2026-11-08, 11:24 PM - Word count:
A Most Noble Interview --- Act I
(I know you guys aren't looking for Shakespeare, but that's what gave me the idea.)
Upon the dawn of a new season, a young Canadian knight arrives to take his place amongst the ranks of Adowa Accra.
Enter Andrew Markane, stage right.
Andrew Markane: "What fortune hath brought me to these distant shores! From the frozen lands of Canada have I travelled, seeking glory, honour, and perhaps even a glimpse of sunshine. A new season approacheth, and with it, a grand opportunity. I know not what fate hath in store for me, yet I shall meet it with courage, and determination"
Markane gazes into the distance. A gentle breeze passes. Suddenly, a mysterious figure emerges from the shadows.
Enter the Journalist, stage left, bearing quill and parchment.
Journalist: "Good heavens! Could it be? The keeper himself! A man from the northern wilderness, now standing before the mighty gates of Adowa Accra! Pray, might I trouble thee for a moment of thy precious time?"
Markane: "Forsooth, good sir! Thou hast but to ask."
Journalist: "Then answer me this, noble keeper! What ambitions dost thou harbour as the season draweth nigh? What great deeds shall the people of Accra witness?"
Markane: "A fine question indeed! I seek not merely to stand betwixt the posts, but to become a worthy servant of this club. I shall strive to improve with each passing day, support my fellow warriors, and bring honour unto the crest upon my chest."
The Journalist studies his parchment for a moment, before looking once more upon the young keeper.
Journalist: "Yet, alas, good sir, fortune is a fickle mistress, and her favour may not always be thy companion. When she turns her cruel gaze upon thee, how shalt thou steel thy heart and endure?"
Markane: "Indeed, good sir, no season is without its trials, nor any man without his share of misfortune. Should such days befall me, I shall hold fast to my purpose, and take counsel from those who stand beside me. For no keeper, however valiant, shall find glory without the strength of his companions!"
The Journalist regards Markane thoughtfully, before setting quill to parchment once more.
Journalist: "A noble sentiment, Sir Markane. May such fellowship prove the foundation of many a triumph upon these fields. But tell me, what words dost thou offer unto the loyal souls who shall lend their voices to thy cause?"
Markane: "Only that they shall have my utmost effort, come rain or shine. Together, may we make this season one worth remembering!"
The Journalist carefully sets down his parchment, regarding Markane with newfound respect.
Journalist: "A fine promise indeed, Sir Markane! For what greater gift can a keeper offer than his steadfast devotion to those who place their faith in him? May thy words prove true, and may fortune smile upon thee and thy companions. Until we meet again!"
Exit Journalist, stage left.
Markane remains upon the stage, gazing towards the distant goalposts.
Markane: "The season awaiteth. Let fate now take the field."
Curtain.
(I know you guys aren't looking for Shakespeare, but that's what gave me the idea.)
Upon the dawn of a new season, a young Canadian knight arrives to take his place amongst the ranks of Adowa Accra.
Enter Andrew Markane, stage right.
Andrew Markane: "What fortune hath brought me to these distant shores! From the frozen lands of Canada have I travelled, seeking glory, honour, and perhaps even a glimpse of sunshine. A new season approacheth, and with it, a grand opportunity. I know not what fate hath in store for me, yet I shall meet it with courage, and determination"
Markane gazes into the distance. A gentle breeze passes. Suddenly, a mysterious figure emerges from the shadows.
Enter the Journalist, stage left, bearing quill and parchment.
Journalist: "Good heavens! Could it be? The keeper himself! A man from the northern wilderness, now standing before the mighty gates of Adowa Accra! Pray, might I trouble thee for a moment of thy precious time?"
Markane: "Forsooth, good sir! Thou hast but to ask."
Journalist: "Then answer me this, noble keeper! What ambitions dost thou harbour as the season draweth nigh? What great deeds shall the people of Accra witness?"
Markane: "A fine question indeed! I seek not merely to stand betwixt the posts, but to become a worthy servant of this club. I shall strive to improve with each passing day, support my fellow warriors, and bring honour unto the crest upon my chest."
The Journalist studies his parchment for a moment, before looking once more upon the young keeper.
Journalist: "Yet, alas, good sir, fortune is a fickle mistress, and her favour may not always be thy companion. When she turns her cruel gaze upon thee, how shalt thou steel thy heart and endure?"
Markane: "Indeed, good sir, no season is without its trials, nor any man without his share of misfortune. Should such days befall me, I shall hold fast to my purpose, and take counsel from those who stand beside me. For no keeper, however valiant, shall find glory without the strength of his companions!"
The Journalist regards Markane thoughtfully, before setting quill to parchment once more.
Journalist: "A noble sentiment, Sir Markane. May such fellowship prove the foundation of many a triumph upon these fields. But tell me, what words dost thou offer unto the loyal souls who shall lend their voices to thy cause?"
Markane: "Only that they shall have my utmost effort, come rain or shine. Together, may we make this season one worth remembering!"
The Journalist carefully sets down his parchment, regarding Markane with newfound respect.
Journalist: "A fine promise indeed, Sir Markane! For what greater gift can a keeper offer than his steadfast devotion to those who place their faith in him? May thy words prove true, and may fortune smile upon thee and thy companions. Until we meet again!"
Exit Journalist, stage left.
Markane remains upon the stage, gazing towards the distant goalposts.
Markane: "The season awaiteth. Let fate now take the field."
Curtain.
![[Image: CTtL39n.jpg]](https://iili.io/CTtL39n.jpg)
