Date: 5th March 2012 at 2:44pm
Written by:

*It’s half-time at the Blackburn Villa match, we join a pair of Venky’s executives strolling through the halls of Ewood Park.*

Venky #1: This performance is enough to put me off my chicken.

Venky #2: Surely not Venky number vone, you love your chicken.

Venky #1: I do number two, this is going to show how very much I am not enjoying ‘Venky’s Blackburn Football Club!”s performance today.

Venky #2: Must you always shout it like that? It is most disconcerting.

Venky #1: Yes. I must.

*The guy’s conversation halts as they hear all manner of yelling, bawling and objects being launched against a dressing room wall*

Venky #2: Ahh! It sounds as though Mr.Kean is finally earning his drumsticks! Let us go and congratulate him.

*the Venky’s executives make their way to the home dressing room, they burst through the door. Kean raises his head from the book he is reading and lowers his reading glasses, realising it is ‘Venky’s’ he immediately adopts a gracious if not grovelling pose and approaches them with haste.*

Venky #1: Mr.Kean, we were hearing you tell off these terrible Blackburn players….

Venky #2: …Yes, and even though it is not what we told you to do, we are very happy you did so.

Venky #1: Here..

*the Veny’s Executive pours some chicken feed from a box into the plam of his hand, Kean immediately pecks at the feed whilst flapping his arms in a happy, chicken-like manner*

Kean (with a mouth full of feed): Why thank you bosses, um but I’ve nae told off tha’ lads.

*The Venky’s executives pause to survey dressing room, Johann Pachelbel’s ‘Canon in D Major’ is playing as the Blackburn players are serenely engaging in leisurely pursuits such as card games and billiards, all quite content with life*

Venky #2: Vhat is this!?

Venky #1: Ve heard you Mr.Kean, your unitelligible brand of English is unmistakeable.

Kean: Oh, you mean tha’ shoutin’ an’ hootin’? Tha’ was from tha’ other dressing room, Big Eck.

Venky #1: Vhat!? Give me back the feed Mr.Kean sir!

Kean: But…. I’ve swallowed it….

*Kean is trying to make himself regurgitate.*

Venky #2: No…. NO! You keep it! Number Vone let us check the other dressing room.

*Venky’s executives peep through the Villa dressing room door which is a tad ajar*

McLeish: What did I tell you!? WHAT!? I give you one simple task, defend! And ye cannae even get that right. Charlie! Sweet Jesus, Mary, Joseph and little donkey what’re you doing hitting the ball when it’s in the air at the goal like tha’!?

NZogbia: Um…. Ma volley boss?

McLeish: ‘Volley’ is tha’ it!? Well maybe in France they ‘volley’ with all their la-dee-das and ooh-la-la’s! But here this is tha’ premier league not la liga!

*Albrighton raises his hand apprehensively*

Albrighton: Um….That’s spanish boss.

McLeish: Same thing! From now on volleys are for Tennis! Alrigh’!?

*The lads all drop their heads and robotically reply*

All the lads: Yes boss.

*the Venky’s executives look at one another and head back to their box.*

Venky #1: Wow, he really as they say ‘tore stips from them’ didn’t he?

Venky #2: Chicken strips?

Venky #1: Yes! I hunger once more.