Wednesday 24 September
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!
I went to Leicester for one day and came back to a note from Truss saying that she had got no response from EA about the FIFA 15 player ratings and so had no choice but to go to a place called Guildford to protest at the offices of EA Sports. Next thing I know I’m getting selfies of her and her friends chained to railings and throwing red paint at an office building to signify the lives that have been lost by the ‘terrible scandal’. What’s wrong with her? Anyway, she got arrested and hasn’t been home since, so at least I’ve been able to stick pins in a Jamie Vardy doll in peace.
What a little schijt that boy is. He’d been useless, we’d been magnificent, then he assaulted Rafael and flopped down in the box. Clattenburg, I think, had had a haircut and was feeling powerful. He gave a penalty and then I looked on the TV monitors and saw that he had an erection! When I have an erection I cross my legs or push it down one leg of my pants or, worst case, put my hand in my pocket and hold it down. It happens all the time. There are so many mirrors at Carrington. But Clattenburg just left it standing proud! They told me that the country doesn’t like Manchester United, but this is too much. Of course, Leicester scored. This was OK. I said 3-2 before the match. I was calm. I was going to make £48 on a £2 bet!
Then I don’t know what happened. There was a funny smell coming from the pitch. I asked Daley and he said that someone had passed the ball to Smalling by mistake and he had schijt himself again. I can’t believe I’m stuck playing concussion-face.
For the equalising goal, Rooney told me that the smell was so bad that they were all trying to desperately hack the ball away just so that they could run upfield. I said that I understood. Tyler told me that after the goal Rooney was going crazy at his team-mates for not getting him away from the stink and that he was close to hurling right there on live TV.
After that I shouted to my players to come to me to tell Smalling to play on the wing furthest from the dugouts, but no one would go and tell him, so I sent Giggs to shout to him. Giggs will do anything I say. Sometimes, all the staff play ‘Simon says’ after training. Of course, I am always Simon. And when I give an instruction without saying “Simon says”, Giggs always does it anyway! Albert calls him a dopey inbred in Dutch. We laugh, he laughs, we all laugh more.
Anyway, so Giggs told Smalling to play on the wing, all of my players were happy again, apart from Rafael, but of course now only Tyler is defending. Vardy was clear and unmarked and of course scored, and that was the end. I had already taken Di Maria off as the club doctor said that it is not ethical to allow a person with Beriberi to play more than 75 minutes. For the goal you can see Smalling lumbering back from the right wing and Rooney sprinting past. I asked him later and he said that he was holding his breath and there was no way he was hanging around in that stink for long. The final penalty didn’t matter. What does matter is that because of Tyler’s sending off I now only have Smalling in defence next week. I’m not sure that the rest of the team will even be willing to play.
After the match there was a huge argument in the changing rooms. Robin asked if we’d still be having the soaping circle and playing ‘finger in the dam’. I said not. This was too much. We sent Smalling into the showers first with Giggs and some bleach. Rooney was furious but we took it in turns to brush Daley’s hair and all felt much better.
On the coach I asked Falcao how he was enjoying his first few weeks at United. He said that he thought his team-mates, with the exception of Di Maria, were of a very poor standard and that Manchester is a post-apocalyptic wasteland. He really, really can’t tell a lie can he?
Back at Carrington on Monday, Playdough-face came to see me. He looked pale.
EW: “I will get you Strootman, Louis, and we’ll try again for Hummels in January.”
“I can’t work in these conditions, Ed,” I said, “It is too much for any trainer-coach.”
I was lying of course. I am a magnificent actor.
EW: “Don’t worry, Louis, it will be sorted. One other thing. One of the coaching staff found Bobby Charlton in your office, searching through your drawers. He must have escaped from the Sir Bobby Charlton wing. He said he was looking for photographs of you.”
I put on my most earnest pity face. “We’ve decided to have him taken to a secure home where he can get the care he clearly desperately needs.”
It is lucky that I move with the times. I have not kept such pictures in my drawers for two or three years. Now I have them all on a CD marked ‘Action Highlights’, which sits on the game analysis shelf. You see what I did there? There are no files on Louis. I feel sorry for Bobby, SIR BOBBY, but this is my Kingdom now and I will not have it threatened. And wiping his bottom has become tiresome. I only agreed to it in return for not having to drive a Chevvy. A man must have some pride.
We are playing West Ham at home next week. With Smalling playing I cannot make predictions. I have phoned Paul Parker and Mark Wright to ask how they coped when Gary Lineker schijt himself in the World Cup semi-final against Germany. They said it was quite overpowering but that they were professionals and played on, even when he was waving his hand in their faces saying, “Smell that!”
They don’t make players that tough these days.
Sir Alex told me that modern day footballers are spoilt and have delicate sensibilities. He’s right. But I cannot change this. He said that Graeme Souness would not have folded at the smell of a team-mates insides and that if it had been troubling his team-mates would have ‘accidentally on purpose’ broken the offending player’s leg.
But all of my team hold hands in pairs on away trips and sing Kumbaya in rounds on the bus. They will not do this, even though the stink is really bad. So next week, against West Ham, I just don’t know. These are difficult times, but I am the trainer-coach and at the end of the three months we will be perfect.