Johhny Footballer's poem

Money was a dream
I had
Before I woke with
Loads of stuff
That broke and snapped
Or got lost.

Johnny Footballer: I'm That F*cking Good.

PART TWO OF HIS CACK AUTOBIOGRAPHY. SERIALISED ONLY ON MR BLOGGY.

It was Sunday morning, after training, when the gaffer told me I was going to be leading the attack that Monday night. The other two strikers were on remand for gang rape at a club on Friday night. Unknown to the boss, I was also on bail, for stealing tic tacs from the newsagents across the road from the training ground. Then smashing it's window with my forehead a little later. The bail conditions required me to stay at home from 7 o clock every evening. Kick-off was at 8 o clock. What was I going to do? Make my debut, at Anfield, live on Sky Sports, and risk a jail sentence? Or tell my boss about the bail conditions? I asked my dad for advice.

"Son, you always have three options in football. If you've got the ball, you can pass, you can shoot, or you can foul."

I got my older brother, Franky, to borrow my clothes and stand in my front window for two hours, waiting for the probation officer. I ran onto the pitch, confident that I'd get away with it. And I did. The magistrate was a woman, and never knew. In the third minute, I scored my first goal, at the age of 17 and 333 days. Jimmy 'Bignuts' Bignuts crossed a low ball in from the right. I controlled it near the edge of the 6 yard box, saw the goal keeper, and dived. Dived like Jacques Cousteau off the Olympic high board. The keeper was nowhere near me. I grabbed the ball, and put it on the penalty spot. Jimmy 'Bignuts' was meant to take it, but he knew I had issues, and was best left to it.

I'd planned my celebration before the match. The lads thought I was being cocky, but I knew I'd score. I'd written "Fuck the Dockers" on a t-shirt under my kit. It was a reference to the popular industrial dispute of the time. I stuck the ball in the top corner, ran straight to the Kop and pulled up my shirt. The whole stadium erupted, fans flooded the pitch, Johnny Footballer had arrived. Leeds 1, Liverpool 0.

Then the downside. The match was abandoned, the FA reviewed the footage. The bureaucrats and sex-addicts at the FA saw the shirt and judged it offensive, and banned me for 8 months. There were also allegations of me using a disabled fan as a human shield to keep the Liverpool fans at bay, but there was no evidence. I was merely taking him into the tunnel to provide him with some shelter, and his minder had run into my studs when trying to steal my boots.

That first suspension was the worst time in my career. The gaffer wanted to terminate my contract, but my agent threatened legal action if he dared. All I wanted to do was play football, but it had been taken away from me by the fascists at the FA. The public wanted me banned for life, and effigies of me were lynched across Merseyside. I decided the best way to deal with the situation was to try and inject some humour into it. My agent suggested a formal apology to the people of Liverpool, which I did. A press conference was called in Liverpool city centre. I turned up in a shellsuit, afro wig, and fake moustache, and repeated the phrase: "Cam down, Cam down" over and over. It was a catch-phrase of the BBC comedian Harry Enfield, and had been well-received by him. But people were determined to dislike everything I did. Like Diana, Princess of Wales, I had become a victim of media misrepresentation and an unwarranted target of public hate. Unlike her, I survived my Mercedes hitting a wall at high speed.


TOMORROW. JOHNNY FOOTBALLER COMPLETES HIS FIRST SEASON, GETS PICKED FOR ENGLAND, RETIRES, DATES A POP STAR, COMES OUT OF RETIREMENT, WINS THE LEAGUE CUP, RETIRES AGAIN, LOSES HIS DRIVING LICENSE, COMES OUT OF RETIREMENT, DATES A PAGE THREE MODEL, RETIRES, GETS CAUGHT HAVING SEX WITH JIMMY BIGNUTS, COMES OUT OF RETIREMENT, GETS SENT OFF IN THE WORLD CUP THEN CONSIDERS RETIREMENT. "I considered quitting. Depressed?! Fuck off, the only depressing thing I've done is your mum!"

Message from my girlfriend

If you mention me on your blog more, I will look at it more.

Johnny Footballer: I'm That F*cking Good.

THE AUTOBIGRAPHY. SERIALISED. ONLY ON MR BLOGGY

I came from humble beginnings. Of course I did. I'm a fucking footballer. Middle class footballers are gay. My dad played part-time football for the Matchstick Girls second XI. He was top-scorer for five straight seasons, until they noticed he was a man, and had got my mum pregnant. That never-say-die, sod-the-rules, wear-a-dress, attitude has stuck with me all my life. It also inspired my pony-tail season in 97/98, which famously got tangled in Darren Peacock's hair when the match had to be abandoned for health and safety reasons. After the game Kevin Keegan told Richard Keys it was abandoned for 'Hair and Safety' reasons. I almost pissed myself. I know that on camera it looked like I tried to headbutt Keegan in the tunnel, but I was just trying to separate myself from Darren. Darren and I are still friends today. We've got to be, we spent four months stuck to each other while doctors tried to remove the hair. It now sits in the trophy cabinet of Newcastle United. Well, what the fuck else can they put in there!

Back to my childhood, my mum gave birth to me at a bus stop in Canning Town, with help of a local rastifarian. On exiting her womb, I kicked the rastifarian in the willy and stuck my tongue out. A passing local remarked that the way I kicked the ball, I could play for West Ham one day. My mum said that the way I kicked the black man, I could play for Millwall. Of course, I played for neither, and signed schoolboy forms for Leeds United at my eigth birthday party in McDonalds. And as you know, the love of McDonalds, has stuck with me all my life. It's good quality, nutritious and cheap food. Good for people of all ages. And current sponsors of my 'Kick Football, Eat Shit' academy in Thailand.

The commute to Leeds domiated my life until I moved into digs on my sixteenth birthday. It meant I only went to school twice a year, on mufty days. I would wear my Leeds kit with pride on those days and be taunted by children who heard of my dad's disgraceful sacking from the Matchstick Girls Second XI, but I didn't care. I had studs and attitude. And not the Old Compton Street studs and attitude.

I don't regret not going to school often. It was never for me, and I preferred the commutes and sleepovers involved in travelling to Leeds. Graham Rix used to make sure that I was happy, and always gave me somewhere to stay, even though he was with Chelsea. He really took an interest in my progress, and helped me prepare for future marketing needs and photo shoots. Of course, because I was too young to be sponsored, I had to practice without the clothes, but once the sponsors came, I was able to pose like a pro.


TOMORROW- JOHNNY FOOTBALLER'S DEBUT AND SUBSEQUENT 8-MONTH SUSPENSION: "HE WAS FUCKING ASKING FOR IT!"