Date: 8th February 2010 at 8:19pm
Written by:

*We join the lads reflecting on their 0-0 draw against Spurs, MON is nowhere to be seen*

A.Young: Has anyone seen the boss?

Milner: Last I saw, Harry was trying to sell him a truckload of video players like.

Delph: You mean DVD players.

Milner: Noor.

A.Young: Well, we better look for him.

*The players split up in search of MON at White Hart Lane, Eventually they happen on him, asleep in the dugout*

A.Young: Boss?

MON: … And make sure he’s british ……

A.Young: Boss!?

MON: …..With none of that ‘fancy Dan’ stuff ……

A.Young: BOSS!?!?

*MON Snores loudly then jumps with a start*


A.Young: Boss …. The match is over.

*MON raises his glasses, rubs his eyes and removes his claret and blue striped sleeping cap*

MON: Oh right …. Nil nil was it?

A.Young: Yeah.

*Everyone returns to the Dressing Room*

MON (yawning and stretching): Well another outstanding show of defence, you should be proud of yourselves lads we defended the hell out of Spurs out there. Richard.

Dunne: Yes dere bass?

MON: Richard, Richard, Richard.

Dunne: Yes? …. Bass?

MON: When I put your name on the team sheet I know no goals will be scored….. Much like you Emile.

*The dressing room erupts with laughter*

Heskey: It’s not my fault boss, I got injured, I planned to score at least three goals.

*The dressing room erupts with laughter again*

Heskey: What’s funny? I can score goals!

*The dressing room erupts with laughter once more*

Heskey: Besides I help out at the back and like they say the best form of Offence is a good defence boss.

MON: Who? Who says that Emile? They’re wrong! The best form of offence is offence that’s why they called it ‘offence’

*Sidwell and Delph are whispering at the back of the dressing room*

Delph: I’m so fed up, I didn’t get to kick anyone … Anyone! I mean I tried to kick John Robertson and he kept dodging me, he’s like an old ninja.

Sidwell: I know, why’d he start with Stilyan? I mean I heard he was injured.

Delph: I heard he’s dead …. and the boss still plays him.

*Sidwell and Delph look over at Petrov who is unblinking and rigidly in a standing position but leaned resting on a chair*

MON: What’re you two talking about back there!?

Delph & Sidwell: Nothing boss.

MON: Stilyan, what were they talking about?

*Everyone turns to Petrov, he doesn’t move and remains silent*

MON: Is that right Stilyan? OK then.

*The lads all look at each other, Petrov’s hand falls off*

MON: Fabian, go and get the physio, tell him to bring the tape.