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!"
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!"
posted by Steve Harmison | 11:16 AM
3 Comments:
From the west coast of the USA, I salute your glory, Mr. Bloggy.
West coast USA? You must be either lying, or on holiday. Thankyou for the salute.
this is really good mate, very amusing
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