V DERBY, 0-3
It's not the result we were looking for, no. I know it, the fans know it, those lads back in that dressing room know it. And to concede all three goals in injury time certainly raises issues about our concentration and focus. We thought we could hold out for a point but that final whistle came just too late for us. It's like, well, we've all been there. You get a rumbling, churning sensation in your bowels and you realise the call of nature is ringing rather urgently. But there's no public convenience immediately to hand so you just hope you can hold it in and weather the storm, so to speak. And the first two or three times you go a bit red, clench the muscles in your hindquarters and you just about manage. But then, the fourth time, the rumbling comes with a vengeance and this time the mudslide won't be denied. It's all the more unfortunate that you're sitting on the face of the chairman's wife at the time, under a hedge in the club car park in a discreet dalliance that, to be fair, you'd hope would have gone rather better, all things being equal. You're not happy, she's certainly not happy and as for the chairman, you only hope that he keeps things in proportion and understands that in football, these things happen, and you take them on the chin, or, to be fair, in the case of his dignified lady wife, down the throat, the nostrils and both ear canals. Next time, perhaps we can get things right and it'll be you that gets the result and it's her sitting on your face.
V NOTTINGHAM FOREST, 0-4
It wasn't our day, I'll hold up my hands and admit that. But you have to understand that for fans to expect us to be winning every single week is unrealistic. It's a basic fact of life that in this game, in this life, you will occasionally lose. I mean, I can tell you quite an amusing story that I think everyone can relate to. It's your eldest child's birthday party, and they've run out of balloons. So, not properly supervised, because you yourself are otherwise occupied in another part of the the premises, the kids start rooting around upstairs, in the cupboards, to see if there are any more balloons about, and they end up in the master bedroom, rummaging in the drawers where a gentleman like yourself is liable to keep certain, shall we say, prophylactics and so forth. Anyway, back they come downstairs, and your eldest starts blowing and huffing into what they've brought down, and your wife, who's been in the kitchen, comes in and lets out a howl because it turns out, oh, yes, they've only gone and fetched down your lifesize inflatable sex gorilla. You're attracted by the commotion, you run downstairs from the spare bedroom in the pink, so to speak, because you've been ever so discreetly trying to make it up to the chairman's wife following the car park incident, and at a glance you can see what's happened. So, you fetch your lad a clip round the head with the fireside poker, and then, so as to teach them right them wrong, you tell them that this inflatable isn't a toy, and demonstrate on it the purpose the good Lord intended it for, to be fair, to show them, basically, that life isn't all balloons. Sometimes it's gorillas. Big ones.
V CHARLTON, 0-5
We've not come away with the points today but we've come away with a certain amount of pride. Because, to be fair, I've had to take a few brickbats over team selection and the close season signings I've made – particularly Nigel Spunktard. Now, there's been all kinds of crazy suggestions about why I signed a player like Nigel Spunktard, unproven at this level, which I won't even dignify with a response in this interview. There's people coming out and saying, you know, is he the latest in a succession of similar signings including Dieter Münchdick, the African lad Joseph Blo Job, Arsene Titz, the Belgian feller Pieter Cunnilingers and the Korean boy Suk Mi Kok. The fact that they're all what in the old days we would have called right sided wing backs has raised this ridiculous idea that somehow I signed them because of something to do with their names and I've left the team lopsided. To which I say, I select my team on merit and merit alone. Which is why even a hot prospect like our South American Jose Luis De Lourdes Enrique Santa Eduardo Cunt, can't even get a game just now.
V COVENTRY, 0-7
Yes. Oh, yes. The pressure is on. And yes, let's talk about the game today. Let's talk about football. Because this week, I've had to deflect questions about issues that are nothing to do with the game, and all to do with comments I made which, in fairness, have been blown all out of proportion. Actually, no, I want to put the record straight. All I said was, in this game, in this country, you've got people whinging and feigning and rolling around making themselves out to be victims and so forth. It's like, dyslexia. In my time, we had a word for that – stupid. Go put on the dunce's cap, go sit in the corner and think on. And blindness. That's another one. I'm sorry, but I speak as I find and I'm not convinced. I think it's a load of nonsense. All this “ooh, I can't see, I can't see” and stumbling around – to me, they're just not making the effort. I grew up in a tough neighbourhood, I learned to see – you just had to, round our way. Why can't they? I say, take away their dogs and their sticks and let them fend for themselves and stop piggybacking. I tell you this, I bet you they're having a laugh right now, laughing it up, rolling around in all them coins we put in the little collection boxes in the precincts up and down the country. They're onto a cushy number and they're milking people – I mean you, me, people – milking us dry. Personally, I'd charter a dozen trawlers and have them thrown out to sea, in batches. Their dogs too. Anyway, I say all this and the media, well, with respect, you know what they're like, they twist your words, turn them round, take them out of context and make me out to be somehow having a pop at blind people. Nothing could be further from the truth. I don't have an anti-blind people bone in my body. I just happen to think they should all be drowned.
It's not the result we were looking for, no. I know it, the fans know it, those lads back in that dressing room know it. And to concede all three goals in injury time certainly raises issues about our concentration and focus. We thought we could hold out for a point but that final whistle came just too late for us. It's like, well, we've all been there. You get a rumbling, churning sensation in your bowels and you realise the call of nature is ringing rather urgently. But there's no public convenience immediately to hand so you just hope you can hold it in and weather the storm, so to speak. And the first two or three times you go a bit red, clench the muscles in your hindquarters and you just about manage. But then, the fourth time, the rumbling comes with a vengeance and this time the mudslide won't be denied. It's all the more unfortunate that you're sitting on the face of the chairman's wife at the time, under a hedge in the club car park in a discreet dalliance that, to be fair, you'd hope would have gone rather better, all things being equal. You're not happy, she's certainly not happy and as for the chairman, you only hope that he keeps things in proportion and understands that in football, these things happen, and you take them on the chin, or, to be fair, in the case of his dignified lady wife, down the throat, the nostrils and both ear canals. Next time, perhaps we can get things right and it'll be you that gets the result and it's her sitting on your face.
V NOTTINGHAM FOREST, 0-4
It wasn't our day, I'll hold up my hands and admit that. But you have to understand that for fans to expect us to be winning every single week is unrealistic. It's a basic fact of life that in this game, in this life, you will occasionally lose. I mean, I can tell you quite an amusing story that I think everyone can relate to. It's your eldest child's birthday party, and they've run out of balloons. So, not properly supervised, because you yourself are otherwise occupied in another part of the the premises, the kids start rooting around upstairs, in the cupboards, to see if there are any more balloons about, and they end up in the master bedroom, rummaging in the drawers where a gentleman like yourself is liable to keep certain, shall we say, prophylactics and so forth. Anyway, back they come downstairs, and your eldest starts blowing and huffing into what they've brought down, and your wife, who's been in the kitchen, comes in and lets out a howl because it turns out, oh, yes, they've only gone and fetched down your lifesize inflatable sex gorilla. You're attracted by the commotion, you run downstairs from the spare bedroom in the pink, so to speak, because you've been ever so discreetly trying to make it up to the chairman's wife following the car park incident, and at a glance you can see what's happened. So, you fetch your lad a clip round the head with the fireside poker, and then, so as to teach them right them wrong, you tell them that this inflatable isn't a toy, and demonstrate on it the purpose the good Lord intended it for, to be fair, to show them, basically, that life isn't all balloons. Sometimes it's gorillas. Big ones.
V CHARLTON, 0-5
We've not come away with the points today but we've come away with a certain amount of pride. Because, to be fair, I've had to take a few brickbats over team selection and the close season signings I've made – particularly Nigel Spunktard. Now, there's been all kinds of crazy suggestions about why I signed a player like Nigel Spunktard, unproven at this level, which I won't even dignify with a response in this interview. There's people coming out and saying, you know, is he the latest in a succession of similar signings including Dieter Münchdick, the African lad Joseph Blo Job, Arsene Titz, the Belgian feller Pieter Cunnilingers and the Korean boy Suk Mi Kok. The fact that they're all what in the old days we would have called right sided wing backs has raised this ridiculous idea that somehow I signed them because of something to do with their names and I've left the team lopsided. To which I say, I select my team on merit and merit alone. Which is why even a hot prospect like our South American Jose Luis De Lourdes Enrique Santa Eduardo Cunt, can't even get a game just now.
V COVENTRY, 0-7
Yes. Oh, yes. The pressure is on. And yes, let's talk about the game today. Let's talk about football. Because this week, I've had to deflect questions about issues that are nothing to do with the game, and all to do with comments I made which, in fairness, have been blown all out of proportion. Actually, no, I want to put the record straight. All I said was, in this game, in this country, you've got people whinging and feigning and rolling around making themselves out to be victims and so forth. It's like, dyslexia. In my time, we had a word for that – stupid. Go put on the dunce's cap, go sit in the corner and think on. And blindness. That's another one. I'm sorry, but I speak as I find and I'm not convinced. I think it's a load of nonsense. All this “ooh, I can't see, I can't see” and stumbling around – to me, they're just not making the effort. I grew up in a tough neighbourhood, I learned to see – you just had to, round our way. Why can't they? I say, take away their dogs and their sticks and let them fend for themselves and stop piggybacking. I tell you this, I bet you they're having a laugh right now, laughing it up, rolling around in all them coins we put in the little collection boxes in the precincts up and down the country. They're onto a cushy number and they're milking people – I mean you, me, people – milking us dry. Personally, I'd charter a dozen trawlers and have them thrown out to sea, in batches. Their dogs too. Anyway, I say all this and the media, well, with respect, you know what they're like, they twist your words, turn them round, take them out of context and make me out to be somehow having a pop at blind people. Nothing could be further from the truth. I don't have an anti-blind people bone in my body. I just happen to think they should all be drowned.
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