The Speechwriter by Martin McKenzie-Murray (best biographies to read TXT) 📕

on repealing … unfriendly legislation. Plus, we’d also give the kids access to vapes.’

‘Vapes?’

‘E-cigs. An emerging technology. We’re the department of innovation, after all. So instead of Winnie Blues, the next Warnie might be dependent upon a cherry-flavoured vape pen. A millennial twist on an old theme. We’re cool with that. We get that times change. We’ll also encourage Cricket Australia to allow senior players to vape on-field. During games. The problem, though, is that e-cigs might not have the same effects as the old-fashioned dart.’

‘What kind of effects?’

‘Well for one, the suggestion of rebelliousness. We’re not sure if the e-cig will have the same filthy je ne sais quoi as the Winnie Blue. It’ll depend on how well they can diminish life expectancy. Right now, we just don’t know. The science isn’t in. But fingers crossed, they’ll prove just as dangerous as the old shit.’

‘Why would you want them to be dangerous?’

‘Toby, you’re not listening. It’s what gives the public frisson. It’s what gives them the drama of human contradiction. That’s what the public want. Humans that gamble with their talent. Humans that contain multitudes. Humans that resemble them.’

‘So you want to create another Warnie?’

‘Yes.’

‘With pies and smokes.’

‘Correct.’

‘And you want a speech from me?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘We want a PowerPoint show, Toby. We’ve basically got the words, we just need you to finesse them into some sexy slides. We’ve got some good ideas. You’ll open with — get this — a pie chart.’

‘Right.’

‘Do you get it?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s a pie chart about pies, Toby.’

‘I get it.’

‘Exciting. Now, what this chart will do, Toby, is declare the pie’s contribution to cricket legend.’

‘How?’

‘Great question. We’ve given this a lot of thought. Picture this: the chart will be divided into six segments.’

‘Okay.’

‘And each segment will contain a single word written in what looks like a swirl of tomato sauce. Cute, right? FYI, you’ll need to find a font that looks like tomato sauce. Something red. And squiggly.’

‘What are the six words?’

‘Close your eyes.’

‘Alright.’

‘Are they closed?’

‘Yes.’

‘The six words are: Genius. Larrikin. Hero. Battler. Icon. And … Succulent All-Beef Mrs. Macs.’

‘That’s not six words.’

‘That last one doesn’t count. That’s a sponsor’s request. You might need to shrink the sauce font for that one.’

‘Sponsor?’

‘It’s a public–private partnership, Toby. That’s how the world works now.’

‘It sounds like we’re just reintroducing outlawed sponsorships for a sport that’s financially suffering.’

‘That’s terribly cynical, Toby.’

‘I don’t understand. Are you fighting the suits, or helping them?’

‘Both, Toby. That’s the genius of it. We’re fighting them publicly; helping them privately. It’s what we call a win-win.’

‘So Cricket Australia’s willing to be bashed publicly by the government, so that sponsorship laws can be repealed and their commercial viability improved. And the government’s willing to do this so that it can leverage nostalgia.’

‘Neat summary.’

‘It’s all just a fucking game to you, isn’t it?’

‘Mate, it’s the greatest game there is.’

Suddenly, I saw every one of my ambitions and fine intentions reduced to a massive pile of ash. Around that pile, a choir held hands and sang songs of derision. A wind blew, and the ash swirled, and Ms. West held hands with Bessie, who held hands with my dead father, who held hands with Stanley, who held hands with an angry pensioner, and their songs were sung in a strange tongue I couldn’t understand, but I could grasp the obscene pleasure they felt in singing them.*

[* ‘How the fuck do you hold hands with an eel?’ Garry asked.

‘Mate, it was a reverie.’

‘A reverie?’

‘A daydream.’

‘Tonight, while you sleep, I’m gonna shiv you.’]

Enraged, I impulsively leaked the cricket stuff to the national paper. I did so anonymously, but I didn’t much think about how easy the contact tracing would be. When the first story appeared online, it was obvious to everyone who the source was.

John stuck his head outside the fishbowl and screamed my name. His face was painted like a Burmese cat, but you could still tell he was angry. I walked into his office and took a seat. John slammed the door.

‘Let’s get a fucking few things straight, Toby. You’re not a balladeer. You’re not a troubadour. You’re not a charming rebel. You’re not influential. You’re not Forrest Gump. What you are—’

‘Yes?’

‘—is a cunt.’

‘Okay.’

‘We know you leaked it.’

I just sat there. Said nothing. I didn’t have the strength to deny it. I don’t think I wanted to.

John sighed. ‘We’re taking a fucking walk, Toby.’

‘Where?’

‘We’re off to see the Wizard.’

The Wizard was the secretary of the department. Ensconced on level six, she’d studied at the JFK School of Governance in DC, and conventional wisdom held that she was both sharp and brutal.

We sat silently in the waiting area. John refused to look at me, and was pretending to be absorbed in a trade publication he’d picked up from the table. On the opposing couch were two men in suits I didn’t recognise. Sky News was playing on the wall: The Prime Minister has conceded that his comments about water polo were ‘hasty’, but has stopped short of apologising. In a media conference held today at a public swimming pool, the opposition leader described the PM as ‘out of touch’ and demanded his resignation before telling reporters to ‘watch this’ as he performed a cannonball into the water. In other news, leaked documents have suggested the federal government was looking at legalising Big Tobacco’s re-entry into cricket sponsorship …

‘This is what they’re reporting,’ one of the men said. ‘Fucking water polo.’

‘He’s smart. Smartest leader for a while.’

‘Raskolnikov was pretty smart too, mate, and he contrived to split an old lady’s melon with an axe.’

‘You’re being hyperbolic.’

‘Nah, mate. See, Raskolnikov wasn’t just smart. He was tragically conceited about it. Thought his intelligence exempted him from tiresome shit like not murdering people. Well, you’ve seen him in a room. Not just the smartest man there, but the smartest man alive. So imagine all the shit he’ll contrive.’

‘You’re not being fair. He’s serious.’

‘About his own brilliance, sure. And what’s that meant? It’s meant a refusal to consult or delegate. You can’t run the country like