Carling Cup Final

*We join MON and the lads preparing for a historic Carling Cup final at Wembley*

MON: Settle down lads settle down, now all week people have said 'Martin who's in the team?', 'Mr.O'Neil what's your pick for the final?' and I have kept it secret, it's just the way I operate.

*The lads all lean in with great interest.*

MON: And it will remain a secret! I'll take it to my grave! You'll have to pry the team sheet from my cold dead hands I tell you! Cold dead hands!

Dunne: Will ya not have to let us, tha team, know who's playing bass?

MON: Hmmm .... Fair point.

*Sidwell raises his hand excitedly*

Sidwell: Oooh, ooh boss am I playing!? Am I?

*The dressing room erupts with laughter*

Sidwell: What? I can play football!

*The dressing room erupts with laughter again, MON lifts his glasses dabbing the tears in his eyes with a handkerchief*

MON: Oh Steve, you're a gem. Now the goalkeeping dilemma has also been on the tips of everyone's tounges 'which Brad will he choose?' you cry. Well the 'keeper I've chosen has proven himself a protector beyond reproach and a man willing to throw his body wherever it takes. Brad, come on in!

*Friedel and Guzan look at each other puzzled, as the door opens and 'Brad' is forced through them followed by John Robertson.*

MON: Congratulate Bradley everyone!

*The lads stare, mostly in silence, Gabby is applauding, it's Bradley, from Eastenders*

MON: Brad everyone!

*Friedel has buried his face into his gloves, Guzan is scratching his head, Gabby is prodding Bradley's face with his finger*

Gabby: I thought you were dead?

MON: Now Brad would you care to put on your gloves.

Bradley: Thanks for the opportunity and all but I'm not a footballer.

MON: Nonsense, I know alot of 'keepers feel that way but you're every bit as an integral part of the team as a defender or striker Brad my boy.

Bradley: No .... I mean .... and my name's not actually Bradley it's .....

MON: Nevermind nicknames lad, just get your gloves on, we have our final match to play.

Gabby: Final match!? Are United going to .... Kill us?

MON: I'll kill you if we don't win!

*The lads all look at MON with unease, MON smiles*

MON: Only kidding lads.

*The lads look relieved, some of them chuckle*

MON: John will. Show 'em what you're working with Robbo.

*a sneering John Robertson unzips his large coat, opening it to reveal an array of deadly weapons.*

MON: Now get out there! It's death or glory! Play like your lives are on the line. Because they are!