MAN TELOR

Every batch has one.

Ours was called “Man Telor”.

He got his nickname after the only other Man was already called “Man Konek”. I kid you not!

I often wondered, if there was another Man, what would we have called him? “Man Telor Kiri”? “Man Telor Kanan”? That would give rise to other potential posers like - “Whose left? Whose right? Man’s or ours?”

Man Telor has an affliction. He has a serious case of one-upmanshipitis. Tell him something about anyone or anything and without fail, he’ll try and top it. Be it the most trivial of matters, he’d still want to get the better of you.

You tell him that you have 2 brothers and a sister. He’ll have 3 brothers, 2 sisters and a dog.

You tell him that your family’s going to Port Dickson for holiday and he’ll be pulling Mickey’s ears at Disneyland.

You tell him your dad drives a BMW and his house will have a helipad.

You tell him that you had a packet of nasi lemak for breakfast and he’ll be at the Hilton breakfast buffet finishing off the crispy beef bacon with the cheese and mushroom omelette.

You tell him your parents went to umrah and his father was the Imam at Masjid Nabawi.

Well, you get the idea.

Not surprisingly, Man Telor was an amazing story-teller. Stuff the Hollywood moguls would break the bank to get the movie rights to. If only they know about him then.

He never repeats his stories because he can never remember the details. He made it up as he went along.

Nonsensical though his stories were, the evenings listening to Man Telor were the one of the few memorable moments of my school-life.

This current World Cup instalment led me to recollect Man Telor’s amazing tale about the ball he smuggled out during Espana ’82. It was during the match between Italy and Brazil when the legendary Paolo Rossi shocked the world with his match-winning hattrick to set up a semi final clash with Poland. If memory serves me well, he also got a brace during the semis.

As the story goes, Rossi ballooned his shot during one of the attempts at goal and our own Man Telor, with cat-like dexterity, clawed the ball off the air and stealthily hid it unbeknownst to the 70,000 odd crowd and the TV cameras. Those days, only one ball would be utilised throughout the game. FIFA would despatch a crack search-and-rescue team to retrieve any missing balls. Games were stopped while the furtive tactical sorties were carried out in search of balls gone astray.

But Man Telor got the better of them. His technique of deception is now firmly etched in the manuals of MI-5, CIA, LLN, TNB and the likes.

What the FIFA officials did not know was that Man Telor was a master of disguise. The Italy jersey he was wearing wasn’t bought at Las Ramblas, Barcelona’s 42nd street. The jersey was actually made from a blend of special fabric and organic textile that reacts with the brain synapses. Our intrepid Man Telor was the able to fashion a maternity dress in which he slipped the ball unnoticed. He left Bombonera, the little Sarria stadium, amidst the smog cap over Barcelona, nonchalantly, with the ball that MVP of the tournament scored 3 goals with, firmly in his dress.

Can anyone ever top that story? Man Telor had some of us eating from his palms but yours truly saw through his endeavour. Ahem.

A friend met Man Telor recently. He brandished his business card readily. It read Man Telor (have to jaga his face la), CEO, Something, something PLC. His company is listed in the FTSE 100 Index and has a market capitalisation of over GBP10 Billion.

Impressive.

I did what any commonsensical man would do and googled his name and company.

Sigh. Old habits die hard.

JEKYLL