#YouGetWhatYouNeed,
#PostCrisis
A strange little man, dressed in a cheap black suit, delivered our invitation. His too-tight pants strangled his goodies in such an eye-watering way that it was impossible not to look, yet hideous to do so. Marine and I immediately named him Gorgol, because we thought it was an unattractive Russian sounding name that fitted him better than the pants.
Gorgol walked into the press room and headed straight for our desk. We were emailing out results and finishing up our work. Nikolai’s win had caused mania. His press conference was in such high demand that the tournament managers had to put speakers outside the main interview room in order for the overflow of journalists to hear his words of wisdom.
Gorgol was on a mission. With a non-existent grasp of the E
