shannon2007

It was true that the people of URgay had been incensed to learn their beloved country had been mocked in a very famous U.S. cartoon show. They had assembled their troops, ready to invade before they realised that they were in fact gay, and therefore they all moved to Poland and that ended that little crises. And yet the people of Haiti – which has absolutely nothing to do with URgay - still remained convinced that they could have a football team that could win the FIFA World Cup. But they never were a very bright lot were they.

And yet perhaps they were not as stupid as some people might believe, and were certainly nowhere near as stupid as the French who could not understand why they had lost, not just once but twice to Scotland. It's because you're pish you stupid froggy bastards.

But back to Haiti, and the Haitian FA had a plan. If they could infiltrate some European leagues, they might just be able to plant some seeds that would grow into players capable of playing for Haiti in the future. Looking around Europe, the most obvious choice would be France. Haiti had very strong links with France – a few hundred years ago some French people had come to Island, raped their women and children, buggered and slaughtered their menfolk and generally made a nuisance of themselves so that many people alive today in Haiti could claim to have French blood. Which they usually kept in the freezer.

Yet in France, their players might have some difficulty in emerging into first team squads and being able to show-case their talents. A much more insignificant league would have to be found, and in the end the Haitian's decided to pick Scotland. After all, like Haiti, Scotland is half an Island on which the other half is full of arseholes. Like Haiti, Scotland has had a strong cultural link with France in the distant past. Like Haiti, Scotland had utter ***** for a football team. Although tell that to the French.

The plan was quite simple. And it was easy enough to implement. At one stage, Haitian spies (scouts) would be sent to nearly club in the SPL and possibly some of the other leagues as well if money permitted – although in the end, only two clubs in France were able to be penetrated. Which was far less than during the war. But the Haitian's decided to go a step further, they would 'take over a nondescript, utterly useless SPL side and try to bring as many Haitian players there as possible in order to enhance the chances of finding some nice tasty young players. Of course the club would have to be easy to buy and as the Haitian FA had just come into a gift of some sheep the choice was obvious – they would take over Baa-aberdeen.

The final problem for Haiti lay in the silly thing called 'work permits' that players from outside the EEC needed to be able to play in Scotland. There was only one thing for it, Haiti would need to join the EEC. It should not, in reality, be all that difficult a thing to do. After all, they had let Poland in.

shannon2007

Notes:

Now, a short while ago I started a similiar story - and hence some of the opening posts in this will seem familiar to the two people who read it. However, it was not really working out, mainly because in Uruguay you can only have three foreigners in your team. That kinds of buggered up the idea tbh.

So after thinking about it, and finding via the Duncan MacLeod story that what HD had told me about coaches nationalities affecting regens, I decided to try this again. Lets see if it lasts more than three post, or will I have call myself Terk.

Mind you, Terk would kill to have as many completed stories as me :cool:

shannon2007

The ball floated in from the left by Phillipe Vorbe, Fernanzez rose majestically to head the ball past the outstretched arms of the Brazilian keeper and against all the odds, Haiti had won the 1974 World Cup Final! As he pulled off his shirt and ran to the celebrating Haiti fans, Fernandez could hear a strange, loud beeping noise in his ear and it was only after a few minutes of wondering what the hell was going on that he realised it was his alarm clock. It was time to get up.

Of course Enrique Fernandez had not scored the winning goal of the 1974 World Cup Final. If he had have done, we would all instantly know who he was and he would probably not be sleeping in this damp, musky one bedroom flat, alone and near destitute. He would probably not have a crappy little job at a crappy mid-table Second Division club, and he would almost certainly not have been divorced from his three ex-wives. In fact with a bit of luck he would never have met them.

Enrique Fernandez though had indeed actually been at the 1974 World Cup as part of the all conquering Haiti squad. Well when I say I all conquering I mean, well, rubbish. Having lost 3-1 to Italy, 7-0 to Poland and 4-1 to Argentina, Haiti had been sent home in shame - but it was hardly as if anything more had been expected and the honour of their country had been simply in reaching the Finals. The fact that the government had threatened to shoot every single member of the squad was put down in the end as being a little joke. Enrique Fernandez had not found it funny, because he of all people knew that the President had actually been deadly serious.

As Enrique got dressed in his mundane clothes and poured a bowl of cornflakes, his early morning routine was shattered by a severe hammering on the front door. Enrique froze. He did not think it was time for him to pay his rent, he could not think of any debts he might he owe and he was half way wondering what else someone might be hammering so hard on his door about when the door crashed to the floor and four men in dark suits, dark glasses and carrying rather AK-47's literally fell into his flat.

'You must come with us' Said the rather fat baldy one, pointing his AK 47 right at Enrique.

Ignoring the gun at his head, Enrique was outraged.

'You have broken my door!' He exclaimed.

'Erm yes' the rather skinny man with the large wart on his nose said, 'We are most sorry, but there is not time to worry about that. You must come with us. NOW!'

Enrique Fernandez was in no position to argue.

'Oh but please Mr Fernandez', the fat balding man sighed, 'put some clothes on.'

shannon2007

Larry the Sheep

Larry, along with his brother Barry and Harry, had been born on a small farm on the outskirts of Baa-aberdeen. This was not at unusual, as many sheep had been born near and around the town. When Larry had - who had been the star of a very successful TV show as a Lamb - had grown up, he had moved in with a nice family near Pittodrie where he regulary had sex with the virtually the whole household. This was also not unusual in Baa-aberdeen.

But Larry's great love was football. Living so close to the stadium, Larry and his brothers and many many sisters had often had 'relationships' with the Baa-aberdeen team. Indeed Larry sister Maisie had actually married Willie Miller. This was also not an unusual event in the town, hence the nickname of the team - the Sheepshaggers.

Having made a lot of money from his TV show, and with it being syndicated throughout the world, Larry had become quite rich and when a consortium of shady businessmen had approached him with a view to taking over the club, Larry was delighted to be involved. The Baa-aberdeen board were more than delighted to sell their stake, particulary as the consortium had thrown some of their own sheep into the deal and no Aberdonian could turn a good sheep-shagging opportunity. It was only surprising that Aberdeen was not in Wales.

Larry's position in the club would be Director of Football, and although he was not the first sheep to be involved in football - many of FIFA'a top brass were of course sheep - he was nevertheless proud to play his part. At Larry's insistence, his brothers Barry and Harry were also given roles at the club.

Barry would become the Assistant Manager, his local knowledge would come in very useful. In more ways that one. Whilst Harry, who was not quite as clever as the other two and actually believed Baa-aberdeen were good side, was appointed to the coaching staff. It was a deal made in heaven - or more likely a field of grass.

shannon2007

Enrique found himself, head covered with a sack that smelled like an old woman who hadn't washed herself for like 20 years, dragged from the vehicle he had been riding in for what seemed like an eternity and with what he could only assumed were tha AK-47's still prodding his back, made to walk up a never ending spiral staircase. Eventually they reached the top and Enrique was pushed roughly onto what he assumed was a chair.

'You wait here Mssr Fernandez. Be a good boy and no-one will get hurt. D'you undertand?'

Enrique mumbled that he did not really understand only to have someone wallop him with what he assumed was the AK-47 and he meekly agreed to wait. Quietly. Like a little, tiny, frightened mouse. A little tiny frightened mouse that was, quite literally, in danger of peeing itself. But Enrique held on for grim life, he would not give these thugs another reason to humiliate him.

As he sat waiting for his fate, Enrique tried to think who these people could be. Could it be his drug smuggling racket to Uruguay had been found out? Unlikely as that may seem, because Enrique didn't have a drug smuggling racket. He didn't even have a tennis racket. OK so it wasn't that. Could it then be his involvement in the white slave trade, shipping off young girls to Europe to serve as whores and slaves? No, that wasn't it. The nearest Enrique had ever come to the white slave trade had been that rather cute looking prositute he had had picked up once or twice in Port Au Prince who had known some rather kinky games.

No there was only one thing it could be. The authorities had uncovered his dodgy dealings with Uruguayan club side Uruguay Montevideo which had seen two players from his club transfered there and Enrique had pocketed a quite nice fee. But would that really require an armed gang? This wasn't the 1930's after all. It was hardly illegal to take a bung - well perhaps it was, but come on everyone in Haiti was doing it. Except Mannon, he was a bloody saint.

After what seemed liked hours, with his bladder about to burst, Enrique was frogmarched again, made to sit down and the sack was finally removed from his head. He found himself in a rather luxurious office, that reeked of cigar smoke. As his eyes focused, Enrique recognized the man behind the desk at last.

'You bastard!' He shouted at him. 'You utter bastard!'

'Come now Enrique' An exceptionally fat, round man with a huge cigar sticking almost obscenely out of his mouth spoke, 'There's no need to be like that.'

'There bloody is!' Enrique was outraged, 'I've gone and fecking wet myself!!'

shannon2007

Sylvio Cator

It wasn't his real name of course.

Iain had no idea just who Sylvio Cator was, if indeed there had even been a Sylvio Cator, but it had sounded like a reasonably obscure, non threatening nome-de-plume and would fit in quite nicely with his new Haitian personna.

And they were paying him a million big ones for this.

And not sheep either.

In fact Sylvio Cator - the real Sylvio Cator - had been a famous athlete. One of the most famous athletes in Haitian history if truth be told, probably even more famous than Manno Sannon, but not as famous as Jesus. Cator had not been one of the Beatles after all. As well as having a stadium named after him, and having been Mayor of Port-Au-Prince, Sylvio Cator had won an Olympic Silver medal and once held the world long jump record. He had also been a footballer.

Iain then had hardly chosen a particularly inconspicous name, and if he had ever found out who the real Cator was, perhaps then he would realise why the Haitian FA board had been in tears of laughter. But he never did find out, he never was the brightest spark on the planet.

Iain had two passions in life. He passionately hated Aberdeen and he passionately hated sheep. It was all he could do to not reach for the mint sauce when he was introduced to Larry, Harry and Barry - although he did eventually fall in love with and marry Larry's sister Daisy, but that was, of course, entirely different.

It was Iain's intention to bring down Aberdeen from the inside, to make sure they went back to their rightful place as the cesspit of Scottish football - it was, after all, what their stadium was called. And using the Haitian would be the perfect foil. Everybody knew that Haitian's could not play football, and even in the dire pit of the SPL, they would surely be found wanting and Aberdeen would slip into obscurity and Scotland would be rid of a disgusting perverted cancer from within the game.

It was fully Iain's intentions to bankrupt the perverted sheep-shagging bastards. And after that, he would move to Kilmarnock.......

shannon2007

'We'd like to offer you the job as Manager of the National Side.' The rather fat sweaty man with the huge cigar beamed broadly.

'You'd like to what?!?' Enrique felt himself about to explode.

'We'd like you to become the new manager of Haiti' Fatty smiled hypocritically, 'We are sure you are the right man for this highly prestigious position.'

'You drag me here at gun point, with a bag over my head, scaring me half to death, making me think something terrible was happening, and then..... and then you offer me a ... a.. JOB!'

'Sure' Sweaty Fatman blew his smoke very deliberately into across Enrique's face.

'Well that's outrageous. I mean, after the way you've treated me - you could have sent me a fricking letter! Or phoned me! But no, you kidnap me at gunpoint, and then you offer me a freaking job!'

'Well we do like to add a little bit of drama. This will be a demanding job, had to know if you had the bottle for it. So, will you accept? No pressure like.'

'Will I accept? Brought here at gunpoint and nearly murdered! - Sure, why not.'

'Excellent. You can begin tomorrow. This is going to be a most wonderful relationship. You will lead us to glory, even more so than 1974. Together Enrique we will become legends!'

'Erm yeah sure and if I fail, you'll have me shot!'

Fatty dropped his cigar, his face awash with indignation.

'Have you shot? SHOT! My good man, whatever could have given you that impression!'

retired_milla0225

Aww Noooo <Adopts face of extreme anguish>, you mean PM7 is doing another international management story ???????

My dreams of awards night glory - dashed ! Woe is me.


Seriously, PM7, old buddy, you are the man when it comes to the stories, and this one is no exception.

shannon2007

Thanks CF2. International football is a hoot actually, especially with a small nation.

shannon2007

Enrique closed the door of the office, first making sure there were no people waiting to 'surprise' him - with guns. This had, perhaps, been one of the more unusual job interviews he had ever had, but in the end he could not turn down the opportunity to manage his country. And that letter from the President, threatening to have his legs broken if he refused, in no way influenced his decision.

Much.

Haiti were not the most successful of footballing countries in the world. They were not even the most successful in their region. But nevertheless they were a very proud country and they tried as hard as they could to love their football team. A football team that had over the years provided very little cheer for their nation. The equivilant of a regional championship win in 1957 was all they had to show, until the glorious year of 1973 when they hosted what combined as the regional championships and more importantly, qualifiers for 1974 World Cup Finals in West Germany. And a legend was born.

Enrique had been so proud to have been a member of that 1974 squad, even though he did not take to the field in the Finals. Even though all the glory went to Manno Sannon. It had, nevertheless, been the highlight of his footballing career, nay, his very life to have rubbed shoulders with the footballing greats and for Haiti the 1974 World Cup had been a wondrous occasion. It had also become a millstone round their necks ever since.

One minute into the second half of their opening World Cup tie of the 1974 Finals, Manno Sannon sent tiny Haiti into the lead against the might Italy and wrote his name into Haitian folklore. The lead was to last only six minutes and Italy went on to win 3-1. A 7-0 drubbing followed from Poland, and although Sannon bagged a goal against the Argentine, that match too was lost, by four goals to one and tiny Haiti, the first Caribbean country to qualify for the Football World Cup, were sent home again, battered and bruised but mighty proud of their efforts.

Thats was now 31 years ago. The years had passed and Haiti had never again made it to the Finals of football's premier competition. But though the years had passed and memories faded, still burning within was a deep desire to emulate that 1974 performance. Yet such expectations continued to prove to much, and many players and managers had suffered the wrath of a countries expectations. And now, having made it to the final qualifying group, a disasterous opening five matches had left Haiti with just four points and another manager had bitten the dust.

For Enrique the task was to reach the World Cup Finals. He could only pray to God that the President had not meant 2010, but would have the good sense to realise that 2014 – or even 3014 - was the best bet. But somehow, Enrique wasn't so sure.....