shannon2007

Martin O'Neil had a headache. A dull throbbing pain that would no go away. He was grumpy, and he was tired and he just wanted to go back to sleep. Why had his wife not turned off the alarm clock for him? And where was his morning coffee?

The alarm clock would not stop ringing, so reluctantly, Martin dragged himself out of bed.

Slowly, his head still throbbing, he made his way to the kitchen, located the kettle and made himself a nice cup of coffee.

A few minutes later, he bounced back into the bedroom, picking up the envelope that lay under the still buzzing alarm clock, which he genially switched off.

'This is magnificent!' He chirped as he ripped open the envelope, 'Utterly, fantastic, amazing, wonderful!'

shannon2007

Lucifer, the Devil, Satan, Tony Blair.

He went under many names. Now he had another to use.

Which was nice.

The Devil, as he really prefered to be called, lay contented beneath his silk sheets. To his right lay a beautiful, buxom, young blonde and to his left lay an equally buxom young brunette. Sometimes, it was tough being the Devil.

The Devil put an arm round each of the girls and pulled then to him, but the rest of that bit is censored, sorry.

Afterward, the Devil got up and took the envelope that was lying on the dressing table. Of course he knew what it said, he was after all the Devil, and he knew everything. Thats right, everything, so just remember the next time you go for a pee, the Devil is watching you!

It also helped that he had written what was in the envelope. It seemed silly, an indulgence, but the others had envelopes so why shouldn't he. Was he not, after all the Devil, the Lord of the Daleks, the Creator of All Things?

Carefully he opened his envelope, read the intructions and smiled. This was going to be fun. He wondered how the other four were coping with their assignments, and laughed. On the bed, the two incredibly beautiful young women stirred again and the Devil, reluctantly went back to fulfill their needs.

It was a tough job being the Devil after all.

shannon2007

Brian Clough sat, near to tears, in a run down park in the center of Birmingham. In his hand he held an opened envelope, but he already knew what the envelope contained. It was not joyous reading. Clough withdrew the letter, hands still shaking like a leaf and read it again.



Dear Brian.

Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of a human body. Please remember that, unlike Heaven, you will have to eat, pee and crap. Failure to do these three things will mean termination and we cannot grant you another chance. It will be game over, nada, zilch, au revoir, nil point. You get the point right?

Your name is Ryan Duff. You are a Brummy, in case you haven't figured that out yet. You are thirty seven years old, and live in a rather luxurious - by Brummy standards - flat, with your lover of over 20 years, Iain. You have no children. Obviously.

After reading this letter, you will head to the St Andrews Sradium, home of Birmingham City - there is a map enclosed for your convenience - where you will attend an interview with the club chairman, David Sullivan. Don't worry, this is merely a formality and the job is yours.

Your first aim is to win promotion to the English Premiership. You have almost unlimited finances. However, you must at all times play only players eligible to play for England. If a player had dual nationalities, you can play him unless and until he gets capped for a country other than England, then he becomes dead to you and must be gotten rid of.

Good luck.

Your friend,

The Devil



It was terrible. He was living in Birmingham, he was gay.... and he was called Ryan Duff. No-one in their right mind was ever going to create an FMS user name ryanduffisdead. Then Clough remembered one very vital thing - he had no idea what FMS was.

And, when all was said and done, Clough surely had the easiest job of the five men. It would be an utter dawdle to sweep the world with an all English side.

Probably.

shannon2007

Ally MacLeod sat on a bench in the police station.

The police station stank of urine, and Ally wondered why no-one else seemed to notice. Then again, this was Kilmarnock.

Ally thought back to the letter.

[i]

Dear Ally.

Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of a human body. Please remember that, unlike Heaven, you will have to eat, pee and crap. Failure to do these three things will mean termination and we cannot grant you another chance. It will be game over, nada, zilch, au revoir, nil point. You get the point right?

Your name is Alistair MacLean. You are from Kilmarnock, in case you haven't figured that out yet. You are thirty six years old, and live in a small detached bungalow with your wife Marjorie, your eight year old daughter Jasmine and your six month old son, Wally. Your wife is a police officer, based in Kilmarnock. Fortunately, you do not actually live in Kilmarnock, even the Devil would not be that cruel.

After reading this letter, you will head to Somerset Park, Ayr - there is a map enclosed for your convenience (You shouldn't need it, you know where it is) - where you will attend an interview with the club chairman, Donald Cameron. Don't worry, this is merely a formality and the job is yours.

Your first aim is to gain promotion to the Scottish Premier League. You have virtually unlimited finances. However, you must at all times play only players eligible to play for Scotland. If a player has dual nationalities, you can play him unless and until he gets capped for a country other than Scotland, then he becomes dead to you and must be gotten rid of.

Good luck.

Your friend,

The Devil

[i]

Jasime, sitting beside Ally, sprang up when her mother entered the room.

'Thank feck I'm back on dayshift' the not unattractive women said as she greeted her husband. 'Lets go home.'

Ally MacLeod felt he had landed in paradise.

shannon2007

Robbie Savage sat in the sauna. He was naked. That was something he would, it seems, have to get used to. His mind went back to the letter.


Dear Robbie.

Congratulations! You are now the proud owner of a human body. Please remember that, unlike Heaven, you will have to eat, pee and crap. Failure to do these three things will mean termination and we cannot grant you another chance. It will be game over, nada, zilch, au revoir, nil point. You get the point right?

Your name is John Toshack. You are from Wrexham, in case you were wondering about that. You are thirty six years old, and live in a nice flat with your lovely thirty three year wife, Helga, and your two beautiful kids - Hans, aged four, and Hilda aged five. Helga is Swedish, and you met her during your three year playing stint in that country. Like most Swedes, Helga prefers a naturist lifestyle at home which I am sure you will agree is a huge bonus for you!

After reading this letter, you will head to Plas Kynaston Lane - there is a map enclosed for your convenience, should you need one - where you will attend an interview with the club chairman, Brian Mackie. Don't worry, this is merely a formality and the job is yours.

Your first aim is to win the Welsh Premier League title. You have reasonably unlimited finances. However, you must at all times play only players eligible to play for Wales. If a player has dual nationalities, you can play him unless and until he gets capped for a country other than Wales, then he becomes dead to you and must be gotten rid of.

Good luck.

Your friend,

The Devil




Savage burst into tears.

He had two fat hippo's for kids, he was married to a whale and, worst of all, his name was John Toshack. This was surely a very, very bad joke........