Olympic Selection Committee
LORD COD
Ah, Jack, come in. I've been going over your qualification results. Let's see now, shot putt.
Jack smiles.
LORD COD
Three foot six inches.
Jack smiles and nods.
LORD COD
The qualifying distance is twenty-five feet.
JACK
You felt the weight of them f**king things, like lead weights, you should use something lighter, go a lot further.
Lord Cod sighs.
LORD COD
The hammer.
Jack beams.
LORD COD
A hundred and eighty-seven feet.
JACK
My strongest event.
LORD COD
It was a pity the main stand was only a hundred and seventy feet away. Pure carnage.
Jack sits quietly.
LORD COD
Javelin, you speared one of the judges.
JACK
I shouted watch out.
LORD COD
He was standing behind you, Jack.
JACK
Got anything else? I'm a good runner.
Lord Cod reads the file.
LORD COD
Hmmm, I see you won the London Marathon in 24m:32s.
JACK
World record.
LORD COD
But it says here you were disqualified.
JACK
Nowt in the rules about using roller blades. What about swimming?
LORD COD
Can you swim.
JACK
No.
Lord Cod scribbles angrily across the page.
LORD COD
Look, Jack, I can see you're keen...
JACK
It's because I'm black isn't it?
LORD COD
You're not black.
JACK
What about tennis?
LORD COD
But you're no f**king...
Lord Cod regains composure.
LORD COD
But you're no good at tennis, Jack.
JACK
That doesn't stop Andy Murray.
LORD COD
Sorry, Jack, you've tried, but...
Jack ponders.
JACK
I've got a big cock.
Lord Cod appears interested.
LORD COD
How big?
Jack lobs out. Lord Cod picks up the phone.
LORD COD
Geoff, listen, I think I might have someone for the pole vault?