Monday 5 July 2010

*World Cup - Argentina* Post Germany

Guittierez: Dey 23 of tha weerld cup. Argentina have just been beaten be Germany. Lion-ul and Maxi are in tha kitchen. They're talkin' aboot Diego's tactics.

*Messi is stirring a cup of tea Rodriguez has just made him whilst speaking candidly*

Messi: ...I mean to be honest I'm not the kind of guy to question my boss you know...

Rodriguez: Sure, Lionel, you're a good guy.

Messi: Yeah, thanks. I mean at Barcelona they never say "getting wasted makes you a better player". Tell the truth I was beginning to wonder if half the stuff we did at night over here is even leg.... Oh Heeeeey boss!

*Maradona enters and cuts Messi a disapproving glance*

Messi: uh ... I mean Diego.

*Maradona's furrows his eyebrows*

Messi: Uh ... Crazy Diego. We were just drinking tea ... You want some?

Maradona: Is it "crazy" tea?

Rodriguez: No .... Regular.

Maradona: No thanks.

.....

Guittierez: Sergio and Juan are in tha seating area.

.....

Agüero: Man ... I can't believe we were beat by Germany ... You know I woke up with an elephant in my room before the match this morning?

Verón: Big girl huh?

Agüero: No, elephant. Trunk, tusks, the works .... Know what the craziest thing was? .... It was an Indian elephant.

Verón: Yeah? How do you know?

Agüero: Smaller ears.

Verón: .... At least now we won't have to go for "nights out" with the boss anymore.

*Agüero rubs the back of his own neck*

Agüero: .... Yeah ....

.....

Guittierez: Carlos and Javier are in the garden. They're talkin' aboot politics.

.....

Tevez: **High wookie whine**

Mascherano: You're right Carlos, that would definitely have halted the global economic downturn, they should have listened to you in the first place.

.....

Guittierez: Diego has called everywun to tha' seating area.

Maradona: Alright Jonas enough following us around saying every little thing we do in your silly accent.

Guttierez: Sorry, Mr. Argentina.

Maradona: No ... It is I who is sorry ... I mean ruthlessly efficient, coldly calculating germans? Who saw that coming?

*The lads all look at each other*

Maradona: Well, no as a matter of fact ... Yes .... It's all your fault.

*Maradona sweeps a pointing finger across the whole team. They look angered*

Maradona: What? Don't look at me like that, with your sad, loser eyes.

Verón: Boss ...er .. I mean Crazy Diego, in fairness your pre-match tactic was making us take shots of tequila with our eyes and simply saying "score more goals than them!"

Maradona: ... and did you?

Verón: Obviously not ... I mean we got thrashed but ...

Maradona: Exactly Juan Sebastián! Exactly! I ask you to do one simple thing and you can't even get that right. You know I won the World Cup on my own!?

*The lads all roll their eyes as Maradona recounts his story .... again*

Maradona: .... I didn't even know what planet I was on, what World the cup belonged to. Look at you players nowadays, drinking tea and eating rice cakes!

Messi: I like tea! It's envigorating.

Rodriguez: Yes, and rice cakes are a light, high G.I snack boss, great for...

Maradona: Boss!? I am not your boss, you miserable lightweights.

Macherano: If you like cigar smoking, beer swilling, unprofessional louts maybe you should coach England!

Tevez: **High wookie growl**

Maradona: You too Carlos!? Your words, they cut like a knife! A knife! Fine then maybe I will go and coach England!

Macherano: Fine!

Maradona: Fine!

*Maradona angrily makes the sign of the cross and leaves the room ..... minutes later he pops head around the door*

Maradona: Leaving party anyone?

*Maradona shakes a bottle of Jack Daniels*

*World Cup - Argentina* Pre Germany

*We join the Argentine lads preparing for their match against Germany, they are all laughing*

Maradona: Do it again Jonas, again!

Guittierez: "Deeeey eyyt in tha big bruvar house"

*The dressing room erupts with laughter again*

Maradona: Ha ha ha! You sound just like Gazza Gascoine and the man who sings "Crocodile Shoes". Anyway lads we're about to get preperation under way.

*Maradona pulls the cork out of a large bottle of brandy.*

Messi: Boss, I'm not sure all this partying is helping our World Cup ambi....

Maradona: Quiet you! You can speak when you score a goal, like my lovely Carlos.

*Maradona tussles Tevez's hair, Tevez rubs his head against Maradona's shoulder like an affectionate great dane*

Tevez: **Low Wookie type growl**

Maradona: Yes and Carlos is right, don't call me "boss" call me "Crazy Diego" or "Mr.Argentina"

Messi: Sorry ... Mr. Argentina.

Maradona: I said no talking from you! You, you're like that english player who doesn't score the goals.

Rodriguez: Wayne Rooney boss?

*The Dressing Room erupts with laughter*

Maradona: No, no the one who has played some matches in THIS World Cup ... Emile Heskey.

*The Dressing Room erupts with laughter again, Messi frowns.*

Maradona: Ah, lighten up Messi, why can't you be "Easy" like that other Lionel, the one who sings "dancing on the ceiling"?

Messi: Lionel Richie?

Maradona: Yes, yes that's the one, sing it with me.....

*Maradona throws an arm around Messi swaying him side to side*

Maradona: Oh, what a feeling, when you're dancing on the ceiling.... Sing it Messi, sing it!

Messi: Oh, what a nice feeling it is when you dance ... I mean, that you are dancing on ....

Maradona: OK. OK shut up Messi! Your singing is as bad as your scoring here.

*The Dressing Room erupts with laughter again, Messi frowns once more.*

Maradona: You know I danced on the ceiling once? Crazy. Sing it Carlos!

*Tevez wookie growls a rough tune of "Dancing on the Ceiling"*

Maradona (now dancing): Now that's more like it!

*World Cup* - Post Germany

*We join the lads dejected after their 4-1 loss to Germany, Rooney enters with a large grin*

Rooney: Oh Yeah! Whooooo! Now it's just to see who we're playing, Argentina or Meh-hi-co!

*The lads are confused as Rooney puts a hand out for hi-fives from some squad members, some just look at him others apprehensively clap his hand*

Rooney: Yeah great match lads we stuffed them and .... I ... Lamps ... did you swap shirts?

Lampard: No.

*Rooney slowly looks down at his own shirt's colour.*

Rooney: Did I?

Lampard: No.

Rooney:......Crap!

Terry: What's with Jamo?

Upson: I dunno, he was doing that all match.

*David James is mouthing what appears to be instructions mixed with profanity at the three defenders*

Johnson: We can't hear you.

James: Oh, sorry, the Vuvuzelas must've messed up my hearing. Is this better?

Johnson, Terry & Upson: Yeah.

James: You're $%^*in' useless, you bunch of £$%&in' $%&s!!

*Johnson, Terry & Upson lower their heads*

James: You're alright Ashley .... For a &%$£

A.Cole: Cheers.

Capello: eh, eh eeeeh! What I tell you at half time?! We need goals!

A.Cole: Well I did my best boss I think that ...

Capello: No, no, no. Goals! Goals!

J.Cole: You didn't even bring me on at half time, I mean admittedly I was poor, but....

Capello: No. Goals!

Gerrard: Scholes didn't come with squad though boss?

Capello: Gooooals! Anyway it is too late now. England team you were terrific!

Barry: Really boss? Thanks, I mean we lost and all but it's nice to know we have your support...

*Capello pulls a confused face*

Capello: no, no no. Wait a moment.

*Capello thumbs through his English-Italian dictionary and nods*

Capello: Not terrific, Terrible! Wayne why you no score goals and win for England?

Rooney: I do more than score goals boss, I bring other players into the game and ...

Heskey: Hey!

Saturday 26 June 2010

*World Cup* - Pre Germany

*We join the lads preparing for their World Cup clash against Germany*

Pearce: Hi lads, Fabio's going to sit this one out. As it's England v Germany he's going to see who's winning then side with them.

*The lads look at each other worriedly*

Pearce: But not to worry, I've got a special treat in store. A man who knows all about playing Germany at the World Cup, a good friend of mine .... John Barnes!! John Barnes everybody!

*Barnes enters to applause from the players, he's wearing his Italia '90 England shirt, it no longer fits*

Barnes: Thankyou, thankyou.

Heskey: Wow John Barnes, your my hero ... I modeled my career on yours.

Barnes: But ..... Iusedtoscoregoals.

*Some of the players laugh, others just look confused*

Pearce: erm ... John you're going to have to slow it down a little.

Barnes: Oh ... OK.

Heskey: I thought you didn't play against Germany in Italia 90, weren't you injured against Belgium?

Barnes: Sssshhh I need the money. I'm between jobs. Anyway, thinking about this match and all of you I wrote down a few words of encouragement.

*Barnes unfolds a piece of paper, the players lean in intently.*

Barnes: Gareth, you're our holding midfielder right?

Barry: Yeah?

Barnes: OK, note this down.

*Barry takes up a notepad and pen*

Barnes: You've got to hold and give, but do it at the right time.

*Barry nods, Pearce raises an eyebrow*

Barry: .... Right .... Time. Got it.

Barnes: James, Stevie .... You can be slow or fast, but you must get to the line.

Milner: Mix up the pace, right.

Gerrard: By-line crosses, gotcha.

Barnes: They'll always hit you and hurt you.

Heskey: Amen to that!

Barnes: Glen, Defend and attack.

Johnson: Defend? Why didn't I think of that! Thanks John.

Barnes: Wayne, Jermaine there's only one way to beat them, get 'round the back.

Rooney: That's it! That's what my game's been missing! I knew I'd forgot something.

Barnes: Now catch me if...

Pearce: Let me just stop you there John. You're just reciting your rap from "World in Motion"!

Barnes: Yeah... Well...

Pearce: We need the benefit of your experience not 90s song lyrics! I could've just sang Livin' on a flippin' Prayer!

Barnes: You don't know the words to Livin' on a Prayer Stuart, you just know the first 7 words! And it was released in '86, so technically...

Pearce: What!? No I don't "Tommy used to work on the docks ...."

*Pearce tails off mumbling*

Pearce: .... Well that's besides the point! Give these players some words from the heart!

Barnes: OK ... OK. Listen up lads. After 90 minutes of sheer hell, you're gonna get thirsty....

Pearce: Get out.

Barnes: Am I still gonna get my cheque? I'm struggling to make ends meet here...

Pearce: Out!

*World Cup* - Post Slovenia

*We join the lads celebrating their 1-0 victory over Slovenia and progressing into the final 16, Defoe enters*

All the lads: Whoooo!!! Yeah!!! Jermaine!!! What a finish!

Defoe: It's what I'm all about guys.

*Heskey is sat with his arms folded and frowning*

Heskey: I would've put that away.

*The dressing room erupts with laughter*

Heskey: What? I would have!

*The dressing room erupts with laughter again*

Heskey: I can score goals!

*The dressing room erupts with laughter once more*

Heskey: I can! I just prefer to make the other players on my team shine.

Gerrard: Whatever Emile, everyone knows you couldn't hit a cow's backside with a banjo.

Heskey: How many times do I have to tell everyone, it was the quickest cow in the field and my hands were wet, I didn't have a proper grip on the ....

*Terry enters*

All the lads: John!! What a lion!

Terry: Thanks guys.

Pearce: You were great John, slide tackling with your head? Inspired. I have to say you were playing out there like your life depended on it.

*Terry casts a fearful glance over to Capello who is making a slow "cut throat" gesture at him.*

Terry: Yeah .... English pride and all that....

*The lads follow Terry's gaze to Capello who has quickly changed his face to an uncomfortable, wide, teeth-baring smile*

Pearce: Brilliant stuff eh Mr.Capello? Any words for the lads?

Capello: ATTACK, ATTACCO!!! PUSH UP!!!! PRONTO!!! PRONTO!!!!!

*Capello is gesturing wildly*

Pearce: ....Erm.... Boss the match is finished.

Capello: MAN ON!!!!! MOVE, MOVE, MOSSA, VELOCE!!!

*Capello is making a pushing motion with both hands*

Pearce: .... Um ... Yeah ... He said "Great work guys".

Capello: ATTACCO!!!

*World Cup* - Pre Slovenia

*We join the team gearing up for their match against Slovenia, Rooney and Gerrard are hiding behind their chairs*

Pearce: Steve, Wayne what're you doing!? We've got a big match coming up!

Rooney: Stevie says they're vampires boss!

*Gerrard nods*

Pearce: Vamp.... That's Transylvania.

Rooney: Oh.

*Rooney and Gerrard hesitantly take their seats like everyone else*

Gerrard: So are Transylvania in the World Cup?

Pearce: Of course not, how could they possibly play a match in the daytime?

*The players look at each other with reassured nods*

Pearce: Anyway.... We all know the negatives of the last match by now. You were rubbish. We have to focus on the positives.

Heskey: What are they boss?

Pearce: Jamie's suspended.

Carragher: Eh? Eh, Eh.

Pearce: Translation?

Heskey: He said he takes offence boss and is clearly the superior, defensively aware and altogether best centre back in the squad.

*the dressing room erupts with laughter*

Pearce (wiping a tear from his eye): Ah, the scouse wit.

Caragher: Eh! Eh!

Heskey: Two words. Michael Dawson.

*The laughter falls silent and the England players pull worried faces.*

Dawson: Hey!

Pearce: Enough of this anyway. All I know of Slovenia is that they drew with USA which means they're awful.

*The lads look around at each other.*

Pearce: and also .... Has anyone seen Joe Cole?

*Joe Cole slides down outside the window, squeegee and bucket in hand*

J.Cole: Clean windows for a hundred grand?!

Pearce: A hund ... Joe just get in here!

J.Cole: but I have to make a livin'!

*Terry enters, he is limping and covered in bruises and swelling.*

Lampard: Jesus ... John what happened, I thought you were going for showdown talks with the boss....

Terry: Yeah .... I ... er .... fell on the stairs at the hotel.

Lampard: Stairs, what stairs? We're in a bungalow apartment.

Terry: Yeah, sorry I mean I walked into one of our doors.

Lampard: But it's open plan.

Terry: I was in a car accident.

Lampard: But the boss doesn't let us ride in cars, he said they're for "show offs and prima donnas with no legs and ...."

Terry: Look, just leave it out will you.

*Capello enters in fedora and pinstripe suit, he's cracking his knuckles*

Capello: Youse not still talkin' with that big talkin' mouth o' yours are you Terry?

*Terry bows his head and cowers into the corner*

Terry: No boss, I mean sir ... Sir boss.

Capello: Mr.Terry and I, we have had a how you say "clear the air" discussion. We have decided that everything will be controlled by me and you will all shut your mouths and do as your told. Isn't that right John?

Terry: Yes boss .... Sir ... Mr.Capello boss sir.

*There is a knock at the door, it's Slovenia's head coach Matjaž Kek he's wearing full Dracula get up*

Kek: Good ev-en-ing, I vanted to say may the best men vin! Muhuhuhahahahahah!

*The lads look at each other with concern and Kek throws his cape around his mouth and runs off ....... before returning a few moments later with a confused expression in the doorway*

Kek: Could anyvone kindly direct me to the Slovenia dressing room?

*World Cup* - Post Algeria

*we join the lads with their heads hung after their disappointing goaless draw with Algeria, except for Rooney and Heskey who are sporting tired but wide grins. Capello enters*

Heskey & Rooney: Happy birthday Mr.Capello!!

*They step forward with an obviously homemade, eyesore of a cake*

Capello: Happy bir......!?!

*Capello launches the cake at the wall, it splats and slides halfway down*

Rooney: We spent all night baking that!? We were shattered ....

*Capello springs into a long-lasting, yelling rant. Lampard leans and whispers to Gerrard*

Lampard: I think he's run out of Italian swear words, he's on to just brand names now.

Capello: Peroni!? Bontempi!? Maserati!? Kappa!? ..... Intruder!!!

Gerrard: What's "intruder" make?

*Capello is pointing, visibly shaken*

Capello: No, no intruder, call the security!

*The players all turn to the trespasser, stunned*

Dawson: Who ... Me? It's me, Michael Dawson. Y'know "Daws"

All the Lads: Security! Security!

Dawson: C'mon, Aaron, Ledley Help me out!

*Lennon continues running aimlessly around the dressing room as he has since arriving in South Africa, King shrugs and continues sifting through his suitcase trying to find his favourite detachable leg. Security arrive*

Head Security Guard: You have a problem ... Oh I see, this man with no discernable footballing talent, he has intruded?

*The guard is sneering at Dawson*

Dawson: What!? I'm Michael Dawson.

Head Security Guard: I know who you are. Take him away.

*Dawson is bundled out by security, the lads cheer. Capello's anger returns.*

Capello: Now players what was it I say we need to win these matches!?

*The players look down at the ground in silence like embarrassed school children*

Rooney: ..... Cake?

*Capello puts his face into his hand and mutters under his breath then returns composed*

Capello: Cake!? ......Mio Dio .... Goal! I say "GOAL"!

*Half of the lads in the dressing room peel away in celebration. Crouch is doing the robot, Gerrard has slid on his knees, Rooney has cartwheeled, Heskey is stood with a confused look on his face whilst scratching his head*

Capello: Fiat!

*World Cup* - Pre Algeria

*We join the lads preparing for their match against Algeria, Fabio Capello is seated facing away from the lads drinking lemon and honey tea*

Pearce: Alright lads, the boss is saving his voice for yelling at you from the touchline. He wants me and Becks to get you ready for the match. Becks?

Beckham: Yeah ... We have to be preperationed lads, to be honest I don't know much about Aljazeera.

*The lads look at each other puzzled*

Beckham: I watched some of their videos on the Youtube and can tell you you're in for a tough time. Anyway I've made some tactics for the match.

*The lads look at each other impressed and lean in expectedly as Beckham produces flashcards*

Beckham: Rob, I know how it feels to make a mistake and be villified by the nation.

*Green Nods*

Beckham: The answer's to change your image..... Mohawk.

*Beckham holds up a flashcard with a mocked up image of Rob Green with a mohawk, Pearce raises an eyebrow*

Beckham: Ashley, you're a great defender but you're a bit small and no-one likes you, we're going to make you meaner AND more popular... With a Mr.T cut.

*Beckham holds up a picture of Mr.T with Ashley Cole's face super-imposed on it*

A.Cole: I pity tha foo'!

*The dressing room erupts with laughter except Pearce who's face is reddening with each card as Beckham goes on*

Beckham: Lamps... Dreadlocks.

Lampard: Yeah mon!

Beckham: Stevie, Valderrama Afro...

*Pearce explodes with rage grabbing the cards and tearing them up*

Pearce: Enough! This a World Cup dressing room not some reality make-over show!

Beckham: But I've not even announced my kit variations yet....

*Beckham gestures to the "kits" hanging from each player's peg .... a pair of designer sunglasses and a pair of tiny white briefs.*

Pearce: Out.

Beckham: But it's hot out there.

Pearce: Out!

*Pearce is marshalling Beckham out of the room.*

Beckham: and sunny....

*Pearce slams the door behind Beckham, he can still be heard behind the door*

Beckham: Think of the publicity!

Pearce (dusting his hands together): Right, back to football. Is James any better?

*A number of the lads run fleeing from the showers followed by a soaking wet, fully clothed Milner making a stabbing motion with each note he makes*

Milner: Ree! Ree! Ree! Ree! Ree! Ree! Ree! Ree!

Pearce: Who's let him at the metal cutlery again!? Anyway, he looks fine to play.

*Pearce ticks his clipboard, the lads look at each other with worry*

Pearce: Lads, I'm going to give you the talk I used to give my Under-21s. They're going to want to break your legs out there. Break theirs first. Emile, James I'm counting on you.

*World Cup* - Post U.S.A

*We join the England lads muted after their 1-1 draw with the USA*

Capello: Come now fellas, things are not so bad, it's a nice place.....

Pearce: Er .... Boss, we have a problem.

Capello: Eh?

Pearce: Well .... It appears some of the US players made Emile angry ... and ... Well...

*Pearce raises his phone to show Capello video footage.*

................

Heskey: HESKEY SMASH!

*A car is flipped wildly in the air by Heskey, stewards armed with corner flags and vuvuzelas are trying to pen him in*

Steward 1: We're not getting paid enough for this.

Steward 2: Yes, and I have to play for Algeria on Friday.

Steward 3: How many people will this creature injure!?

*A steward runs at Heskey with a vuvezela, Heskey promptly shoves it where the sun doesn't shine, the english contingent watching cheer*

.................


Pearce: The cover story is a steward pay protest broken up by riot police. I mean you add that to our James Milner problem...

*Pearce points to Milner who is strapped to a trolley in a straight jacket wearing a facemask.*

Lennon: Is he ... OK?

*Lennon leans in to Milner who snaps biting behind the mask, Lennon pulls away*

Pearce: He'll be fine he's just got a bit of the ol' "World Cup Psychosis" happens to the best of us, all he need is to pick up a gaping head wound and miss a penalty and he'll be fine. And then of course Ledley King.

King: Oh don't worry about me, I'm fine.

Pearce: Ledley .... I don't think you'll play any further part in our World Cup.

King: What?! It's a flesh wound!

*The lads all look with concern at King*

Pearce: Ledley, they took your leg, I don't think....

King: I'll be fine, I've played with worse. Watch.

*King eyes a ball in the dressing room, staring at it intently he rises from his chair to his foot promptly collapsing like a cut tree onto his face, the gust of air created by his body hitting the ground causes the ball to wobble slightly*

King (muffled by the floor): See, good as new.

Pearce: O.....K. The last thing on my report boss is *Pearce drops to a whisper* Robert Green, perhaps you want to give him a word of encouragement?

Capello: Yes, yes of course. The man management she is my speciality yes? Robert?

*Green looks hopefully at Capello*

Green: Yes boss.

Capello: Robert I give you wisdom, at home in Italy the goalkeepers, they catch the ball when it's kicked at them, is best wat to stop it going in.

*Green nods whilst scribbling down on his notepad*

Green: ....Ball.. CATCH.... Gotcha, thanks boss.

Capello: Is no problem.

*World Cup* - Pre U.S.A

*We join the England Lads gearing up for their clash against USA, Rooney arrives last, he unzips his jacket.*

Motson: Roooooooneeeey!!!!

*The lads look around wondering where John Motson's voice came from*

Lampard: Why does Motson scream your name whenever you do anything?

Rooney: Who? John Motson? No he doesn't.

*Rooney scratches his head*

Motson: Roooooooneeeey!!!!

*Lampard raises an eyebrow at Rooney whilst everyone else again looks for the source of Motson's voice*

Capello: Ah The Wayne Rooney! Look ev'rybody the Wayne Rooney she is here!

*The lads roll their eyes*

Capello: Now all the papers they say "Wayne Rooney will win the cup on his own" and "the team she is useless without Rooney". This is true. Because the rest of you are how you say .... Rubbish.

Defoe: Hey I'm not Rub...

Capello: You shutta ya face Darren.

Defoe: Darren? I'm ....

*Capello throws a chalkboard eraser at Defoe*

Capello: I say shutta ya face! You learn be good player like Rooney and maybe, maybe I learn your name!

*Defoe is rubbing his head*

Defoe: There's not even a blackboard in here!

Rooney: Thanks boss, I've been constantly working on improving all my areas of play.

Sea Captain: Arrrrr Matey!

Crouch: Why do you have a sea captain with you?

Rooney: Who? Captain Englbeard?

Capt. Englbeard: Avast me Hearty!

Crouch: I ... er ... Guess so.

Rooney: The news said I need to work on my anchor, so ...

*Capello interrupts, pointing*

Capello: Now you, Michael Dawson, you will start on the left wing.

Gerrard: I'm Stevie. Stevie G.

Capello: Well now you Michael Dawson.

Dawson: So who am I boss?

Capello: I don't know. Who are you? and why are you here?

*The dressing room erupts with laughter.*

Dawson: Oh come on, Ledley help me out here.

*King shrugs his shoulders still chuckling in his wheelchair whilst screwing on his wooden leg.*

Capello: Joey!? Joey? Where is Joey?

J.Cole: Here boss.

*Joe Cole is covered in shoe polish, he has his hand out to a suited Ferdinand who is admiring his newly shined shoes*

J.Cole: that'll be ... 110 grand.

*Ferdinand spits out his coffee*

J.Cole: What? I gotta make a livin'.

Pearce: I can't stand the yanks, bunch of show offs, If I was playing I'd .....

Capello: Stuart, Stuart calm down, the Americans they are not so bad.

*There is a knock at the door, Cappello gestures for Stuart Pearce to answer it, it's a number of the USA team, Tim Howard is wearing Friedel's "Uncle Sam" boxing shorts and top hat they are all singing James Brown's "Living in America"*

Howard: Y'know what Mean Jean!? When I get my hands on you at Wrestlemania I'm gonna...

Pearce: Let me stop you there... Firstly ....

*Clint Dempsey interrupts striding in wearing a tracksuit and breakdancing in the middle of the Dressing Room*

USA Team: Go Dempsey, Go Dempsey, Go Dempsey!

Heskey: Go Dempsey!

Pearce: Emile!

*Heskey hangs his head*

Heskey: Sorry boss.

*Dempsey finishes and points at the England team as he backs out of the room*

Donavan: Ooooh! You've been served!

USA Team: USA! USA! USA! USA!

*Red, white and blue fireworks erupt and a marching band strike up "star spangled banner"*

USA Team: Whoooooooooooooooo!

*Pearce herds them out and slams the door*

Pearce: Typical yanks.

Motson: Roooooooneeeey!!!!

*The toilet flushes, Rooney emerges from the bathroom*

Robbie Keane Day

*We join the lads in the Dressing Room at a loss as to why MON has called them all to gather there, MON enters carrying a large box.*

MON: Hey lads! Thanks for coming.

*Delfouneso yawns and stretches*

MON: Heavens above Nathan have you just got up!? It's 3 in the afternoon!

Delfouneso: Yeah boss, I was up all night playing COD with Marc.

*Albrighton is rubbing his bleary eyes whilst nodding in agreement*

MON: You were playing .... You .... You didn't kill anyone did you?

Delfouneso: Yeah loads.

*Albrighton and Delfouneso Hi-five each other as MON's face drains of all colour and he looks on horrified*

MON: Nathan, Marc, you can't .... You can't just kill people, I know you're young and you earn fortunes but you can't play God!

Delfouneso: COD boss COD.

MON: Cod!? What is this more of your street slang? Is this the mark of death!?

Young: Boss ... Why are we here?

MON: Oh Yes ...

*MON smiles widely again*

MON: It's Robbie Keane Day everyone!

Gabby: Yay!

Beye: Robbie Keane Day? What is this "Robbie Keane Day"?

MON: Who are you!?

Beye: Habib Beye ... Right back? ...

*MON looks non the wiser*

Beye: You bought me in the middle of the last transfer window?

MON: Right Back? In the MIDDLE of the window? That doesn't sound like me ..... But as it's a celebration I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.

Warnock: So? .... Robbie Keane Day?

Gabby: Yay!

MON: Yes, every year Aston Villa are linked with Robbie Keane, we celebrate this day as Robbie Keane Day ....here.

*MON opens the box, there is a paper Robbie Keane Mask for each player*

Gabby: Yeah, it dates back to when William McGregor set up the football league and first tried to get Robbie Keane for Villa.

Young: But Robbie Keane wasn't born, that was 100 years ago.

Gabby: Yeah, that was the stumbling block for those first few seasons.

*MON holds up a copy of "Ye Olde Daily Mail" A.Young reads the sports headlines*

Young: "Aston Villa name unborn striker messiah"? Boss most of this seems to be the inane ramblings of a mad man.

MON: Yes, not much has changed.

*MON hands a copy of a modern Daily Mail linking Robbie Keane to Villa*

Young: Oh yeah.

*Downing is wearing his Robbie Keane mask*

Downing: Hey mon, I is Robbie Keane, I tink I'm gonna score some goals mon.

*The lads look disturbed by Downing*

Dunne(through his Robbie Keane mask): Stewart, Robbie Keane's Irish.

Downing: Me know mon.

A.Young(through his Robbie Keane mask): Then why the cringeworthy jamaican accent?

Downing: Wha? Dis is Irish mon.

Gabby(through his Robbie Keane mask): You're ruining Robbie Keane Day!

Downing: Chill out mon, relax, everyting is Irie.

*Gabby tears off Downing's mask*

Downing: Aww man.

*Delfouneso whispers to Albrighton*

Delfouneso(through his Robbie Keane mask): I say we kill Stewart. Tonight.

*Heskey bursts through the door, he's wearing a mask*

Heskey: Hey everyone! Sorry I'm late, look I made a mask! Happy Robbie Earle day! I've got a "Crazy Gang" dance and every....

*Heskey looks around to see all the "Robbie Keanes" staring at him*

Heskey: Dang!

*Heskey hangs his smiling Robbie Earle masked head and leaves the dressing room*

The Riddler

*We join MON arriving at a press conference surrounding his meeting with Randy Lerner and his future plans*

MON: Hello everyone, hello!

*MON takes his seat he pulls a green bowler hat covered in black question marks from under the desk and puts it on*

MON: Questions anyone?

*a Sun journo lifts his hands*

Sun Journo: Awight Martee, me auld china, lavley jabbly.....

MON: Are you quite finished establishing yourself as a burly, everyman cockney.

Sun Journo: Yes. So are you going to leave or what?

MON: Well..

*The journos all lean in tentatively, pens at the ready*

MON: At this stage, you never know. I may, I probably won't, I mean I don't want to, but you never can tell.

*The journos look at each other confused, one of them reads back what he's jotted down and throws himself out the nearest window in despair.*

MON: Well, that's one down. Question I mean not journalist.

*The press conference erupts with laughter the SKY Sports journo stands*

SKY Sports Journo: Hi Martin, SKY Sports here, I'd just like to ask you a .....

*The SKY Sports Journo completely changes his voice as he raises a placard from his chair*

SKY Sports Journo: For a smoother, closer shave it has to be Gilette. Gilette,the best a man can get!

*The SKY Sports journo shakes his head and returns to his original voice the others are looking at him with bewilderment*

SKY Sports Journo: So anyway Martin are you going to Liverpool?

MON: I don't really see why I'd go to Liverpool I mean I like the Beatles as much as the next man but honestly the shopping's as good here in Birmingham and the car parks are for more secure.

SKY Sports Journo: No I mean to manage.

MON: Oh, yes I see why you might ask that question, they need a manager who could improve them and well I could get them 6th place.

*The press conference erupts with laughter*

MON: Seriously though Liverpool is a big club and a challenge, though Aston Villa is also a big club and also a challenge.

SKY Sports Journo: So are you ....

MON: Am I going to Liverpool? I suppose there are bigger questions. If a tree falls in the forest and no-one's around does it make a sound?

SKY Sports Journo: Yes. Obviously.

MON: It's a rhetorical question, one that has plagued man for ....

SKY Sports Journo: My question wasn't rhetorical though Martin are you just stalling until I have to go into another ......

*The SKY Sports Journo completely changes his voice as he raises a placard again*

SKY Sports Journo: Renault Clio? Ford Focus? For the love of God man buy one and tell them SKY sent you or Rupert Murdoch said he's going to come around my house and....

MON: Next question?

Times Journo: Hello, The Times here. I am considerably more high brow and self important than the other "journalists" here.

Sun Journo: Hey!

Times Journo: Pipe down you oik! Anyway Martin whatever your answer to my question I probably will have a far superior answer myself, that said I shan't bother asking you a question. Good day sir.

*The Times Journalist stands and leaves.*

MON: Excellent, so that's your lot. Thanks for coming.

*The journos groan and grumble as they file out of the conference*

MON: John did I make any sense at all?

Robertson: No boss.

MON: Fantastic.

Match 38: Post Blackburn

*We join the lads upset with the loss but over all satisfied with the league's end*

MON: Well lads, we lost to Blackburn again. On the plus side though Sam Allardyce's men didn't kill any of us.

L.Young: What about Steve boss?

*Luke Young points to the coffin rested on three dressing room chairs.*

MON: Oh.... Yes .... Stephen is a sorry loss, his father Neil will be here to pick up his remains.

*MON places a lily on the coffin, a muffled voice chimes from inside it*

Warnock: I'm not dead and Neil's not my dad!

L.Young: Hang on boss, I can hear his voice!

MON: We all can Luke, we all can. He was a great man....

Downing: Noor man, he's alive ... In the coffin like.

MON: Lads, lads lets not get delirious with grief, Robbo take Stephen to his resting place.

*Robertson wheels out a trolley.*

Warnock: No! Wait! This is just the bosses ploy to do his yearly full-back replacement! Let me out!

*MON 'shoos' Robertson to move with more urgency whilst the padlock on it's side jumps each time the lid is banged from the inside.*

Warnock: I'm alive! Aliiii.......

*The door closes behind Robertson as he exits with Warnock*

A.Young: So boss everybody's asking ..... What're you going to do now?

MON: You're right, everybody is asking and all this talk of my 'uncertain future' forced me to search out Glenn Hoddle's psychic.

A.Young: Oh yeah? What did she say?

MON: Not much more than 'don't go to the paralympics'

A.Young: Oh .... Right. Any idea if you're going to be selling anyone over the summer.

MON: Not the foggiest Ashley.

NRC: Boss I can see that you're pointing at your palm in my direction.

MON: What Nigel? I did nothing of the sort.

NRC: You're still doing it! Now you're nodding, winking and appear to be mouthing the words 'Nigel Reo-Coker'

MON: Nigel I'm offended! I would never make my business so commonplace.

Carew: And what about this '20 a season' striker all the fans are calling for?

MON: Not to worry John. That striker is already with us and next season he'll be the '20 a season' man.

Carew: I think it's a little unfair to heap so much pressure on Nathan boss, he is still just a kid and...

MON: Who said anything about Nathan?

*MON tosses Heskey an object, he instinctively catches it and peers down into his hand*

Heskey: Benson & Hedges?

MON: Yes. Twenty.

Heskey: But boss .... I don't smoke and I don't think...

MON: Emile is there anything you do do? No Goal chair!

Heskey: But.

MON: Now!

*Curtis Davies and Bouma chuckle*

MON: Who on Earth are you!? Security! Security!

Match 38: Blackburn Rovers

*We join the lads gearing up for the clash against Blackburn, MON is sporting a wide grin*

A.Young: Why so happy boss?

MON: Because Ashley, a certain player who isn't with us anymore doesn't look like he'll be playing Champion's League next season after all.

Carew: .... Who's not with us any more?

MON: Gareth Barry of course.

Gabby: Gareth's dead!?

MON: What? No of course he's not dead, am I wearing a party hat?

A.Young: Isn't that a bit bitter boss?

MON: Bitter!? In the bible did Judas Ischariot play Champion's League after betraying Jesus?

*The lads shrug at the rhetorical question except Gabby who is pondering an answer*

Gabby: ..... Yes?......

MON: No Gabriel.

Gabby: No?.... Wasn't he the little bloke with the good dribble and the 'hand of God'

MON: That's Maradonna Gabriel and it was the in the World Cup.

Gabby: Was that before she was a singer then boss?

MON: Singer? What are you....?

Gabby: She had 'Unbelivable Tekkers'

MON: Gabriel how many times have I said not to say that silly slogan with that silly voice?

Carew: What slogan boss?

MON: 'Unbelievable Tekkers'

*the dressing room erupts with laughter*

Carew: No one does the voice as good as you boss!

MON: Enough of this foolishness anyway. It's been an eventful season lads ... and ....

*MON is welling up with tears, he sniffs*

MON: and .... Well against a team managed by Sam Allardyce I can imagine some of you won't be making it back.

*The team look at each other in shock*

MON: I mean last time we played Blackburn ..... Well.... Nigel met his end.

NRC: Hey! I'm not dead.

MON: You are to me!

*The dressing room erupts with laughter*

MON: Honestly Nigel you can't just agree with me can you? Always have to put your two penneth in. James ... James, you seem a little distracted today?

*Milner is polishing his young player of the year award, he looks up from the Brasso and rag*

Milner: Aye sorry boss, just admirin' me Young Player of tha Year award like.

Carew: Ah, I won that once, it was the proudest moment of my life.

*A sceptical Ashley Young checks Wikipedia on his trusty ever-present laptop*

A.Young: It doesn't say anything here about you wining young player of the year John?

Carew: Oh I thought you said 'Hung Playa of the Year'

*Ashley checks the laptop again*

A.Young: Oh yeah.

Match 37: Post Man. City

*We join the lads pondering their loss to Man City and missing out on Champion's League*

MON: Lads I'm not going to lie, you've let me down, I mean missing out on Champion's League? Who am I? Rafa Benitez?

*the dressing room erupts with laughter except for Warnock who has his head bowed*

MON: Oh Steve, don't be so hard on yourself, it's not so bad.

Warnock: Really boss?

*Warnock smiles as tears and snot run toward his grin.*

MON: No! Hoist it aloft boys!

*The lads pull ropes and a large crucifix is erected, Warnock looks at it wide-eyed with terror.*

MON: Playing a left back at left back ... What was I thinking? See if that happens again!

Heskey: I'm just glad there's not a 'no goal' crucifix.

*MON rubs his chin*

MON: Hmmmmm....

........

Later on a hill near Bodymoor Heath....

......

Heskey: .... So I said I've got it Wayne, I'll pass it to you and YOU score. I mean of course once I'd taught him to score he couldn't stop and.....

Warnock: Emile you've been telling your rubbish England story lies for 9 hours solid now as if us hanging from crosses whilst birds peck at and defacate on us isn't punishment enough!

NRC: I don't even know why they hung me up here! Man, talk about 'don't cross the boss'.

*NRC chuckles to himself*

NRC: Get it? 'Cross'

*Heskey and Warnock look across at NRC with narrowed eyes*

NRC: Geez guys, lets not be negative. Some things in life are bad, They can really make you mad.

*Delph wheels up the hill*

Delph: #Petrov told me our hotel was cursed.#

*Cuellar appears a flank of meat in hand*

Cuellar: #When you're chewin' trotter gristle.#

Heskey: #and past the post your shots all whistle.#

*The lads all emerge including MON, joining hands around the crucified three swaying and singing.*

All the Lads: Just remember Villa are the beeeeest and always look on the bright side of life........

Match 37: Manchester City

*We join the lads preparing for their clash against Man City. MON is visibly confident*

MON: Chins up lads, we can win this one with ease, They're playing a keeper from the Faroe Islands, as far as I know all that lives there are sheep. They don't even have poseable thumbs! On top of that my scouts have reliably informed me that no-one outside of the british isles can even play football to a worthwhile level.

Delfouneso: What about Messi?

MON: Messy? What is this some of your 'jive', street lingo Nathan?

Delfouneso: What? No boss he's a ...

MON: I'll have none of your hippity hop nonsense in here young man. And...

A.Young: Actually boss the people of the Faroe Islands are considered under the Kindom of Denmark and...

MON: Denmark!? Pah! Who's ever won anything with a danish keeper?

Milner: Besides boss, they've made an emergency loan like.

MON: Emergency loan!? Even better!

*MON is ecstatic jumping on the spot. The lads are confused. MON addresses their confusion*

MON: Two words. Gabor. Kiraly.

*The lads all gasp with horror*

Gabby: I still have jogging trouser nightmares.

*Petrov has fallen to his knees the palms of his hands pressed firmly on his temples, eyes crushed closed*

Petrov: The sweat pants! .... The sweat pants!

MON: Yes! It'll cause uncertainty and no doubt terrible 'keeping. Who is the unlucky player?

Milner: Marton Fulop.

MON: Martin Fuller?

NRC: Fulop boss Fulop.

MON: Full of it am I Nigel!? See if you play again!?!

NRC: What!? ...I didn't..... I mean .. I said.

MON: Not the smart mouth now are you!? Anyway, enough of how we are going to easily defeat Man City. It's time for me to announce the squad.

*MON gestures to some closed claret and blue curtains aside a golden rope*

MON: Now I'm going to let the fringe players have a go as promised.

*The likes of Sidwell, Beye and Ciaran Clark look at each other wide-eyed with excitement*

MON: Robbo!

Robertson: Dah da-da-da-da daaaaaaah!

*MON pulls the golden rope to John Robertson's 'fanfare' the curtains open and the lads lean in to see the team*

Sidwell: Hey! This side is unchanged from the last two games.

MON: Oh but is it Steve?

Sidwell: Yes.

MON: ... Oh but is it!?

Sidwell: YES!

MON: OK ... It is.

Beye: But boss you said the fringe players would....

MON: That I did Habib my good man. First team, under your chairs you will find combs with which you can comb yourself forward a fringe.

*The first team do as such combing their hair forward as requested, Collins, Gabby and Friedel in particular look upset.*

MON: Not to worry lads, for you I have these.

*MON produces a number of wigs.*

MON: Here you go.

*MON hands Friedel a 'dreadlock' wig, Gabby the wig of a '60's news anchorman' and Collins a 'lustrous long curly blonde' wig, he hands thebox to the rest of the short haired players, Cuellar is still struggling to comb a fringe into his hair with Petrov helping*

Cuellar: I cannae do it cap'ain I doon't have the appropriate comb!

*Clark jumps to his feet with an expression of invention*

Clarke: Hey I have a fringe does that mean I can...

MON: Robbo!

*Robertson appears beside Clark deftly snipping off his fringe with barber's scissors.*

Clarke: My fringe!

Sidwell: This is nonsense! You said fringe players anyway not 'fringed'

MON: Yes, but that wouldn't have really worked for the joke would it.

*The first team laugh whilst the fringe players scowl. Brad Friedel produces a guitar and begins singing 'Buffalo Soldier' the lads all unite and sing along*

Match 36: Post Birmingham City

*We join the lads celebrating their victory over Birmingham City*

MON: Well another well deserved victory lads!

*The dressing room erupts with laughter*

MON: I tell you if City weren't even going to try I don't know why they bothered turning up.

*The dressing room erupts with laughter again*

MON: I'm on a roll, how about this one? ... Gabriel Agbonlahor walks into a bar..... Penalty.

*The dressing room roars with laughter, Gabby steps forward grinning*

Gabby: Pint please.

*The lads all laugh again, Gabby looks confused maintaining a polite, waiting smile*

Gabby: ..... Oooh yeah the boss is here, half a shandy please?

*The lads have all fallen silent and are staring at Gabby*

MON: Gabriel ... You're not actually in a bar....

*Gabby hasn't heard, he's disco dancing in the silence*

MON: Gabriel!

Gabby: Yes boss? Bit of a sausage fest in here isn't it?

MON: You're not in a bar.

Gabby: But you just said.

MON: It was a joke. Now Brad, excellent game you're truly world class, really turned back the years you did, like a machine you are.

*a battered and bruised Friedel raises one of his steaming gloves with a thumb aloft whilst still breathing into his oxygen mask.*

MON: And Emile you were an inch away from being a hero.

Milner: A hero like me boss like?

MON: Yes James a hero like you, Oh Emile, one day the fans will shout your name from the stands without expletives on either end of it.

Heskey: I live in hope boss.

MON: Now get on the no goal chair.

Heskey: but boss Gabby and John didn't....

MON: Chair!

*Heskey skulks to the chair facing the wall, there is a knock at the door, it's Roger Johnson, he's fuming.*

MON: Ah Roger, here to apologise to Gabriel over your horror tackle?

Johnson: Disgrace!

MON: Quite right, you are I mean to take a player down in the box like that.

Johnson: What!? It was never a penalty, I got the ball.

MON: I'll say you've got some balls disputing that blatant penalty.

Johnson: What!?..... I didn't mean .... But...... I ..... Disgrace!

MON: Agreed. Shame on you.

*MON slams the door and turns back to the lads, mumbling and the loud cries of 'Disgrace!' can be heard through the door.*

MON: Now lads, it's time for a sing song. My old man said be a City fan he said ... Everybody.....

*The lads all join in jovially*

Gabby: The service here is rubbish.



Happy Derby Day One and All!

Saturday 24 April 2010

Match 36: Birmingham City

*We join the lads gearing up for their clash against Birmingham City*

MON: Now I know some of you love playing the derby, eh Gabriel?

*Gabby looks confused*

Gabby: I guess?

MON: You guess? You usually love it?

Gabby: I dunno, we've not played Derby for a while, did I score past them?

MON: No Gabriel, not Derby County, "The Derby" we're playing Birmingham City.

Gabby: Whooooo hoooooooo!!

*Gabby is running around the dressing room arms out like an aeroplane, an injured Delph has his head hung depressed*

MON: I'm sorry Fabian I know as a former European Cup winning player myself it's frustrating to be out with injury, I missed a European Cup final once, but then I came back, back to show them all with magnificent, spectacular displays that dazzled the....

Delph: Boss?

MON: Oh I'm sorry, am I going on about my European Cup winning days again?

Delph: Yeah .... A bit.

MON: When I won the European Cup twice.

Delph: Yeah! Anyway it's not just being injured .... I trained so hard to play in the derby.

*Delph recollects fighting muay thai battles in a hut in Thailand Slums, two foot tackling bears in Siberia and kicking meat carcasses hanging from hooks in abattoirs all whilst listening to encouraging 80's power ballads*

Delph: Push it to the limiiiiiiiii-eeeeeeeeet!!!!

MON: Fabian?

Fabian: Oh … Sorry boss, lost in thought a minute there.

*A fly lands on Delph's plastered foot he wiggles his toes in a vain attempt to kill it, it flys off unscathed, Delph frowns*

Collins: I'm really looking forward to the match boss, since I joined the Villa I hate anything blue..... Sorry Steve.

Sidwell: Sorry? Sorry for wha .... Oh my God!

*Sidwell catches sight of his blue motorbike in flames in the car park through the window*

Sidwell: My bike! My beautiful bike!

MON: That's the spirit!

*Sidwell darts out of the dressing room, MON calls after him*

MON: Be sure to be back five minutes before the end of the match!

*Two men appear in the doorway*

Man 1: Hey Villa losers!

Man 2: Losers!

*They chuckle*

MON: Who are you pair and what are you doing in my dressing room?

Man 2: It's me Liam Ridgewell.

*MON shrugs with no recollection*

Ridgewell: I played in defence?

*MON still looks non the wiser*

Ridgewell: I couldn't grow a moustache.

*MON shows a vague recollection.*

MON: Ah yes, Ian Ridgewell.

Ridgewell: Liam.

MON: Whatever, and you?

*Man 1 looks stunned*

Man 1: What? I only just left, it's me, Craig Gardner.

MON: Who? We don't need a gardener our groundskeeper won "groundskeeper's groundskeeper" and "groundskeeper of the year" this year.

Gardner: No not "a Gardener"....

MON: Make up your mind will you? It's your name, it's not that difficult!

*The dressing room erupts with laughter*

Gardner: We played for Villa, now we play for Birmingham City.

MON: Well it says "Home Team" above the door, can you not read? How many times must I get rid of you?
*The dressing room erupts with laughter again, Gardner steps forward and answers defiantly*

Gardner: I can read! ...

*Gardner puts a hand to the side of his mouth and leans toward Ridgewell*

Gardner: Reading's the one where you say stuff that's on stuff right?

Ridgewell: Yeah ... I think so....

*Gardner reverts to his "defiant" stance*

Gardner: Yeah!

*The lads all stare silently at the pair*

MON: What are you here for anyway?

Gardner: We have a message for you losers from the chairman.

MON: Which is?

Ridgewell: Can he borrow a few bob for the coach driver? He's a little short til the end of the month.

MON: Get out.

Gardner: He'll pay you back, he's good for it, honest.

MON: Out!

*Gabby breaks the awkward silence "flying" past*

Gabby: Wheeeeeeeeeeeee!

Match 35: Post Hull

*We join the lads leaving the pitch and heading to the Dressing Room, Richard Dunne is stopped for an interview*

SKY Sports Interview: Great match out there Richard a well earned ....

Dunne: If he dies, he dies!

*Dunne stares menacingly into the camera before heading to the Dressing Room, the lads are celebrating their win, MON arrives, he's furious*

MON: What were you thinking!? 2- nil!? 2!?.... Nil!?

*The lads look confused*

Milner: Are you ... mad like boss?

MON: Yes I'm mad "like", What did I tell you before you went out there?

Carew: To win?

MON: .....and....

*Gabby raises his hand he's pointing it in the air excitedly*

Gabby: Ooh ooh, I know! Pick me boss, me!

MON: Gabriel.

Gabby: To win 1-nil?

MON: Yes I said win 1-nil, none of this showing off nonsense, did you not hear Mick McCarthy? It's about points not goals. We're not the flippin' Harlem Globetrotters!

Cueller: Mmm, trotters ... The forbidden meat.

*The defensive warriors are tucking into hog and massive turkey legs*

A.Young: But it's good to have a healthy margin, I think the fans prefer that than biting their nails in the last ten minutes.

MON: The fans!? The fans!? I know what the fans want! Magic and rainbows and champions league. You don't get that winning 2-0 do you!?

A.Young: Well technically.....

*Warnock is crawling to the post-match defence warrior feast*

Warnock: Boss why didn't you sub me? The physio said he was going to have to amputate out there.

MON: Pah! Amputate shmamputate! I can't be seen to be making substitutions in the first half. How would I hit them with my surprise tactics later on?

A.Young: You mean bringing on Sidwell and Carew for Heskey in the last five or ten minutes.

MON: Exactly! They never see it coming. Rotation, rotation, rotation.

*The lads all roll their eyes*

Match 35: Hull City

*We join the lads preparing for their clash against Hull City*

MON: Right lads, I think we're ready to go to Hull.

Heskey: Noooooo! Oh sweet Lord what sins have we committed to deserve to go to the eternal pit of anguish and horror!?

MON: No, no Emile, I said HULL, as in Hull City.

Heskey: I know boss.

*The dressing room erupts with laughter*

MON: Now we'll have to be careful against the tigers, they're in the relegation fight and you know what they say about "an animal backed into a corner" ....

Gabby: That they're rubbish at football?

*The dressing room erupts with laughter*

Gabby: What?

MON: No Gabriel, they say....

Gabby: wait so animals backed into corners are good at football?

MON: No, no I'm saying that when backed into corners they come out fighting.

Gabby: I don't think they'll fight us boss, Jimmy Bullard's really nice, one time he came over and he said....

MON: Not literally fight us Gabriel.

Gabby: Oh you were speaking in metaphorical terms? Why didn't you just say that?

*The lads all stare at Gabby*

Gabby: What?

MON: Now Nathan....

Delfouneso: Oh My God, Oh My God, Oh My God!

MON: Nathan?

Delphouneso: I kicked it ... and .... It went in.

A.Young: Did you not see his face when he scored boss? .... He's still not recovered from the shock.

*A wide eyed Delfouneso stands robotically and mimics the goal he scored, then sits back down again. Then he repeats the process*

MON: O....K, Nathan you're starting. Lads put the ball on that.

*MON points to Delfouneso's boot as he swings it up slowly once more repeating his scoring action.*

A.Young: Really bad news about Fabian with the injury boss.

MON: Yes, terrible shame.

A.Young: Have you not invited him to come along as a spectator?

MON: No .... I think .... He's best just resting for now.

*MON envisions Delph crashing his wheelchair into Hull's players as they arrive using his plastered leg as a battering ram, he shakes his head and returns to focus.*

MON: OK everyone, let's get on the coach.

Match 34: Post Portsmouth

*We join the lads celebrating their victory against Portsmouth MON enters*

MON: Alright settle down lads, we may have beat Pompey but lets face it, they were playing a pensioner upfront.

Robertson: Kanu.

MON: Then they drafted in Zorro.

Robertson: Tommy Smith.

MON: and they were playing a 10 year old left back.

NRC: Sowah?

MON: So what? So what!? You're on the thinnest ice Nigel, I'm lenient enough to grant you some bench time and you repay me with this insolence!?

NRC: No boss Sowah is the....

MON: So what!?!?!

*The lads are now restraining a furious MON*

A.Young: Calm down boss.

Heskey: There's no need for contretemps.

Delph: Get 'im boss! Don't stand for that!

*The lads all look at Delph, he lowers his grin and head then rubs his knee for sympathy*

MON: Right ..... Right, I'm OK.

*MON calms, he dusts down his tracksuit, the lads all unhand MON .... He then lurches for NRC again*

MON: I'll give you so what!!!

*The ruckus is interrupted by Delfouneso's arrival, he pushes open the door, everyone turns to see him with a girl on each arm in a white t-shirt, jeans and a leather jacket. he has two upturned thumbs outstretched, there is canned applause playing .... The lads are looking all around themselves to see where it's coming from*

Delphouneso: Eeeeeeeeeeeeh!

*the applause gets louder*

A.Young: Wow, they don't call him the Fonz for nothing.

Gabby: Yeah, it sure is a shortened version of his name.

MON: Ah here he is, the player I made with my own two hands. Once again I've showed how I'm all about "Plan B" and making substitutions to win matches.

*The lads raise their eyebrows.*

MON: What? What's this eyebrow raising about? Nigel you're eyebrows are the highest, explain yourself!

*NRC hadn't raised his eyebrows*

NRC: What? Their plucked.

MON: What the what?! Oh ... Foul and abusive language now is it!?

*MON grabs NRC in a headlock*

NRC (choking): Plucked! Plucked!

*The lads rush to NRC's aid*

Match 34: Portsmouth

*We join the lads midway through their preparation for their clash against Portsmouth*

MON:....So remember, they have nothing to lose so they'll be dangerous. Also if they ask you for money say no, these people have to help themselves...

*There is a knock at the door, it's Avram the Hutt, he licks his lips.*

MON: Ah Avram! How are you?

Grant: Good thanking you very much, you know how it is when you are just winning at Wembley.

*MON looks angrily at Grant*

Grant: Maybe not. Anyway ....

*Avram the Hutt pulls a chain, on the end of it tugged along is Belhadj dressed in a Princess Leia bikini*

Grant: Belhadj, you buy? Much cheap yes?

MON: Er ... No .... Thankyou.

Grant: You sure? We not pay him many week, he'll do ANYTHING!

*MON shudders*

Grant: Behold....

*Grant produces a £5 note from his pocket*

Grant: Dance Nadir dance

*Belhadj begins dancing exotically, most of the lads recoil in disgust.*

Carew: We 'll take him!

MON: We will not! John sit back down at once!

Grant: You buy anything?

MON: Well actually, people have been saying I've been slow to react in buying a first class goal scorer, how about your Jermaine Defoe.

A.Young: Boss Jermaine doesn't ....

MON: Quiet Ashley I'm bartering here.

*Grant looks puzzled for a moment then appears to have an idea, he grabs Piquionne by the shirt and thrusts him into the dressing room*

Grant: Yes, yes Jermaine Defoe, you like? You buy?

MON: Wow , he's certainly much taller than he looks on the pitch.

A.Young: Boss, that's not....

Grant: Your boss he said be quiet little man, say hello Jermaine.

Piquionne: Bonjour?

A.Young: he's not Defoe boss!

Grant: Nonsense! Jermaine, what is your name?

Piquionne: Je m 'appelle Jermaine Defour.

Grant: Defoe!

Piquionne: Oui, oui Defoe, Defoe!

MON: You see Ashley? Don't be so mistrusting we're not dealing with Harry Redknapp here, look at Avram's honest face.

*Young looks at Avram, his bulging, sagging eyes are twitching, his tongue is hanging out of his mouth and he his rubbing his sweaty palms together, Young turns back to MON sceptically*

MON: and besides it says "Defoe" on the back of his shirt, you can't argue with that.

A.Young: Yeah a shirt that's at least two sizes too small and at least two seasons old!

*Piquionne breaks down*

Piquionne: C 'est true! It is true, I cannot keep up this facade! I was promised your "top flight english football" and zis team zey say they cannot afford even the letters of my name for the back of my shirt! And zey say "do you no the cost of Qs?" Zey force me to wear ex-players shirts, shorts and underpants!

*Piquionne sobs into his hands, Heskey puts a comforting arm around him whilst giving Avram a nasty look*

Heskey: There, there.

Piquionne: Underpants!

*Piquionne continues wailing*

A.Young: Ha! What did I tell you!?

MON: Now Ashley don't be smug. Besides Portsmouth's money worries aren't down to Avram ....

Piquionne: Mr.Grant he is like the one you call Fagin from your "Oliver!" he makes all the players steal to eat and if we come home with nothing he beats us and threatens to loan us out to Grimsby!

*The lads all look at Grant who has raised his hands*

Grant: Fellas, fellas none of this is true.

*A Grimsby Town brochure falls out of Grant's pocket, it is in a condition that would suggest it has been used to beat players with*

Grant: I can explain that.

Piquionne: And look as we speak Nadir has stuffed his bikini with your hard earned money!

Carew: What I do with my money is my business!

*The lads all look disapprovingly at Carew*

Carew: What?!

Post F. A Cup Semi Final: Chelsea

*We join MON speaking in the dressing room dejected after the lads loss at Wembley*

MON: Well that went as planned, except for the loss of course, I mean we showed some good fight out there and conceded some late goals and sure the media will blame a tired squad but that is hogwash and we all know.....

*MON is interrupted by loud snoring, he pauses and scans the room to see the dressing room asleep*

Gabby: .... Pregnant!?......

Heskey: ..... By far the proudest of my achievements .... Few strikers get the World Cup Golden Boot....

Delph: ....Die! Die! Die!... Red card!? ... I didn't even touch him!.... Is it because I'm not John Terry!?....

Carew: .....Free dance night!?......

MON: LADS!

*The lads jumped startled, some of their Aston Villa sleeping caps fly off, Ashley Young raises his head from Carews shoulder and stretches.*

A.Young: What's up boss?

MON: The match lads, though we lost, good effort.

*MON strolls toward Heskey and tears off the "Respect" patch on his shirt sleeve, waving it it to the lads.*

Heskey: Hey!

MON: But this!? You can forget this!

Milner: Mad about tha' penalty and John Terry's attempted murder like boss?

MON: Yes James .... But something more ....

*MON flashes back to his approach to Howard Webb's dressing room post match to dispute his decisions*

............................

*MON knocks on the door, it's a little open already and what sounds like Karaoke is blaring out, MON gently edges the door open further*

MON: Listen Mr.Webb I....

*MON's jaw drops and he is stunned to silence, Howard Webb has his back to MON and is dancing in a long, blonde, curly wig, he is stripped to a vest and his shorts*

Webb: R.E.S.P.E.C.T! Found out what it means to me! ....

*Webb blows the rest of the tune on his ref's whistle, he has fists full of cash with a briefcase sat on the dresser which has "NOT Bribe Money" embossed on it ... Webb notices MON's presence*

Webb: Oh .... Err Martin .... It's not what it looks like.

MON: So you're not butchering an Aretha Franklin classic?

Webb: Well ... Yes ... I mean I've not been bribed. I can assure you that any decisions throughout the match were down to big four media bias and were not in anyway financially endorsed.

MON: You're reading a statement ... A statement I just saw you pull from the briefcase you have clearly received from Roman Ambromavic.

Webb: What!? Nonsense.

*MON raises the tag on the brief case*

MON: Then what's this?

*The tag is a picture of Roman Ambromavic with a large grin and two thumbs up*

Webb: Well that could be any Russian oligarch!

*MON sighs and strolls back to the Villa dressing room*
............................

MON: Well lads, nevermind, worse things have happened, we all survived.

*Milner is rubbing his leg, a tear rolls down his cheek*

Milner: Sometimes like, I wish I never.

MON: Don't you worry James, we'll have our revenge, first we get as many of you as we can in the England team .... Then ....

F. A Cup Semi-Final: Chelsea

*We join the lads gearing up for their semi-final clash against Chelsea*

MON: Ah I love a semi.

*The dressing room erupts with laughter.*

MON: Alright settle down you filthy lot.

Collins: Oh My God! What're we going to do!? We can't do anything against the Chelsea machine! We're doomed!

*Collins grabs MON by both sides of his tracksuit jacket and screams hysterically in his face*

Collins: Doomed!!!

*Petrov adjusts the captain's armband and slaps Collins about the face*

Petrov: Get a hold of yourself! They are but men!

*Collins ashamedlely lowers his head*

Collins: I'm sorry captain ... I shall issue an apology via Twitter at once.

Petrov: I don't use Twitter, it's weird.

*a grinning Delph slaps Collins*

Delph: Get a hold of yourself!

Collins: Ow! I already had a hold of myself!

Delph: Yeah ... Right ... Sorry.

*MON has a knowing glint in his eye and a wry smile*

Dunne: What's with tha knowin' glint in yer eye dere bass?

Cuellar: Och an ye wee, wry smile?

MON: Easter lads, Frank Lampard will no doubt have stuffed himself to a stupour, look at him.

*MON hits a notice board with his pointer there is a picture of Frank Lampard in action with a "+" sign, then a picture of a foil wrapped easter egg, then an "=" sign then a picture MON jumping for joy*

MON: He has the look of a man partial to a chocolate egg or two does he not? This will exponentially slow him down. Pah! John Terry dared question our discipline and it will be theirs which will be their undoing!

*The lads slowly hide the eggs they have been scoffing throughout the team talk, Ashley Young is sliding an egg underneath his chair with his foot*

A.Young: Great plan boss.

*Cuellar is dusting Cadbury's Flake from his beard*

Cuellar: Aye, brillian'.

*NRC enters, he's beaming and casually eating an easter egg*

NRC: Hey guys great news, the physio says I'm fit to play and .... Why's everyone looking at me like that?

MON: You always have to defy me don't you Nigel?

NRC: Defy you? What ... You want some easter egg?

*The room falls silent and uncomfortable as MON seeths with rage, NRC puts one cupped hand to his mouth and addresses the lads*

NRC (whispering): Is he diabetic?

*Delph breaks the silence slapping Collins*

Delph: Get a hold of yourself!

Collins: I said I'm fine!

Monday 5 April 2010

Match 32: Post Bolton

*We join the lads celebrating their victory over Bolton*

Downing: ..an' I said, Zat I dinnae care if ya 18ft man, I'll put me foot in ya face ya great streak of...

*MON enters, the lads all quieten down and take their seats*

MON: I trust we've all calmed down after that little fracas.

*Delph is pouting with his arms folded, he kicks the chair in front of him.*

Heskey: Hey! You chipped the paint on my 'No Goal' chair!

MON: Fabian, I know you're upset at being subbed but I'm rotating, I need to test the whole team.

Delph: It's not that boss, I missed the fight at the end, why couldn't we have a dust up at the beginning or half way through or ....

*Delph is interrupted by Collins' shouting*

Collins: Ow, Ow, Ow! Look just quit it will you? the match is over!

*Kevin Davies stops hitting the back of Collins' head with his elbow*

K.Davies: What? I thought you 'relished the physical challenge'.

Collins: Well I don't 'relish the physical challenge' that's just some cliche commentaters spew for big defenders, I'm a man of culture, I like fine music, the arts.

K.Davies: What like martial arts? Hiiiii Yaaaaaah!

*Kevin Davies karate chops Collins on the shoulder.*

Collins: Ow! No!....... That's it!

*Collins Presses Davies above his head*

K.Davies: Hey! Put me down! I'm not fouling, I mean, I'm english I was just 'putting myself about a bit'

*Collins launches him out of the dressing room, Davies stands, pleads to an invisible referree then makes his way to the Bolton dressing room elbowing every passer-by on the way*

MON: Ah, it's just like they say, a win after such a heavy defeat shows the resiliance and fortitude of a manager.

A.Young: You mean of a team boss?

MON: Now now Ashley, there's no 'I' in team and afterall 'I' masterminded this victory. Me having the foresight to play you, that's what won us this match.

A.Young: You always play me!

MON: You see, excellent management, James great match out there today, consistent as always.

Collins: Thanks boss.

MON: Not you...James Milner.

*MON points*

NRC: I'm Nigel .... and Milner didn't play .... and neither did I.

MON: And you won't again with that attitude!

Friday 2 April 2010

Match 32: Bolton Wanderers

*We join the lads preparing for their clash against Bolton, MON is nowhere to be seen the lads are whispering amoungst themselves*

A.Young: Maybe the rumours were true.

*The doors are kicked open and MON appears, his lips are moving but the lads can't hear what he's saying*

Heskey: We can't hear you boss!

*MON removes his astronaut helmet*

A.Young: He sure knows how to make himself unavailable for comment.

MON: Oh Sorry lads, listen last week we were killed .... Literally buried.

*The lads solemnly nod*

MON: But I am rolling away the stone and coming back! This week I'll show all the doubting Thomases!

Heskey: Boss .... Are you comparing yourself to Jesus?

MON: Jesus? Did Jesus win the European Cup!?

*A.Young turns to his laptop*

A.Young: According to Wikipedia he's won it four times .... Twice with an Apostle select 11, twice with Jerusalem FC.

MON: Well, you can't argue with Wikipedia.... Anyway we'll show them it's not how hard you go down it's how quick you get up! Have you seen what the old boys have been saying about you!? Gabby, Zat Knight said your only as ugly as you are stupid.

Gabby: Ah, that's nice of him.

MON: No, it was an insult!

Gabby: The fiend! I'll show him!

MON: Ashley, Gary Cahill said he has more chance of getting in the England squad than you.

A.Young: Well technically....

MON: even if he had his legs eaten by sharks!

A.Young: Sharks!? I hate sharks, Why I'll show him!

MON: And John ... Jlloyd Samuel said ... Well they didn't interview him ... Why would they? But if they did he would've said that you perhaps have more interest in rubbing shoulders with glamour girls than playing for Villa!

*Carew is on the phone*

Carew: How many girls? The Daily Star you say? At what time .... Hmm I'll probably have to be subbed to make that..... I'm there.

*Carew puts his hand over the mouthpiece*

Carew: How dare he!? The very idea! I'll show him!

Wednesday 31 March 2010

"Rumours Abound!"

*We join MON who's been called for showdown talks with Randy Lerner*

Lerner: Maaaaarty! Long time no see, how's it hangin'?

MON: You're .... not mad about the 7-1?

Lerner: Ah seven one shmeven one. Hell so what if they scored a touchdown and conversion? That's football right?

MON: Well, not exac....

Lerner: Anyway you're hear about Jimmy Milner, I done had a "grrrrrrreat!" offer for him as Tony the tiger would say.

MON: I didn't realise you had Tony the tiger in America.

*Lerner looks confused*

Lerner: How'd you mean? I take Tony with me everywhere.

*Lerner points to an actual tiger*

Tony: How'd you do?

MON: Hi ... (turning back to Randy) You own a talking tiger?

Lerner: Son when you're a billionaire you can own whatever you like.

MON: right, anyway what was this about Milner.

Lerner: Right these guys are offering me millions for what I can imagine are a few photoshoots in speedos and with feather boas and stuff.

*MON looks sceptical*

MON: Boss are you su....

Lerner: I mean "Man United", you can bat for whatever side you want for the kind of money their offering.

MON: Sir, Man United is a football team not some publication for men of a certain persuasion.

Lerner: Nonsense Marty, it'll be the same as that deal with Barry for "Man City". You can't underestimate the power of the pink pound.

MON: Sir, Barry PLAYS for them now!

Lerner: He does? Gee I thought he had a homelife with kids and everything, go figure.

MON: No not for ... I give up.

*sources "close to Villa" get on the internet and radio on MON's resignation*

Match 31: Post Chelsea

*We join the lads, heads hung low and glum after their heavy defeat against Chelsea, MON jovially enters whistling as he gets to the front of the room*

MON: Great stuff lads, brilliant, that went exactly as we'd planned.

*MON puts his hands on his hips, throws his head back and bursts out laughing maniacally.*

A.Young (whispering): This is terrible, we've sent him mad.

*A number of the lads fearfully nod*

MON: Excellent, I'm just glad you all got the memo.

Collins: Memo?

Carew: What memo?

MON: Very good you two, the memo, you know.

*MON shuffles the cursor on his laptop and it jumps into life, he clicks on his sent e-mails*

MON: Here we go. "Lets leave it to Chelsea lads, lure them into a false sense of security then strike in the F.A Cup semi-final" and might I say lads you executed the plan beautifully.

A.Young: Boss, I didn't get your e-mail.

*MON chuckles*

MON: Good one Ashley, you said you went to check your e-mails a few minutes before the match, I saw you get your laptop you little scamp.

A.Young: Yeah .... um ..... e-mails.

MON: And like I said before kick-off, "everyone don't forget to check out your e-mails".

Carew: E-mails? I thought you said check out the females.

Gabby: Yeah me too.

MON: Fema...? Why would I ...? So None of you got the memo? You just ... Lost?

Dunne: Aye bass, every goal was like a dagger to me backside.

MON: Don't you mean your heart?

Collins: Steady on boss, his heart's not that big.

*MON flips to a foul, four-letter word tirade which lasts for 40 minutes*

A.Young: Please boss, calm down, I don't think the last few sentances you yelled even made sense.

MON: Pound sign! Percentage! Asterix! Exclamation mark!

*MON Collapses in an exausted heap. He lays on his side heavy breathing like a dying animal*

Warnock: Boss..... Are you ... OK?

*MON raises a weak arm*

MON: Confound you to Hades!

*Carew and Gabby scan the room*

Carew: What ladies?

Saturday 27 March 2010

Match 31: Chelsea

*We join the lads gearing up for their game against Chelsea*

Gabby: ... and I said 'I don't even like celery!'

*The lads erupt with laughter*

MON: Alright lads settle down, right it's the warm up to the big semi, no tissues necessary Ashley.

*A.Young folds his arms and looks away with disgust as the lads all laugh at him*

MON: Sorry Ashley. Anyway with Dunne looking unlikely, Luke ... What in the world....

*Luke Young is in full cowboy gear, he slowly lifts his ten gallon hat and spits in a bucket*

L.Young: I done saw on that there Sky Sports News that with Dunne injured I'd be made deputy.

MON: You mean you'd 'deputise'

*L.Young removes his hat and begins taking off his cowboy garb*

L.Young: Oh. Balls.

MON: Yes, it's quite the injury crisis. Luke, centre back.

L.Young: Centre back but I was thinking that Carlos would ....

MON: Exactly! If that's what you think, that's what everyone will think. They won't know what's hit them with you in the middle and Carlos on the right.

L.Young: But...

MON: But nothing, in the Art of War Sun Tzu said 'Always mystify, mislead and surprise the enemy if possible'

*Gabby is nodding*

Gabby: It's true.

*The lads all turn and stare at Gabby*

Gabby: What? I read.

*The lads are still staring at Gabby*

Gabby: I read!

MON: Anyway imagine their surprise at my masterful tactics. This one's going to be a rout I tell you!

***Meanwhile in the Chelsea dressing room***

Ancelotti: I don't know much about this Martin O'Neill other than he is what us russians call 'insane'

Terry: insane's an english word boss.

Ancelotti: Is always England, England, England with you John. I would tell you 'take break' but the other players they say 'Keep John busy boss' and 'I love my wife boss'. Anyway, O'Neill will probably do something crazy like play all his defenders out of position so just harrass them and it will be what we call in Russia a 'rout'.

*Terry opens his mouth, then thinks better of remarking*

Thursday 25 March 2010

Match 30: Post Sunderland

*We join the lads indifferent after a draw with Sunderland, MON is wearing a black tie over his tracksuit jacket, his face is streaked with tears*

A.Young: Wow the boss is taking this really hard. Hey boss, you're not upset about the whole 'throwing it away in March' thing are you?

*MON is looking away, silent and solemn*

A.Young: I mean we're trying our best, aren't we guys?

*The lads all nod and audibly agree. MON's bowed head is unmoving*

A.Young: I know the defence aren't as stingy as they've been....

*Collins and Dunne flashback to a conversation before the game with Frazier Cambpell*

.....

Campbell: Hey guys, I know it's cheeky to ask but mind if I score a goal? I'm only young and trying to find my way in the game.

*Collins and Dunne look at each other then back at Campbell*

Cambell: I mean it's hard going, Darren scores all the goals. My mum and dad come to all my matches, they think I'm a goalkeeper!

*Campbell bursts into floods of tears, Dunne puts a comforting arm around him*

Dunne: OK dere buddy, but just tha' one.

*Dunne winks, Cambpell immediately stops crying and beams*

Campbell: Yay!

.....

MON: No,no, it's not that, it's Emile, his injury ... It's finished his career.

*The lads all gasp, MON raises a framed picture of a young, grinning Heskey in his Leicester strip*

Heskey: What? My career's not over. The physio said...

MON: Oh I'll never be able to put his sweet name on my team sheet again.

Heskey: I can play again boss, I'm fine.

MON: When they stretchered him off the pitch I knew that was that. No more Emile in the team, it's almost more than I can bear.

Heskey: I didn't get stretchered off, I just have a knock, look.

*Heskey vibrantly kicks the air and jogs on the spot*

MON: Oh how the Villa faithful will miss his flair and panache.

*Ashley Young pats Heskey on the back*

A.Young: It was nice playing you with you big fella.

Heskey: I'm not...

*Milner presents Heskey with a card, Heskey reads it*

Heskey: 'Sorry you had to RETIRE'?!

*The card is a comedy one with an old man changing the tyres on a broken down vintage car.*

Heskey: Wait, this is signed by everyone, how long have you had this?

MON: Sorry Emile.

*MON is now Sheperding Heskey out of the dressing room with an arm, Heskey is turned looking over his shoulder.*

Heskey: Hey ....I'm not finished guys .... I...

*The door is closed and Heskey is stood outside alone, he can hear Kool and the Gang's 'Celebration' begin to chime from the room, peering in he sees MON dad dancing, his tie now around his head and Nathan Delfouneso jigging on a table in a party hat.*

Wednesday 24 March 2010

Match 30: Sunderland

*We join John Carew and Gabriel Agbonlahor approaching the dressing room before the match against Sunderland, they're much earlier than usual*

Gabby: I like goals.

Carew: I know Gabby, I know.

Gabby: Yeah ..... Like when you kick it in and the crowd goes 'Yay!'

Carew: Yeah, yeah. That's nice, sometimes I just like to relax out there too you know? Watch a game go by but it's is pretty cool to score.

Gabby: ... and you're all like 'Yippee!' and they're all like 'you're the daddy!' and you're like 'Again?'

*Carew looks confused*

Carew: O...K

*The lads can hear singing from the dressing room as they approach it.*

Heskey: Emile Heskey, Heskey. He's bigger than you or me, he's gonna score two or three, Em Heskey, Heskey!

Gabby: Is that Emile?

Carew: He's nicking my song!

*Gabby and Carew hurry to the doors, as they enter Heskey scrambles to screw a piece of paper in his hand into a ball and tidy away a subbuteo set*

Gabby: Wow subbuteo! Can I play?

Heskey: er... No the games over, sorry.

Gabby: That's OK we can start a new one.

*Gabby unfolds the pitch which was covering most of the players, he scans the the selection of Sunderland and Aston Villa figures, then gasps with horror*

Gabby: My legs!?

*The Gabby subbuteo player has had the base and legs broken off, Gabby touches his actual legs to confirm that they are intact*

Heskey: Yeah.... I ..... You're injured.

Carew: And what injury is it that I have!?

*Carew picks up his figure, only identifiable by the 'Carew 10' on the back .... The head has been removed*

Heskey: I .... Um.....

*Carew snatches the ball of paper from Heskey, shaking his head whilst lifting the Heskey player which literally has the ball glued to it's feet.*

Carew: And whats this ... The score?..... Aston Villa 8 - Sunderland 3? ...... You scored all our goals, won man of the match? ..... And .... I scored an Own Goal Hatrick!?

Heskey: You had a tough time out there, you're playing injured.

*Gabby holds up a dictaphone*

Gabby: What's this?

*Gabby presses play, the 'Em Heskey, Heskey' chant comes to an end, the tape continues*

Dictaphone-Heskey (with a commentator's voice): And can anyone stop Heskey? He's cutting through the Sunderland defence like a hot knife through butter.

*Carew and Gabby look sceptically at Heskey*

Heskey: What? His words not mine.

Dictaphone-Heskey (with a high pitched/ girl's voice): We love you Emile!

Dictaphone-Heskey (with a gruff, burly voice): You're useless Carew, absolutely useless!

*Gabby and Carew look at Heskey, eyebrows raised*

Heskey: What? You can't argue with the fans they ARE the club.

*MON enters the dressing room he's cleaning his glasses*

MON: Right Emile so are we ready to finish our preview of the mat..... Gabriel? John? .... You're .... Early.

Monday 22 March 2010

Match 29: Post Wolves

*We join John Carew who has been called for a meeting with MON after the draw with Wolves*

MON: Hi John,

Carew: Hi boss.

MON: Take a seat. Look, people are questioning whether you were offside for your two goals.

Carew: What? Even after the referreeing decisions at the league cup final?

MON: Yeah I know, I said that, ridiculous. But nonetheless football is a 'business' now, so like a business if you are seen to flagging in an area you must be re-trained.

Carew: Re-trained? But I score goals, well when I feel like it I do.

MON: Don't worry John, it won't be anything intensive just a bit of offside training, we'll be adopting the 'explaining offside to your girlfriend' method.

Carew: What's that?

*MON pushes forward a number of random items on his desk.*

MON: OK John, now you are this 1979 European Cup winners medal. The one I almost single handedly won.

Carew: O...K

MON: and the salt is a defender.

*MON holds up a salt shaker, Fabian Delph sticks his head around the door*

Delph: Assault a defender?!

MON: No Fabian.

*Delph groans and hangs his head.*

MON: Hang on, what's that in your hands?

Delph: This? It's Kevin Doyle's leg, Stilyan thought I might like it.

MON: Fabian! Give that back to Kevin at once! Right, what was I saying? Salt, last defender .... Oh ... John imagine my glasses case is Ashley Young.

Carew: Hi Ashley. How are you? Thanks for setting me up with that cross and....

MON: No, I mean just that it's a player and he has the ball.

Carew: Right.

MON: now if he plays you ... the medal ... (that I won) the ball when you're past the salt....

Carew: Here you go boss.

*Carew hands MON the salt*

MON: No, no I don't want the salt.

Carew: Why did you ask for it then?

MON: I didn't, I was just .... Forget it! Just score goals out there.

Carew: Right you are boss.

*Carew stands up to leave*

MON: Oh and don't forget your certificate.

*MON hands Carew a certificate*

Carew: A GNVQ in offside?

MON: Congratulations.

Friday 19 March 2010

Match 29: Wolverhampton Wanderers

*We join the lads preparing to play Wolves.*

MON: OK lads OK, lets calm down. Now the March hoo-doo has been dealt with I expect us to 'march' on to triumph!

*MON pauses for a laugh. There isn't one*

Carew: Boooooooo!

MON: Boo!? Did someone boo my joke?

*The lads all point at Heskey, MON cuts him an icy stare*

Heskey: What!? It wasn't .... I mean I didn't ... erm..... I wasn't booing I said 'Boorilliant'...... I was doing a Black Country accent.... Because we're playing Wolves.

MON: Oh... Right. Anyway, against Wolves these two are the pair we're really going to have to look out for.

*MON extends a telescopic pointer and taps on two pictures on the board. Ashley Young points to the first*

A.Young: Who's that?

MON: Who's that? It's Steve Bull! "Bully", look at him there with his cheeky smile.

A.Young: Who?

MON: Steve Bull, you know Wolves player, played for England, great striker.

A.Young: Never heard of him.

MON: That's because he has what few players have nowadays. Loyalty, like Alan Shearer he didn't wander to one of the 'big teams' for glory.

Collins: So basically they were scared of the challenge and failure?

*MON points the pointer at Collins*

MON: Bingo.

Milner: and who's tha other wun like?

MON: This? This is Noddy Holder.

Milner: Does he play football like?

MON: Heavens no, their players aren't going to be a threat, I just thought I'd give you something to look for out there when you're tired of giving Wolves a hiding.

*MON pauses again*

Carew: Boooo!

MON: Thankyou. Now people have questioned whether I will rotate the team like I said I would. First team, stand up.

*The familiar first team line-up stand up*

MON: Now turn 180 degrees.

*They all turn, Gabby is spinning in circles like dog chasing it's tail, Heskey takes considerably longer to make the turn*

MON: And again.

*They all turn again facing MON once more*

MON: And sit. Rotation complete.

Match 28: Post Wigan

*We join the lads celebrating victory over Wigan, MON is pelvic thrusting with gusto at the front of the room*

MON: Oh Yeah! A league win in March! How do you like me now!? In your face Robbo, and you said we'd never win in March!

Robertson: Martin, I said no such....

MON: In your face! Now James where are you? What a cracking goal, brilliant, world class, genius....

Milner: Well thanks boss, I just found the space, picked me spot and hit it like.

MON: What? I'm not talking to you, where is he? Where's James McCarthy the lovely man?

Dunne: He doesn't play for us bass, he's a Wigan man.

MON: Come again? But he hammered it home beautifully.

Collin: Yeah, own goal, happens to the best of us, well the best of us and James McCarthy.

*The Dressing Room erupts with laughter*

MON: Wigan eh...?

*MON flips through a notepad with 'SUMMER' written on the front, he comes to a page titled 'GOAL PROBLEM?' underneath it he writes 'JAMES MCCARTHY - WIGAN (better even than Emile?)'

MON: ..... and British is he?

Dunne: Aye Boss, he was born in Scotland.

MON: Excellent.

*MON underlines his name on the notepad*

Dunne: But he plays for Ireland.

MON: Ah, Double british!

*MON underlines his name again*

MON: Which Ireland? The better one?

Dunne: Yeah bass.

MON: Ah from my neck of the woods eh? Great stuff it's good to see the motherland producing such talent.

Dunne: Wait.... I thought you meant....

*Fabian Delph interrupts Dunne, tugging at his shirt*

Delph: Great game Mr.Dunne sir.

Dunne: Thanks bud!

Delph: Yellow card ..... Nice.

Dunne: It's not like I enjoy getting cards.

*Delph raises an eyebrow at Dunne*

Dunne: 'right, maybe I do a bit.

*Dunne and Delph discuss their all time favourite bookings and dismissals*

Delph: ....and I was like 'Pow!' and he was like 'My spleen! My beautiful spleen!' then the ref was like 'you, Delph, off' and I was like 'What!? I didn't even see him there!' then the ref was all 'You're still standing on him!'

MON: So.... No goals again John?

*Carew barely raises his eybrows above the book he's reading*

Carew: Huh?

MON: Goals?

Carew: Oh, Nah not today.

MON: I....um.... OK.

Tuesday 16 March 2010

Match 28: Pre Wigan Athletic

*We join the lads preparing to play Wigan*

MON: Alright lads settle down, settle down. Now it's normally the way that a striker returning to his old club is bound to score against them. Unfortunately for us the player returning is Emile.

*The dressing room erupts with laughter*

MON: .... Where is Emile?

*Ashley Young raises his hand*

A.Young: He went off with his banjo boss, said something about seeing a farm on the way here.

MON: Right.

*Heskey arrives with a pristine banjo*

MON: Ah Emile, glad you could join us.

Heskey: You know you'd be surprised how agile cows actually are.

MON: Quite. Now it's revenge time, these fellas beat us on the first day of the season, the fans raised questions about me. Me! Martin O'Neill! Can you believe that? I mean have I ever told you I've won the european cup!?

A.Young: Yeah you tell us every week boss.

MON: Tell you what?

Downing: That you won tha European Cup like.

MON: That's right, I won it, so don't you forget it.

Carew: It's hard to forget when you make us wear these shirts when we're not playing.

*holds up one of the lads T-Shirts with 'Martin O'Neill European Cup Winner '79 & '80' and a picture below of a young Martin hands aloft in a Notts Forest kit*

MON: Fine shirts, fine shirts and John nobody's forcing you to wear them.

Collins: It's in our contracts!

MON: Enough about how much you love to wear my t-shirts. Defence there's every chance you'll come up against Jason Scotland tonight so if you're struggling to make a clearance, pass it to him.

*The defence chuckle*

Heskey: Ah It'll be nice to see Jason again.

MON: Yes, it's obvious he's reaping the benefits from your expert tutelage.

*The dressing room erupts with laughter*

Monday 15 March 2010

Match 27: Post Stoke City

*We join the lads mulling over their 0-0 draw against Stoke, MON is celebrating like he's won the world cup*

MON: Yippee!!

*Milner whispers to Ashley Young*

Milner: Why's the boss celebrating like that man?

A.Young: Because it's the middle of March and we've not lost yet.

*MON immediately stops celebrating and his face contorts with rage*

MON: Who said it!? Who said the name of the month I said was never to be said in the dressing room!?

*The lads all sheepishly point at Heskey*

Heskey: What!? I didn't ... I mean.... It wasn't.

MON: Emile! A man of your age and discernable lack of striking ability should know better.

Heskey: Don't put me on the chair boss, please, I didn't even say "March".

MON: That's it! "Funny man" are you!? Do I need to remind you what happened to Nigel!?

.....

*Nigel Reo-Coker is handcuffed to a radiator in a dank room somewhere in bodymoor heath, there appears to be nothing in the room but a saw, tears are streaming down his face*

NRC: I only suggested that we play a right back at right back.
.....

Heskey: Sorry boss.

MON: As this is a day for celebration I'll show mercy Emile but know this....

*MON points to his eyes with two fingers then at Heskey with them*

MON: Anyway, OK game lads, we couldn't possibly be expected to win with that wind.

Gabby: Sorry boss, don't think my stomach's right yet.

MON: No, I mean, nevermind. John where were the goals?

*Carew doesn't look up from filing his nails*

Carew: Nah, not today.

MON: I ... um .... OK.

Saturday 13 March 2010

Match 27: Stoke City

*We join the lads preparing for their match against Stoke City*

MON: Right lads we're going to need to defend like lions here I ..... Hang on, where are all the defenders?

*The lads look all around, there are no defenders to be seen, the song 'Blame it on the Boogie' can be heard approaching the dressing room from the hall.*

MON: What the devil?

*The door bursts open and Luke Young, James Collins, Richard Dunne and Stephen Warnock stride in, Collins is holding a large portable radio*

L.Young: Don't you blame it on the sunshine...

Collins: Don't blame it on the moonlight....

Dunne: We're flying without wings .... I mean ... Damn it!...

Warnock: Blame it on the boogie!

*Delph stands*

Delph: I just can't control my feet!

*Delph boots Sidwell in the shins, Sidwell screams loudly.*

Warnock: Hey nice catching the lyrics there Fabian.

Delph: What lyrics?

MON: Enough of this tomfoolery! James switch that ghetto blaster off at once.

Collins: My what boss?

*The dressing room erupts with laughter as Collins turns off the stereo*

MON: Now what is all this? Why are you four dressed as the Jackson 5!?

*MON eyes the defenders from their flares to their unfeasibly large afros, Collins is combing out his ginger mane*

Collins: You said we'd have to match Rory Delap's 'fro boss.

MON: Yes I said you have to match Delap's throw.

*the defender's point to their ''fros'*

MON: His LONG throw!

Warnock: Our 'fros are pretty long.

*MON is now seething*

MON: No! His....

*Carlos Cuellar strolls in*

Cuellar: Och, sorry I'm late boss.

MON: Carlos I thought better of you, joining this rabble and dressing as a member of the Jackson 5 and with that ridiculous hair!

Cuellar: Dressing as who? This is what I wear every week?