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African Tears


A Right Bandit

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It's 2 AM, the phone rings. I wearily pick it up "Is that Dan Stone?" the voice asks "yes it is, who the hell is this at this hour?" I demand.

The events of the next ten minutes go by in a flash but the gist of it is this: the entire management team at Nottingham Forest have been shot dead by dwarves on safari and i, Dan Stone - a mere office worker at The City Ground, have been chosen to become the next manager. This is due to a series of financial problems that prohibit the board from contracting out an established manager. I argued back and forth that I had no background in football and that I would be laughed out of the training ground, but the chairman stood firm. He told me in no uncertain terms that if i didnt accept the job that he knew some very bad people that would come and "make a ****" on my carpet. Well, what could i do? It was a brand new carpet, and i couldnt afford to get it cleaned, never mind replaced.

So I turn up for my first day at Nottingham Forest F.C as the manager, and the players are very suspicious of me. Gareth Taylor, the established Welsh front-man, ran me over in his mini metro. The players just laughed. My pride was hurt of course but I didnt let it show. Instead, I decided to take the hard line, "i'll be a disciplinarian" I thought. I phoned Gareth Taylors parents and told them what had happened. I'm not sure what action they took but this incident was never repeated!

The next few weeks of training and pre-season friendlies flew by and as I gradually earned the players respect I began to get a feel for the team. Marlon King and David Johnson were a potent front two, and I had a couple of electric paced wingers in Andy Reid and Andy Impey. But the team was missing something. An attacking midfielder who could play in the 'hole' was needed if we were to be ready for our opening game against Q.P.R. I instructed my chief scout - to search every Tesco store in the country to find this elusive player "sod off". Came the reply from my scout. "I'm watching Magnet & Steel", I shook my head at him "look, Higgins" I shouted, "get the hell out on the road. I know there's a Tesco employee out there who can tear this division apart, now get looking or you're out". Andy Higgins got his fat arse up off the sofa and begun his journey.

I took his place on the couch and started watching the episode of Magnet & Steel, it was very good. The double act had come across a bad guy in a warehouse shouting "I'm evil" and Magnet had to get in a tank. Great stuff!

I didnt hear much from andy higgins for a while, and when i did I wasn't impressed with what I saw, a few cloggers with good stamina but no real talent - the gary neville type. Until one day. Higgins phoned me up. He was in high spirits and did a spot-on impression of the cheeky girls "cheeky cheeky!" he quipped, anyway he had reason to be pleased with himself. He'd been in Cheltenham and discovered a boy-genius called Ryan Baker, who was perfect for the playmaker role. "before you get too excited boss, this kid's got a few problems." I wasnt too worried "oh thats alright fatty, we've got some good physios here, he'll be 100% in no time". there was a silence ."erm, no boss. It's not fitness problems. He's erm... a bit of a racist." I was devastated. Theres no way I could associate this fine club with racism. I thought long and hard and eventually came up with a solution - I'll do all his interviews for him!" the press will never know.

I made the decision and signed up Baker, he signed his contract - 'Adolf Hitler', so we had to get another one drawn up. It was at this point i realised we could never allow him to sign autographs for fans.

The local press wanted to know all about this wonder kid from Tesco, so I had to oblige them. I did ever single interview on his behalf. In one radio interview i was asked "how good this kid is" and i made the bold claim that he was on a par with Pele, Maradona, Chris Bart-Williams and George Best. Maybe i shouldn't have put so much pressure on the lad but i was genuinly excited about seeing him turn out against Q.P.R at the weekend.

Saturday came and the pre-match buzz was catching like wildfire. I named my eleven - Gerrard, Louis-Jean, Rogers, Dawson, Tarka, Evans, Beaumont, Reid, Impey, King, Johnson.

Baker was disapointed to start on the bench but i told him i wanted to see how the game developed and then introduce him to use the element of surprise. I gave my team talk. I spoke about the film Home Alone 2 and about how poor Macauley Culkin was lost in New York. "DO IT FOR CULKIN!!!!!" were my last inspiring words as the lads left the dressing room. We all walked out into the tunnel and onto the pitch except Barker. This didnt bother me, I assumed he was just psyching himself up for his debut. I went and sat in the dugout and the game soon kicked off. We started brightly, probing for openings and testing their keeper from distance. The home fans were getting right behind us when King went through one on one and tucked it away in the far corner. YES! Great start. Right, lets try and hold onto this now, i thought.

All of a sudden the 30,000 crowd went silent. I looked around me "whats going on?" I thought. All of a sudden I saw it - the sight of Ryan Baker making his way from the tunnel to the dugout, dressed head to toe as a Ku-Klux Klan member. White robes, the lot. I couldn't believe it. I sunk my head in my hands. The entire crowd werent even watching the game any more. Their heads follwed this strange white suited figure in silence all the way to the subs bench. He sat down next to me and removed his hood. "alright boss?" he grinned.

I was in a daze. All I could do was get him on quick. I told the 4th official to put James Beaumont's number up. "you're going on Baker, get out of that ridiculous outfit. And don't let me see you wearing it again." He got stripped off and warmed up.

Beaumont was gutted to come off so early in the 1st game of the season. He blanked me as he left the pitch. Baker sprinted on. He surprised everyone in the ground by making his first tackle on a player who didn't even have the ball. It was over the top and two footed. Even worse, it was on his own player - Andy Impey. Ryan celebrated by giving the Nazi salute. I shouted for Micheal Dawson to go and have a word with him. Michael did so and Ryan seemed to calm down.

5 minutes from half time, a long ball from Alan Rogers was coming Ryan's way. He watched it come down and elegantly killed it first time with his left foot. He feinted to lob it over the top for Johnson, but instead sent Reid away on the overlap. Reid flew towards the touchline and knocked over a great cross with pace. The keeper came out and punched it to the edge of the box. Baker was waiting. He controlled it on his chest before firing a rocket into the top corner. He was ecstatic and wheeled away to the corner flag with his shirt over his head like Ravanelli, revealing the letters 'B.N.P' tattooed across his chest.

Marlon King, David Johnson and Andy Impey were understandably appalled by this debut performance and refused to go and celebrate with him.

I was facing a huge dilemma. The boy seems to be a troubled genius. I could try explaining to him about how down in Sowetto there's a child who thinks a landmine is a ball? I was at my wits end.....

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It's 2 AM, the phone rings. I wearily pick it up "Is that Dan Stone?" the voice asks "yes it is, who the hell is this at this hour?" I demand.

The events of the next ten minutes go by in a flash but the gist of it is this: the entire management team at Nottingham Forest have been shot dead by dwarves on safari and i, Dan Stone - a mere office worker at The City Ground, have been chosen to become the next manager. This is due to a series of financial problems that prohibit the board from contracting out an established manager. I argued back and forth that I had no background in football and that I would be laughed out of the training ground, but the chairman stood firm. He told me in no uncertain terms that if i didnt accept the job that he knew some very bad people that would come and "make a ****" on my carpet. Well, what could i do? It was a brand new carpet, and i couldnt afford to get it cleaned, never mind replaced.

So I turn up for my first day at Nottingham Forest F.C as the manager, and the players are very suspicious of me. Gareth Taylor, the established Welsh front-man, ran me over in his mini metro. The players just laughed. My pride was hurt of course but I didnt let it show. Instead, I decided to take the hard line, "i'll be a disciplinarian" I thought. I phoned Gareth Taylors parents and told them what had happened. I'm not sure what action they took but this incident was never repeated!

The next few weeks of training and pre-season friendlies flew by and as I gradually earned the players respect I began to get a feel for the team. Marlon King and David Johnson were a potent front two, and I had a couple of electric paced wingers in Andy Reid and Andy Impey. But the team was missing something. An attacking midfielder who could play in the 'hole' was needed if we were to be ready for our opening game against Q.P.R. I instructed my chief scout - to search every Tesco store in the country to find this elusive player "sod off". Came the reply from my scout. "I'm watching Magnet & Steel", I shook my head at him "look, Higgins" I shouted, "get the hell out on the road. I know there's a Tesco employee out there who can tear this division apart, now get looking or you're out". Andy Higgins got his fat arse up off the sofa and begun his journey.

I took his place on the couch and started watching the episode of Magnet & Steel, it was very good. The double act had come across a bad guy in a warehouse shouting "I'm evil" and Magnet had to get in a tank. Great stuff!

I didnt hear much from andy higgins for a while, and when i did I wasn't impressed with what I saw, a few cloggers with good stamina but no real talent - the gary neville type. Until one day. Higgins phoned me up. He was in high spirits and did a spot-on impression of the cheeky girls "cheeky cheeky!" he quipped, anyway he had reason to be pleased with himself. He'd been in Cheltenham and discovered a boy-genius called Ryan Baker, who was perfect for the playmaker role. "before you get too excited boss, this kid's got a few problems." I wasnt too worried "oh thats alright fatty, we've got some good physios here, he'll be 100% in no time". there was a silence ."erm, no boss. It's not fitness problems. He's erm... a bit of a racist." I was devastated. Theres no way I could associate this fine club with racism. I thought long and hard and eventually came up with a solution - I'll do all his interviews for him!" the press will never know.

I made the decision and signed up Baker, he signed his contract - 'Adolf Hitler', so we had to get another one drawn up. It was at this point i realised we could never allow him to sign autographs for fans.

The local press wanted to know all about this wonder kid from Tesco, so I had to oblige them. I did ever single interview on his behalf. In one radio interview i was asked "how good this kid is" and i made the bold claim that he was on a par with Pele, Maradona, Chris Bart-Williams and George Best. Maybe i shouldn't have put so much pressure on the lad but i was genuinly excited about seeing him turn out against Q.P.R at the weekend.

Saturday came and the pre-match buzz was catching like wildfire. I named my eleven - Gerrard, Louis-Jean, Rogers, Dawson, Tarka, Evans, Beaumont, Reid, Impey, King, Johnson.

Baker was disapointed to start on the bench but i told him i wanted to see how the game developed and then introduce him to use the element of surprise. I gave my team talk. I spoke about the film Home Alone 2 and about how poor Macauley Culkin was lost in New York. "DO IT FOR CULKIN!!!!!" were my last inspiring words as the lads left the dressing room. We all walked out into the tunnel and onto the pitch except Barker. This didnt bother me, I assumed he was just psyching himself up for his debut. I went and sat in the dugout and the game soon kicked off. We started brightly, probing for openings and testing their keeper from distance. The home fans were getting right behind us when King went through one on one and tucked it away in the far corner. YES! Great start. Right, lets try and hold onto this now, i thought.

All of a sudden the 30,000 crowd went silent. I looked around me "whats going on?" I thought. All of a sudden I saw it - the sight of Ryan Baker making his way from the tunnel to the dugout, dressed head to toe as a Ku-Klux Klan member. White robes, the lot. I couldn't believe it. I sunk my head in my hands. The entire crowd werent even watching the game any more. Their heads follwed this strange white suited figure in silence all the way to the subs bench. He sat down next to me and removed his hood. "alright boss?" he grinned.

I was in a daze. All I could do was get him on quick. I told the 4th official to put James Beaumont's number up. "you're going on Baker, get out of that ridiculous outfit. And don't let me see you wearing it again." He got stripped off and warmed up.

Beaumont was gutted to come off so early in the 1st game of the season. He blanked me as he left the pitch. Baker sprinted on. He surprised everyone in the ground by making his first tackle on a player who didn't even have the ball. It was over the top and two footed. Even worse, it was on his own player - Andy Impey. Ryan celebrated by giving the Nazi salute. I shouted for Micheal Dawson to go and have a word with him. Michael did so and Ryan seemed to calm down.

5 minutes from half time, a long ball from Alan Rogers was coming Ryan's way. He watched it come down and elegantly killed it first time with his left foot. He feinted to lob it over the top for Johnson, but instead sent Reid away on the overlap. Reid flew towards the touchline and knocked over a great cross with pace. The keeper came out and punched it to the edge of the box. Baker was waiting. He controlled it on his chest before firing a rocket into the top corner. He was ecstatic and wheeled away to the corner flag with his shirt over his head like Ravanelli, revealing the letters 'B.N.P' tattooed across his chest.

Marlon King, David Johnson and Andy Impey were understandably appalled by this debut performance and refused to go and celebrate with him.

I was facing a huge dilemma. The boy seems to be a troubled genius. I could try explaining to him about how down in Sowetto there's a child who thinks a landmine is a ball? I was at my wits end.....

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<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by Gino:

Just to clear myself up a bit, I didn't mean I found it offensive or anything! It just seemed a bit strange! icon_biggrin.gif <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

Yeah, nothing of real offence as it stands (just be a bit careful, if you develop it any further as a theme) icon_wink.gif

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Nice start, really like it...

Don't mean to hijack your thread, I think it's a good idea with the racism thing (in terms of making it a more "exciting" story), just don't go over the border-line with it I suppose.

KUTGW nevertheless whether it's with the Ryan Baker saga or not... icon_smile.gif

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Bloody marvelous me thinks i know that Ryan Baker lad when he worked in tesco and he was a right racist git. Wouldn't touch the choc chip muffins, too good for em he said. Now that Ben Watson from Crystal Palace used to work with me, nice chap but likes to wear other peoples underwear, you couldn't turn your back on him for a minute as there'd be off like a shot. People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones i said to young Baker, and of course he took offence and started urinating on the uncle ben's microwavable rice. Good job that scount from forrest turned up when he did.......

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AFRICAN TEARS - PART TWO

we're 2-0 up at half time but i go back into the dressing room to find the players at each others throats. Half of the players are threatening strike action, while the other half are defending Baker, saying he's just a kid and he'll grow out of this.

I shepherd Baker out into the tunnel and tell him to go home "I'm subbing you lad, go home and come back on wednesday. Think about what you're doing to your career." He starts to cry and mutters something about 'rights for whites.'

Back in the dressing room I apologise to all the black players on Ryans behalf, they graciously accept this and i start to think about making my second sub after only 45 minutes. I look across to Eugen Bopp and tell him that he's coming on. He doesn't even look up. He's stroking that bloody weasel again. "Oh for Christ's sake Boppy, why do you always bring that frigging weasel everywhere with you?".

The mad German midfielder looked hurt and said "Mr Veasel always comes vis me, oh how i love him so" and begun to cry.

I sighed, "I'm sorry, boppy. You know Mr Weasel is always welcome here, but i'm putting you on for Baker so put him back in his box and get stripped down."

The second half was a non-event and the game finished nil-nil. A strange game but we've got to be happy with the three points.

On Monday morning the lads are all doing their weight training. Nothing too intensive, so I put my assistant in charge and head off to pay Baker a visit. I ring the doorbell at his lovely bungalow and Baker answers "hi boss" he says as he ushers me in to take a seat on his sofa decorated with swastika cushions. "how've you been son?" I ask. He shrugs his shoulders and says "well, i've been okay. I've read Mein Kampf a few times and been watched a bit of Trisha but I'd rather be at training boss."

"Look Ryan...." I started, but suddenly the whole room went dark. At first I thought it was a solar eclipse but then i realised it was simply Ryan's enormous girlfriend Krishna Cerrone walking past the window and eliminating all the natural light. "HELLO DARLING, WHERE IS THAT WHEELBARROW OF PASTIES?" She boomed, "oh they're in the guest bedroom. I poured on some extra lard for you sweetheart". She blew him a kiss and thundered out like some kind of massive dinosaur.

"Christ Ryan, she's a bit *****ng fat isn't she?" I exclaimed. Ryan just stared at me "my last girlfriend was 12 stone, Krishna is 25 stone. Thats 13 stone heavier than my last girlfriend. Back of the net".

I ignored this. "anyway, lad. The reason I'm here is about the racism thing. It's ruining your career. You're a great player but the players and the fans don't like the racism and neither do I. So you're going to have to knock it on the head."

We argued about this for a while, Ryan claimed he was being persecuted and blamed it on some global jewish conspiracy. What ever that meant. In the end he agreed to keep his political beliefs to himself, so we shook hands and I told him I wanted him ready to face Gillingham on Wednesday. I said goodbye to his massive fat girlfriend and drove off in my disability scooter.

Wednesday came and all the lads, except Baker, were waiting on the team bus. Eugen Bopp was sat at the front next to his beloved Weasel "Mr Veasel likes to sit by ze vindow" he announced to anyone who would listen.

"whats the hold up boss" Andy Johnson shouts from the back, "none of your business Johnno" I shout back. Bloody Andy Johnson, thinks he's a rebel cos he always sits on the back seat. "Willies!" comes the reply. "Grown up Johnno" I yell back. Silence follows this, and then some sniggering. I look back to see what all the laughter is about. Johnsons bloody mooning me. "Andy Johnson, if you carry on acting like a child, I'll treat you like one. One more noise out of you and you're coming down the front to sit with me" I shouted. This worked and there wasn't one more silly comment from him or any of the players.

Soon Baker turns up. He's dressed as Elvis Presley for some reason. I didnt ask why, I just thanked god it wasnt anything racist.

We drove off and in no time we were in Gillingham. I named my team - Gerrard, Louis-Jean, Dawson, Tarka, Rogers, Bopp, Reid, Evans, Baker, King, Johnson.

I was giving my pre-match team talk. I spoke at length about Andi Peters and how stupid it was that he spelt his name with an 'i' and not a 'y'. I told them that Andi Peters was a load of rubbish and my final inspiring words were "DONT BE LIKE ANDI PETERS".

The first half was awful. We never really got our arses into gear and we came back in 1-0 down from a 25 yard free kick that should never have got past our wall. Baker was especially crap and bore the brunt of the half time ticking off: "What the f*ck was that Baker??? You didn't even seem like you wanted to run! Has your big fat beast of a girlfriend been pouring chip fat down your throat?"

He calmly explained to me that it was my fault that he wasn't performing. He said that he wasn't able to express himself creatively on the football field because I wasn't allowing him to express his political beliefs. I was desperate to not lose so early in the season so I reluctantly agreed that he could do one racist thing in the second half if it meant he raised his game.

I could hardly watch as I sent them back out for the second half.

We started as poorly as we'd played in the first half as Gillingham looked content to sit on their lead. Things changed in the 65th minute when Paul Evans was taking a throw-in. Baker saw the opportunity and removed something from his sock. It was an enormous 70's style afro wig. He put it on and looked ridiculous.

Suddenly, he began to play. He was getting his foot in and winning balls and slowly started to dictate the pace of play in the middle. Breakthrough came 10 minutes later. Baker (still wearing the afro) picked up a loose ball in the centre circle and dodged the first tackle, he then dropped his shoulder, changed his pace and threw a step-over to beat the next man before driving forward to the edge of the box where he played a one-two with Marlon King before rounding the goalkeeper to slot the ball home into the far corner from an impossibly acute angle at the by-line. A wonder goal! We were jumping up and down on the subs bench singing "for he's a jolly good racist" when it all went a little sour. Baker was behind the goal celebrating, when he ripped off the wig, wiped his arse on it and threw it into the gillingham fans.

There was a brief pitch invasion, the referee sent both teams back to the dressing room and told me to sub Baker before allowing play to start again.

On came James Beaumont when play eventually continued. We played out a 1-1 draw, and took a point back to Nottingham. I could live with that.

Unfortunately the referee had included the incident in his match report and Baker was looking like facing an F.A disciplinary committee. Added to this the problem I had with him: how long could I allow him to go on being racist - it seemed that the racism went hand in hand with his best performances.

It seemed like an identical situation to the one that Man United had with that French donkey Cantona. He was only ever decent when Ferguson let him do whatever the hell he wanted. He was always sh*t in Europe though wasn't he? Bit overrated if you ask me.......

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icon_biggrin.gificon_biggrin.gif

This is the funniest thing I've heard:

<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR> I reluctantly agreed that he could do one racist thing in the second half if it meant he raised his game.

<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

icon_biggrin.gif

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<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>

He surprised everyone in the ground by making his first tackle on a player who didn't even have the ball. It was over the top and two footed. Even worse, it was on his own player - Andy Impey. Ryan celebrated by giving the Nazi salute. <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

icon_biggrin.gificon_biggrin.gificon_biggrin.gificon_biggrin.gif

Please write more. Now.

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It’s the day after the farce at Gillingham and I’m taking the lads through some new tactics. I organise them into two teams, one team made up of everyone who likes cheese and the other team of players who do not. I tell them to play 1 touch football. “Anyone who takes more than one touch has to go to the supermarket dressed as Margaret Thatcher†I shout. We kick off and immediately Baker takes two touches, looks in my direction, picks the ball up and throws it into the goal. He celebrates and runs off into the dressing room to get all ‘Margaret Thatchered up’.

I got the impression that he wanted this punishment. Ten minutes later he emerges, in a smart looking business skirt and blazer. He’s wearing earrings and a necklace and carrying a red leather handbag. “right I’m off to the shops. Anyone want anything?†The lads just stared open mouthed at this ridiculous sight. I couldn’t believe this had backfired. This kid is a nut job.

Baker came back an hour later, he’s bought some milk, a shepherds pie (microwavable), some meat off the deli (well it’s lovely and fresh and the staff there are friendly), a six pack of Stella, a pineapple, some bisto, 25 scratchcards, a copy of FHM – that Abi Titmus gets ‘em out in it, another pineapple, eggs, some catfood, a yogurt, another pineapple and a pineapple. I’m in my office, and I tell him to come see me as I have some bad news for him. He’s still dressed as Maggie Thatcher but I let it go. It was kind of my idea after all.

“whats wrong boss?†he asks, looking like a cock. “The F.A have met and given you a 1 match ban and a 5 grand fine. You’ll miss the league game against Leeds at the weekend.†He looked saddened by this news. “that’s not fair†He whinged “they’ve got an Asian player, I could have done him.â€

“BAKER, YOU MUPPET†I scream in his face “don’t you care about playing football? You’ve got ability but you’re ruining it with this racism nonsense. I understand that it’s a part of your personality but can’t you tone it down a bit?â€

He shook his head “no, I can’t boss. I don’t agree with them. They come to our country, they steal all our lego, they can’t swim, they shoot chickens and they hate Countdown. I can’t stand for that. I just can’t.â€

I’ve got a complete psycho on my hands here. “okay Baker, I’ll just have to stand by you then. But I can’t protect you from the media forever†He nodded his head.

“oh and by the way, I want you here for the Leeds game, you might be banned but you can still sit in the dugout so I know you’re not doing anything stupid†and with that he left the office.

I got on the phone to Alex Ferguson and asked if I could loan David Bellion. He’s got pace and could maybe squeeze into the role Baker plays. Ferguson wasn’t keen at first. He offered me Ruud Van Nistelrooy instead but I laughed in his face “what that clogger?? No thanks!†In the end he gave in and reluctantly accepted that he would have to keep the lanky, dirty, stupid-haircutted, horse-faced, crap, sneaky, cheating ****ing *****, and he gave me Bellion for 3 months. Excellent.

Bellion turned up the next day and I ran him through some of our gameplans for Leeds at the weekend, then we went in to the canteen for some baby food – it’s what footballers eat. Baker wandered in talking to his girlfriend Krishna on his mobile phone “yeh babe, just call the fire brigade. They’ll soon get you wedged out of that door frame. I’ve told you not to try and squeeze out of the back door.†Baker dropped his phone on the floor at the sight of Bellion “oh christ, not another one†and through a fork at him. Bellion charged at Baker and the pair began to have a ruck. It took a fair few players to pull them apart, although some of the black lads got a few sneaky digs in on Baker. I sent Baker home (again) and told him to come back for the Leeds game on Saturday.

Saturday came and I gathered the players in the dressing room for one of my legendary team talks. I named the side: Gerrard, Louis-Jean, Rogers, Tarka, Dawson, Bopp, Bellion, Evans, Reid, King, Johnson. And sent them out with the following inspiring words in their ears: “you know how when you microwave a pizza and it comes out really hot and burns your mouth? Yeah? Well that’s a bit crap isnt it. DON’T BE CRAP LIKE REALLY HOT MICROWAVEABLE PIZZA!!!!!!â€

The lads roared at this and ran out onto the pitch.

I’m sat in the dugout keeping an eye on the game and on Baker, who I’ve got sat next to me. We played pretty well first half, Reid made some exciting runs down the left, Eugen Bopp was testing Scott Carson from well outside the box and Tarka and Dawson were looking sound and were dealing with Deane and Joachim very comfortably. We came in at half time 0-0 and I just told them to keep going as they were.

Back out for the second period we started even sharper. It didn’t take long for the breakthrough – Reid cut inside and fed Bellion, who beat two men and had a shot from 18 yards. Carson could only parry it away straight to King who smashed into the roof of the net. Bellion and King ran to the fans to celebrate. Suddenly there was a disturbance – someone in the away supporters has thrown a banana at Bellion, I look across the bench ‘sh*t Where’s Baker?’ He wasn’t there. Somehow he’d managed to get amongst the Leeds fans. I could see him clearly now – bare chested shouting abuse at King and Bellion. I was praying that nobody else would know it was him and Leeds would have to take the rap for badly behaved fans.

Another pitch invasion – I can’t believe this. The ref sent all the players back into the changing rooms again and allowed play to carry on when it had all calmed down.

Eventually the final whistle came and we were celebrating our 2cnd win of the season. Baker came striding into the dressing room, very pleased with himself, “good win lads!â€, amazingly no one said anything about the banana incident. Maybe he had got away with it? But just incase he didn’t I paid a visit up to the CC tv room and erased all the tapes. Now I was covering for him. Has it gone too far? I wondered. I considered selling him. He’s too good though. Only one man can help me with this dilemma……………..

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Who is this master wordsmith?? Maybe he gains his inspiration through his love of cheese, dan stone, karen trivett, andy higgins, mufc and little dwarves from bolton.....

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AFRICAN TEARS - PART FOUR

I drive home after the game feeling a little bit guilty for what I’ve done, but at the same time quite pleased with myself for getting out of trouble. The traffic is moving slowly on the motorway, although it’s partly down to the speed limit on my disability scooter being only 5 miles per hour.

After about 3 days I finally arrive home, and am a bit disapointed that I’ve wasted so much time – I should have gone on the coach. I even considered buying a proper car and getting rid of my disability scooter altogther, but then I came to my senses. That would be a ridiculous idea! Dan Stone and his disability scooter are inseperable!

I walk through my front door and immediately consult my mentor – Captain Birdseye. I remove the packet of Fishfingers from the freezer and hold it tenderly in my hands “hi captain, you’ve helped me out so many times in the past. This time I need your help more than ever…..†I explained the Baker situation at length and waited for Captain Birdseye’s response. None came. I shook the packet. “BIRDSEYE YOU C*NT, ANSWER ME. I DON’T KNOW WHY I ASK FOR YOUR HELP, YOU ALWAYS IGNORE MEâ€.

What could I do? Birdseye was being an arrogant ***** as always. He didn’t offer any help with my dilemma so I punished him the best way I could think of – I spat in his big beardy face. Take that you hairy peado!, I thought before taking out 3 fish fingers and eating them raw.

It looked like I was going to have to work it out on my own. It was Tuesday already and we had a game against Cheltenham Town in the Carling Cup the next day, so I got changed and walked to the training ground. The lads were playing 5-aside, so I watched for a bit before heading into the chairmans office to ask about the possibility of allowing me some money to make a bid for Man United’s Gabriel Heinze. “how much do you think they’ll sell him for Daniel?†came the chairmans question. “well†I reply stroking my chin “I’d like to make a bid of about 3 thousand pounds. He’s not really performing in the Premiership and a lot of right wingers are making him look a bit amateurish. He’s also quite naïve tactically, a bit stupid, ugly and dirty and he can’t head a ball. In fact, lets make a bid of 2 thousand.â€

The nodded calmly. I continued “I think he’d fit into our set up though, he might not get straight into our first team and would probably have to turn out for the reserves for a while – maybe a season or two. In fact, I’m not going to bother. He’s shi*t, he’s stupid and he wouldn’t get into our under 15’s team. Don’t you ever mention that fuc*ing wan*er’s name to me again.†And with that I stormed out of the chairmans office and slammed the door.

I went back to the training ground to be confronted with the rumour that Marlon King, David Johnson, Andy Impey and Mathieu Louis-Jean were involved in a “roasting†scandal of a local girl named Jenny Sharpe. “christ, this is all I need†I said to Paul Evans, my midfielder who broke the news to me. “how do you know this?†I ask him and he leads me over to the training pitch and points “over thereâ€. Jesus! They’re only bloody roasting the silly bitch in the middle of my training ground “OI! YOU FOUR. STOP DOING THAT GIRL RIGHT NOW†they looked up, realised they’d been caught right in it and ran away. For some reason Keiron Dyer was there with a camcorder. “fu*k off Dyer†I shouted, “go back to Newcastle, you dirtly little pervert.â€

I gave Miss Sharpe a 5 pound note and told her not to tell the press otherwise I’d blow up her dvd player. She looked terrified and scarpered. I shake my head and head back home. I’ve had enough of proffesional footballers to last me a lifetime.

It’s the day of the carling cup tie in Cheltenham and we take the coach. Their ground is a horrible little craphole in the middle of some wanky little ghetto. I name my eleven – Gerrad, Louis-Jean, Rogers, Tarka, Dawson, Reid, Bellion, Evans, Bopp, Baker, King, and give a long, inspirational team talk about silent farts that smell really bad: “listen boys, there are some evil things in this world – like AIDS, famine, war and of course, really minging silent farts. I want you to listen to this and listen good. I don’t want you to come back in this room if you underperform. In other words – don’t you dare play like a bunch of really silent, really smelly farts!!!!!†and off they went.

In the first half we were appalling, and went 1- 0 down when Paul Gerrard went up for a corner and forgot to come back down. I took him off at half time and brought on Barry Roche.

They all got a roasting at the interval. It was good to see King, Louis-Jean, Johnson and Impey get a taste of their own medicine. Keiron Dyer popped out of the shower room door and filmed it. After that had finished, I told them all that I expected a thousand more percent in the second half and slapped each one of them round the head as they left the changing room, a move I learned from some grumpy old scottish git whose name I can’t remember.

We were a different proposition in the second half, and scored three great goals in the first 20 minutes – a stunning Baker free kick (which he celebrated by removing his shirt to reveal a ‘lets kick racism out of football’ t-shirt, except he’d rather wittily altered it with a felt tip pen to read ‘let’s kick racish INTO football’.

The second goal was a header from a corner from Micheal Dawson and the third was a long range David Bellion strike which took a deflection off Grant Mcann, who is the only Cheltenham Town player I know.

And then the game finished. No Pitch invasions, or any controversy whatsover. A bit boring really wasn’t it? So what? I don’t care.

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<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>

“no, I can’t boss. I don’t agree with them. They come to our country... and they hate Countdown. I can’t stand for that. I just can’t.â€

I’ve got a complete psycho on my hands here <HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

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  • 2 weeks later...

The league cup win against Cheltenham had made sure we had continued our excellent unbeaten start to the season, but the dodgy pitch at Whaddon Road had left a couple of our lads with injuries. The next day at training, Eugen Bopp and his weasel were on one treatment table and our goal machine Marlon King was on the other. 'Whats the damage John?' I ask our senile old scottish physio John Harwood. 'ah, nothing lad' came the reply - 'just the bloody day staff standing around scratching their arses.......... and scratching their fannys'. I thought about this for a moment, before realising it made basically f*ck all sense and chose to ignore it. 'No John, whats the trouble with these lads' and pointed to King and Bopp. 'Ahh, I see laddie. Well this fella (king) has got a sprained football boot. It's quite serious actually. I might need to take it off. And this German chappie has a big red spot on his forehead'. Dammit, I thought. They were both definately out of the league game at the weekend against West Ham at Upton Park. 'Thanks John' I shout and turn to leave. "one more thing son" 'yes john' I reply. "It's this weasel, he's got a ruptured cruciate ligament and will be out for 6 months at least" I ponder in my head whether to bother explaining to John that the weasel isnt a Forest player, but I'm interrupted by Eugen Bopp's uncontrollable sobbing "oh mr Veasel, I'm so sorry. I should never have done zat sliding tackle on you. Please Forgive me? PLEASE" and with that, the weasel squeaked and Bopp and the weasel embraced and decided to put the past behind them and move on together.

I retire to my office and turn on the radio. It's the League cup third round draw today, and I was crossing my fingers in hope of getting a big name to really test ourselves against and perhaps give us a lift in our league campaign. Unfortunately, we are drawn against man united. "bolloc*s" I think to myself. "How am I going to get the lads motivated for that? I mean what am i supposed to say 'ooooh lads, we're all off to the theatre of dreams what an occasion!" I feel literally sick to my stomach. Drawn against man united! This is the worst thing that has ever happened to anybody ever in the history of the world. How are we supposed to even stay awake, when they're playing their ubelievably dull brand of 'football'. Can I even be bothered to sit through the 30 minutes of injury time if by some amazing fluke, we aren't hammering the talent-free work horses by full-time. Will I be able to keep a straight face when whichever referee Ferguson has picked for the game gives a tediously obvious incorrect penalty against us because Michael Dawson ran near Shrek or Donkey or whoever is playing up front for them. Maybe it'll be Alan Smith, with his shiny red Maybeline lips and his bleach blonde quiff. The little tart.

Anyway, I knock back a few whiskeys and put this disapointment to the back of my mind and prepare the lads for the game against West Ham. I gather them together in the tactics truck that I borrowed from Andy Townsend and sit them all down.

"Okay, West Ham at the weekend. We know they've got some good pace up front but I want you central midfield boys to watch Sheringham. Dont you leave him for the centre backs, because we all know how deep he plays. Any questions?" Gareth Taylor raises his hand. "yes Gaz?" I ask "can I go to the toilet please" the room erupts with sniggers. "oh for fu*ks sake Gaz. Couldnt you have gone before?" He sighs like a big girl and starts kicking the chair in front of him, which belongs to Eoin Jess. Eoin Jess puts his hand up. "yes Jessop" I say with a sigh "Taylors kicking my chair" he moans. "don't tell tales Eoin. Gareth, go to the toilet but be quick."

I start talking about Marlon Harewood and about how we know all about the bast*rd already when all of a sudden Baker bursts through the door dressed as Ginger Spice in a little Union Jack dress. He's singing the well known Spice Girls hit 'Wannabe'. He gets half way through it and does admirably well on some of the trickier dance moves before I turn off his cd player. "what d'you do that for boss?" he asks bewildered. "what the f*ck do you mean?" I scream at him. "First of all I'm trying to do a pre-match talk, which you should have been at. And secondly, why are you doing this? This is the second time in two weeks that you've worn womens clothing you stupid racist tw*t". Baker shook his head and laughed "it's for children in need! I'm raising money!".

"Oh really Ryan? How many people have sponsored you? .......... Yes thats right none. You just thought you'd dress up as that silly ginger bitch for a laugh didnt you? Well thats it, I've had enough of you being like this. You're going out on loan. Now go home, I'll give you a call later to tell you where you're going." Baker sulked out of the tactis truck and disappeared. I called an end to the discussion and fooked off home on my spaz chariot. I needed to do some serious thinking...........

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<BLOCKQUOTE class="ip-ubbcode-quote"><font size="-1">quote:</font><HR>Originally posted by A Right Bandit:

It's the League cup third round draw today, and... we are drawn against man united.

This is the worst thing that has ever happened to anybody ever in the history of the world...

Can I even be bothered to sit through the 30 minutes of injury time if by some amazing fluke, we aren't hammering the talent-free work horses by full-time...

Maybe it'll be Alan Smith, with his shiny red Maybeline lips and his bleach blonde quiff. The little tart...

<HR></BLOCKQUOTE>

can. hardly. breathe.

in tears here icon_biggrin.gif

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