Wednesday 15th September
So, just as I promised, we went back to a four-man defence against QPR and won comfortably. It’s incredible that some people question the word of Van Gaal. I introduced my five new players to the team and they were all magnificent. After the game, despite the romantic complications between some members of the squad, we all stood in a circle in the showers and soaped down the man in front. This is vital for team bonding. Usually Robin manages to position himself in front of me, but today I felt that it was Angel who deserved Louis’ lather.
All was going well until Daley Blind entered the changing room late after undergoing an extended warm-down. Before I had even reached the best part of our post-win foam party, what I call, “putting my finger in the dam”, the players hatd descended upon him and were bickering over who could comb his hair. My own urge to do so myself was strong, but I am the trainer-coach and there must be boundaries.
It has been a difficult week, but one from which I knew I would emerge smelling of tulips. Robin has been very low after my decision to end our affair and the FIFA player ratings scandal. Truss phoned him to rant about the latter. She said that if the numbers aren’t changed she will tie herself to the railings outside of EA’s head offices. I begged her not to but you know how women get over sporting statistics and video games.
The next day Robin was so sad that I could not resist making love to him over the desk in my office. Just a one-off you understand, for the good of the squad. Unfortunately SIR BOBBY CHARLTON walked in on us. This is the second f*cking time in two weeks that he’s shuffled in without knocking. He said he’d only wanted me to wipe his bottom. This time he went off and told Giggs what he’d seen! Giggs came to me clearly distressed about the deteriorating mental state of one of his heroes, asking what we should do. I said that I thought it was time that Sir Bobby had full-time care at home. The next day he was gone! At lunch Ryan requested that we say a prayer for him. Albert suggested a traditional Dutch pre-meal blessing and proceeded, hands together, head bowed, to suggest that in his spare time Giggs enjoys fellating pigs. “Amen”, said Giggs. Frans later told me that he’d nearly schijt himself laughing.
I think that the QPR game will be a turning point for everyone, a new beginning now that I have decided that it is time to start winning, but it was an odd day. In the morning Falcao was to be interviewed at Old Trafford by Geoff Shreeves for Sky Sports. Radamel returned looking a little flustered. At the end of filming an unsettling Q and A, Shreeves had asked if he would mind a short segment of film being recorded and some still shots taken of him furiously masturbating in the middle of the changing room and then in front of the shirt of Rooney. Radamel said he could not, for he is not a hypocrite, had already done this at Monaco, that their changing rooms were way better anyway and that he thinks that James is a better player than Rooney. Jorge was right about him not being able to lie.
The match itself was a joy to watch, as I knew it would be once I ditched the 3-5-2 and started trying to win. Di Maria was truly magnificent. After he scored I took a selfie from the dugout with stick man celebrating in the distance and sent it to Wenger and Perez. Under the Frenchman’s I wrote, “PS, so close for Welbeck on Saturday. The unluckiest forward I ever met. AHAHAHAHAHA.”
At full time I thanked Harry Redknapp for taking part and gave him a small tip. “Tax free!” I said. I wasn’t sure what he etiquette is for tipping in England but he had a face like a slapped a*se, so maybe I said something wrong. Giggs told me not to worry as he always has a face like a slapped arse. Giggs suddenly got all excited. “Louis, I’ve been thinking. No one knows how to speak Dutch other than the Dutch. Why don’t you say something offensive to him, we’ll all laugh, he’ll think he should laugh too and be in on the joke and he’ll never know he’s been made a fool of!” So I said to Harry, “Harry, did you know that Giggs likes to insert vegetables into his anus?” We all laughed. Giggs was telling the lads on the coach all the way back to the hotel that we’d made a fool of Redknapp. Good old Giggs.
In the director’s lounge, putty face was beaming from ear to ear, like the t*at that got the cream, which, by employing me, he had.
“That was brilliant, Louis, quite exquisite. I had a meeting booked with Roma about Strootman on Wednesday but I might now cancel. Besides, Jorge Mendes has contacted me and said that Cristiano Ronaldo would like to come home. We must get him, but I will need a list of 15 first team squad players that I can sell to cover his wages by start of business tomorrow.”
What!? I need a midfielder and defender and the scruffy weeble wants to take half of my squad and give their wages to Ronaldo?
EW: “Louis, I intend to instil a unique philosophy at this club. I want to call this policy ‘Ronaldos and Blacketts’, a perfect fusion of superstars and home-grown talents. It’s a totally new concept that I thought up all by myself and I just don’t see how it can fail. I intend to call the star players ‘Galacticos’, players so talented that they can only be from another world. The sponsors will love it. Finance and romance.”
LVG: “Ed, did you really think this all up by yourself?”
EW: “Mostly, although I consulted with the company who named the Stadium of Light in Sunderland and they helped me with the wording.”
The Glazers were there too, nodding along. I wanted to have a private word with them about Ed and his ‘plan’ but just as I saw my opportunity to catch them alone YMCA came on and they scuttled off to the centre of the room and started busting some moves. The f*ck is wrong with these people? It’s just Louis against the world.
In the evening, Patrick Kluivert, who was a TV pundit for the match, said to me that he would take Van Persie and Falcao out for a quiet meal in Manchester. I know Kluivert. At the World Cup he asked me to join him for a diet coke in the hotel bar before bed. Three hours later I was so p*ssed I schijt myself in the lift. Much embarrassment! Four hours after I told him in no uncertain terms that he must leave my strikers alone he sent me a video message showing Robin holding a jaegerbomb and twerking on Radamel’s groin on a revolving platform. Patrick is not coming again. I should have been angry but I was quite pleased that I felt no jealousy that Robin was thrusting against another man’s (tiny) balls. I think that now we can all move on. It has affected his game terribly. I need the old Robin back.
We have to wait a week for another game because of that useless c*ck Moyes. This is intolerable. No matter, I think I shall once more play four at the back against Leicester and we will win 3-2. I may start Fletcher and allow us to twice go behind to put the skids back in Playdough’s y-fronts, before making an ingenious substitution and rescuing the match. I will be the hero and Strootman will be back on the agenda. You can’t outwit Van Gaal.