The Teamsheet

The phone rings in the manager’s office. He answers it.

THE MANAGER: Hello, Manager’s office, the manager speaking.
THE CHAIRMAN: Get the sen up to my office, boy, I want to discuss the teamsheet for Saturday.
THE MANAGER: What is there to discuss?
THE CHAIRMAN: What is there to discuss, what?

The manager pauses, thinking.
THE MANAGER: What is there to discuss, oh master?
THE CHAIRMAN: That’s better boy, you’re learning! Anyway. Get the sen moving lad!

The manager arrives at the chairman’s office.
RECEPTIONIST: Do you have an appointment, sonny?
THE MANAGER: No, but the chairman just called me and invited me to his office.
RECEPTIONIST: Can I say who is calling?
THE MANAGER: It’s me mother, Timothy, I’m the club manager!
RECEPTIONIST: I’m not sure I care for your tone young man!

The Chairman pops his head around the door.
THE CHAIRMAN: Ah, Parsnip, there you are, get the sen in here!
THE MANAGER: That’ll be Turnip, sir.
THE CHAIRMAN: What thar say boy?
THE MANAGER: I said that my name is Turnip.
THE CHAIRMAN: Your name is Turnip, what?

The manager pauses, thinking.
THE MANAGER: My name is Turnip, oh master!
THE CHAIRMAN: What can I do for the then Parsnip?
THE MANAGER: I don’t know, sir. You asked me to come up here.

The chairman stands and stares.
THE MANAGER: Oh master.

THE CHAIRMAN: Nar then lad, abart this fooking teamsheet.
THE MANAGER: Yes, oh master. What about it?
THE CHAIRMAN: It’s fooking shite! That’s what’s abart it!
THE MANAGER: Unfortunately sir, we have a few injuries at the moment. So, I can’t really field a full strength team.
THE CHAIRMAN: Full strength team? Bollocks! I’m talking about your handwriting. I can’t read a fooking word of it!
THE MANAGER: I’m sorry, oh master, would you like me to write it out again?
THE CHAIRMAN: Nar, fook it! I’ve had one typed up.


The chairman passes a new teamsheet over to the manager.
THE MANAGER: There’s just one minor little problem. These are different players than the ones I picked.
THE CHAIRMAN: Yeah, I know. You picked too many expensive ones. You have to plan for the future, boy. You can’t play all the expensive players. They might get injured, then where would we be?

The manager sits with mouth agape.
THE CHAIRMAN: I want that youngster to play. The one with the funny name.
THE MANAGER: Who Mbongo?
THE CHAIRMAN: Aye, the fooking gollywog!
THE MANAGER: You can’t say that!
THE CHAIRMAN: What?
THE MANAGER: Oh master?
THE CHAIRMAN: Nah, I mean, I can’t say what?
THE MANAGER: Gollywog, you can’t say gollywog!
THE CHAIRMAN: Stop putting words into my mouth, boy! I never said anything of the sort!
THE MANAGER: Pardon me, sir, oh master, but I just don’t think you should be using politically incorrect terms when we are talking about the players, if at all.
THE CHAIRMAN: Listen, boy. I run this club. This is football not politics! Do you know nothing? I didn’t get where I am today with correct politics, I got here by being right all the time. Besides, I’m not rascist, I’ve got loads of friends who know black people.
THE MANAGER: The boy is a really good prospect and a really nice lad. I think that it is disgraceful to talk about him that way!
THE CHAIRMAN: I’ve been called a lot of things in my time, Parsnip, and graceful isn’t one of them. Get him picked, he’s cheap!

The manager looks at the teamsheet.
THE MANAGER: Who is this Norwegian bloke?
THE CHAIRMAN: Never mind, just get him picked!
THE MANAGER: But oh master, we can’t field a player unless he is signed to the club.
THE CHAIRMAN: Of course he is signed. He is our record transfer. £500K he cost his parents to get in here.

THE CHAIRMAN: Anyway, have you had a think about what you are going to say to the press after the game?
THE MANAGER: Not really no, oh master, I thought I’d see how the game went first.
THE CHAIRMAN: You have to plan ahead boy! When will you ever learn?

The chairman pulls a roulette wheel from under his desk, spins it and waits for the ball to drop.
THE CHAIRMAN: Number 8 – fooking great!

The chairman delves into his desk and pulls out a piece of paper.
THE CHAIRMAN: Excuse number 8. Perfect!
THE MANAGER: What is it?
THE CHAIRMAN: The problems with the travelling supporters cards has disrupted the players’ concentration.

The manager sighs.

Disclaimer: All characters are allegedly fictional. Any resemblenace to persons whether real or otherwise is completely coincidental, as well as very sad for the person involved.

© Copyright 2004 Harry Parry
All rights reserved.
No part of this nonsense may be reproduced for profit without written permission from the author.