Nods) Torpor. Depression. Nihilism.
BOY
That is what I bring. For I am a messenger of Lawro. And he will not be coming this evening. Something which (in a sarcastic tone) he is really gutted about.
GARY
When is he coming?
BOY
Surely tomorrow.
ALAN
Did you come yesterday?
The Boy says nothing. Knowingly.
The Boy prepares to leave.
GARY
What’s he like?
BOY
Who?
GARY
(Exasperated) Lawro!
BOY
Well… have you got wifi?
Gary nods, unsure.
BOY
Go onto theanfieldwrap.com. Find their section ‘Lawro’. They say it far better than I ever could.
The Boy leaves.
Alan and Gary sit and ponder.
GARY
We should leave.
ALAN
Yes.
GARY
(Points at the audience) So should they.
Alan turns to face the audience.
ALAN
(Looking out, centre stage) You should change the channel. But you won’t, will you?
GARY
They never will.
ALAN
We should go.
GARY
We should.
They do not move.
CURTAIN
yeah all very clever… Lawro is as relevant to day as Stan Mortensen and Nat Lofthouse to mine ………time has moved on
That’s magnificent.
But it has proved Iain Macintosh wrong. He claimed yesterday that the word ‘not’ as a joke hadn’t been funny for 20 years and I agreed with him.
Well I laughed like a drain when BOY said ‘Not’ here.
Bravo *doffs cap*
A Beckett pastiche on a football website? Clearly the classiest boys in the playground, here!
They’re re-papering the Broadway billboards as we speak.
See “Fitzsimmons’ Lawro”, (plastered right next to some Country and Western outfit)
Bravo, Dan.
Genius. Act Two should surely be a conversation between the Dalai Lama and Lawrenson.
Brilliant. Glad I paid attention during English class…
There once was a pundit named Lawro
His expressions and words full of sorrow
Lampooned by the wrap
for being funny (not) and crap
Still sulking but back on our screens. Oh godot!!!