Vladimir sat and gazed pensively over the rail of the Emma Maersk
As his ponderous journey entered its final minutes
His departure from Miami had been as disconcerting
As much of the time he'd spent there
Certainly, it had been lucrative enough
But the complex and often contradictory nature
Of this wizened old traveller had meant
That he'd never fully integrated into the American Dream
A dream which he now scoffed at as it crumbled to dust
Around the feet of his adopted countrymen
Despite having thrust himself like a rolled-up dollar bill
Into the snowy heart of capitalism, he had, of late
Found himself pining for the once familiar embrace
Of the party machine
His youth in the old country had been turbulent at times
But, nevertheless, old habits die hard
Now, as the world rounded on his motherland
He felt compelled to return to its shores
To join the ranks of his former comrades and defend her honour
Cynics pointed to the seizure of his US assets
As the moment where his rekindled nationalist zeal really took hold
But Vladimir knew that this was merely the forked tongue
Of Western morality spitting its venom
Through the fangs of the mainstream media
If anything, swapping the extravagance of his superyacht
For the honest frugality of his cabin on the Emma Maersk
Was a welcome change of pace
He'd become fat, as his dear Olga once had
He could see that now
Though his return was unexpected
He was determined it should be pecunious
He was grateful that the Iron Law of Oligarchy
Had cemented his place among the guiding hands
Of a strong and unified nation
He must now ensure that his hand, specifically
Came to rest closest to her nurturing teat
So that she could be milked dry
For the good of the people, of course
The native proletariat could be more or less relied upon to come to heel
They appreciated that the party was working in their best interests
A carefully guided education system had nurtured
A sense of grateful resignation in the population
Internationally, however
Things were more delicately balanced
He knew his standing needed to be improved
But now that other countries had caught up in the bot race
Social media was far less easy to predictably manipulate
What had once been a friendly pen of online sheep
Now looked increasingly like a dingy battery farm
Full of neurotic underfed hens
For a while he'd floundered
Unsure of how to go about endearing himself to the mob
Until a chance meeting with a Middle Eastern business associate
Led him to the idea of sport, specifically football
The common denominator of the common people
Of course, this was hardly a new idea
Many comrades before him had tried, with varying success
To launder the smell of borscht from their Rubels
Through the Premier League
But Vladimir had always regarded the top tier
Of the beautiful game as a trifle vulgar
His target should be more left-field
And his takeover more clandestine
So as to fully ingratiate him with the locals
He was also conscious of the vast cost and considerable scrutiny
Associated with ownership of an English club
As a result, he had been forced to cast his net further afield
Scotland had always intrigued him
The harsh climate and even harsher women reminded him of home
The people were simple
And ass far as could be ascertained, relatively compliant
Although communication had at times been challenging
So who could really tell? It mattered little anyway
Their devotion to their respective teams
Ran deeper than any suspicions they might have
Over a wealthy foreign investor, no matter how shady his past
He had eventually landed on Hamilton Academical
Principally, his choice had been based on the club's proximity
To an international airport
However, he liked the romantic nature of the name
And hoped it reflected a general leaning towards learning
And self-improvement within the fan base
He was to be disappointed
Though the situation was perhaps not ideal
The wheels were in motion
From this point on, he could begin to plot his rebirth from disgrace
And exile to international acceptance
Through the inexorable march of Scottish League One football
Now there was just the small matter of his homecoming
He suspected his arrival at Novorossiysk might create ripples
These would need to be contained before they became
Waves capable of sweeping away all his hard work before them
Hastily imbibing a fortifying slug of Comrade Vodka
He strode forth onto the jetty
His head heavy with thoughts of those whose backs
Had borne him on his life's journey back to this place
Vladerovsky, Christos, Sergey, even dear Dimitri
They would likely never know the part they had played
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