Training

The chairman steps out onto the training ground and gathers the players around.

THE CHAIRMAN: Nar then lads. Unfortunately, the manager is very busy today, so I’ll be taking training again.
PLAYER 1: What’s wrong with Mr Turnip now boss?
THE CHAIRMAN: Who?
PLAYER 1: The manager, Mr Turnip.
THE CHAIRMAN: Oh, him. Nowt, he’s just busy again.

Scene flashes back to earlier on in the day. The phone rings in the manager’s office. He picks it up.
THE CHAIRMAN: Nar then thee! Get the sen darn Morrisons, my drinks cabinet is empty again.
THE MANAGER But, sir, training starts in five minutes.
THE CHAIRMAN: Always fooking training them lot. For fooks sake, Parsnip! Are they thick or what?
THE MANAGER But training is an important part of a footballer’s life.
THE CHAIRMAN: Thar noz what? When you train a wippet, you do it once. Once they’ve learned what to do they are up and running. Thar don't have to train them every day.
THE MANAGER But,
THE CHAIRMAN: When you train a pigeon, it takes five minutes, and they are as thick as shite!
THE MANAGER But that’s a bit unfair.
THE CHAIRMAN: Give over soft lad. It’s true, otherwise they wouldn’t be pigeons would they?
THE MANAGER No, I mean that the players do fitness training. It’s not about learning how to play football, it’s about getting fit.
THE CHAIRMAN: Well. There you go then. Perhaps you should train them on how to play football!

Pause.
THE CHAIRMAN: When you get back from the supermarket.

Back on the training ground.
THE CHAIRMAN: Rate! Bend over and touch the toes.

The players lean forward and touch their toes repeatedly. The chairman struggles.
THE CHAIRMAN: What your lot doin? Did I say keep doing it? The once will do, pay attention!

THE CHAIRMAN: Rate, let’s have a little game of five a side then shall we? Foreigners against the rest.
PLAYER 2: Surely, that’s a bit unfair, boss.
THE CHAIRMAN: Of course it is, that’s why we won the fooking war!
PLAYER 2: Nah, I mean, there are only two of them fit enough to play.
THE CHAIRMAN: Fooking rate, I’ve seem em.

Pause
THE CHAIRMAN: Fook it! Just sort yourselves out!

A player tentatively comes forward.
PLAYER 3: Excuse me sir, but do you really know what you are doing?
THE CHAIRMAN: Of course I fooking do! I’ve been training wippets for years.
PLAYER 3: Wippets?
THE CHAIRMAN: Aye, and I’m fooking good at it!
PLAYER 3: But that’s not the same at all.
THE CHAIRMAN: Course they are! They are all stupid and they cost me a fortune.
PLAYER 3: I resent that remark!
THE CHAIRMAN: Have a word with the manager when he gets back then.
PLAYER 3: (Annoyed) I will.
THE CHAIRMAN: Because the transfer list is in his office.

The chairman calls across the field at the players who are putting bibs on.
THE CHAIRMAN: Nar, fook that! Leave the bibs where they are. I have a few progressive training techniques up my sleeve and here is where they start.

Chairman pulls a sack onto the side of the pitch.
THE CHAIRMAN: Rate, I’ve got some nice collers to replace those bibs!

THE CHAIRMAN: And tomorrow I'll be dropping you all off at Millmoor. I'll drag a rabbit out the boot of me car so you can race back.
Disclaimer:All this nonsense is nonsense. There is no truth in the rumour that this is in any way based on a real football club.

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