*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.