*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!
Saturday 26 June 2010
*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!!!
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?
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!
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.
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.
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*
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*
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.
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!
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.
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........
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*
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!
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!
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