The league cup win against Cheltenham had made sure we had continued our excellent unbeaten start to the season, but the dodgy pitch at Whaddon Road had left a couple of our lads with injuries. The next day at training, Eugen Bopp and his weasel were on one treatment table and our goal machine Marlon King was on the other. 'Whats the damage John?' I ask our senile old scottish physio John Harwood. 'ah, nothing lad' came the reply - 'just the bloody day staff standing around scratching their arses.......... and scratching their fannys'. I thought about this for a moment, before realising it made basically f*ck all sense and chose to ignore it. 'No John, whats the trouble with these lads' and pointed to King and Bopp. 'Ahh, I see laddie. Well this fella (king) has got a sprained football boot. It's quite serious actually. I might need to take it off. And this German chappie has a big red spot on his forehead'. Dammit, I thought. They were both definately out of the league game at the weekend against West Ham at Upton Park. 'Thanks John' I shout and turn to leave. "one more thing son" 'yes john' I reply. "It's this weasel, he's got a ruptured cruciate ligament and will be out for 6 months at least" I ponder in my head whether to bother explaining to John that the weasel isnt a Forest player, but I'm interrupted by Eugen Bopp's uncontrollable sobbing "oh mr Veasel, I'm so sorry. I should never have done zat sliding tackle on you. Please Forgive me? PLEASE" and with that, the weasel squeaked and Bopp and the weasel embraced and decided to put the past behind them and move on together.
I retire to my office and turn on the radio. It's the League cup third round draw today, and I was crossing my fingers in hope of getting a big name to really test ourselves against and perhaps give us a lift in our league campaign. Unfortunately, we are drawn against man united. "bolloc*s" I think to myself. "How am I going to get the lads motivated for that? I mean what am i supposed to say 'ooooh lads, we're all off to the theatre of dreams what an occasion!" I feel literally sick to my stomach. Drawn against man united! This is the worst thing that has ever happened to anybody ever in the history of the world. How are we supposed to even stay awake, when they're playing their ubelievably dull brand of 'football'. Can I even be bothered to sit through the 30 minutes of injury time if by some amazing fluke, we aren't hammering the talent-free work horses by full-time. Will I be able to keep a straight face when whichever referee Ferguson has picked for the game gives a tediously obvious incorrect penalty against us because Michael Dawson ran near Shrek or Donkey or whoever is playing up front for them. Maybe it'll be Alan Smith, with his shiny red Maybeline lips and his bleach blonde quiff. The little tart.
Anyway, I knock back a few whiskeys and put this disapointment to the back of my mind and prepare the lads for the game against West Ham. I gather them together in the tactics truck that I borrowed from Andy Townsend and sit them all down.
"Okay, West Ham at the weekend. We know they've got some good pace up front but I want you central midfield boys to watch Sheringham. Dont you leave him for the centre backs, because we all know how deep he plays. Any questions?" Gareth Taylor raises his hand. "yes Gaz?" I ask "can I go to the toilet please" the room erupts with sniggers. "oh for fu*ks sake Gaz. Couldnt you have gone before?" He sighs like a big girl and starts kicking the chair in front of him, which belongs to Eoin Jess. Eoin Jess puts his hand up. "yes Jessop" I say with a sigh "Taylors kicking my chair" he moans. "don't tell tales Eoin. Gareth, go to the toilet but be quick."
I start talking about Marlon Harewood and about how we know all about the bast*rd already when all of a sudden Baker bursts through the door dressed as Ginger Spice in a little Union Jack dress. He's singing the well known Spice Girls hit 'Wannabe'. He gets half way through it and does admirably well on some of the trickier dance moves before I turn off his cd player. "what d'you do that for boss?" he asks bewildered. "what the f*ck do you mean?" I scream at him. "First of all I'm trying to do a pre-match talk, which you should have been at. And secondly, why are you doing this? This is the second time in two weeks that you've worn womens clothing you stupid racist tw*t". Baker shook his head and laughed "it's for children in need! I'm raising money!".
"Oh really Ryan? How many people have sponsored you? .......... Yes thats right none. You just thought you'd dress up as that silly ginger bitch for a laugh didnt you? Well thats it, I've had enough of you being like this. You're going out on loan. Now go home, I'll give you a call later to tell you where you're going." Baker sulked out of the tactis truck and disappeared. I called an end to the discussion and fooked off home on my spaz chariot. I needed to do some serious thinking...........
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