In a dark basement on a stormy night in the dirty half of North London Harry Redknapp is working in his laboratory.
Harry: Jamie! Come here!
Jamie: Yes Dad.
Harry: How many times? You call me master in the lab boy. And lisp more.
Jamie: Yeth Mathter.
Harry: Tonight my boy we're going to create the ultimate footballer, strong, quick, intelligent, unbreakable.
Jamie: Like I wath Dad?
Harry: Yes...just like you were...Now first we need a footballers brain.
Jamie: I'll go and kill Paul Thcoleth.
Harry: Who?
Jamie: Paul Thcoleth.
Harry: I'm sorry, again?
Jamie: PAUL THCOLETH!
Harry: Nope, I'm still not getting it.
Jamie: I'll kill Michael Carrick.
Harry: Yeah that'll do. Now we need pace.
Jamie: I'll thteal Theo Walcott'th legs, mathter.
Harry: Seo Walcott?
Jamie: No Theo! Oh thod it. Aaron Lennon'th will do.
Harry: Now strength!
Jamie: (under breath) Eththein? No. Mathcerano? No. Thong? Definitely no. How about that bloke from Wolveth who'th built like a brick thithouse?
Harry: I don't know his name?
Jamie: Nor do I, which ith a bonuth. I'll take hith tortho.
Harry: Now unbreakability.
Jamie: Not really my thpecialty mathter.
Harry: No. We'll just chuck in a shatterproof ruler, that'll do.
Jamie: The monthter ith ready mathter.
Harry: Now all we need is a lightening storm and we'll have the perfect footballer.
Jamie: I could jutht plug him into the mainth?
Harry: Good idea, Jamie. Mwahahahahahaha!
Jamie: Erm...whoopth.
Harry: What?
Jamie: I theem to have uthed Carrick'th pace, Eboue'th thtrength and that bloke from Wolveth brain. And the thatterproof ruler theemth to be bent.
Harry: You idiot! What will we do?
Jamie: Call it Jermaine Jenath?
Showing posts with label Spurs Scum. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Spurs Scum. Show all posts
Thursday, 10 March 2011
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
King's Conundrum
To quit or not to quit, that is the question. Whether it is nobler for me to bow out of international football to prolong my Tottenham career or suffer the constant agony in my knee and give everything for club and country?
Of course I owe Tottenham everything, they brought me through their youth ranks and put me into the first team. I played my socks off. Well I say played my socks off, I had to yank them off, the elastic was too tight and was cutting of the circulation in my weak, weak legs.
Then they made me captain, despite only appearing once every blue moon. I say once every blue moon, but in truth I did miss a couple of blue moons due to being injured.
Of course not everyone at Spurs was supportive. Darren Anderton and I never got on. He felt I was a threat to his place on the physio table. He was very competitive, always claiming he could get injured easier than me. But I showed him. One day I fly landed upon my outstretched leg and pop! my knee was dislocated. In your face Darren.
But I also have to think of my country. I've never been a regular at international level and not just because I'm always injured. I'm also just not good enough. There has always been at least two better defenders than me. But I'm sure my retirement would be a great loss to the England team nonetheless. They need someone to make Owen Hargreaves look like he's regularly fit. Who will fill that role now? Well I suppose they could try and see if Tomas Rosicky has any English relatives.
So what to do? If I retire I may be able to play four, maybe five, games a season for Spurs but if I keep my international dreams alive I may one day almost nearly be in contention for a starting place in the England team at a major tournament right up until about two days before it starts when bang! there goes my knee again.
It is quite the conundrum.
Of course I owe Tottenham everything, they brought me through their youth ranks and put me into the first team. I played my socks off. Well I say played my socks off, I had to yank them off, the elastic was too tight and was cutting of the circulation in my weak, weak legs.
Then they made me captain, despite only appearing once every blue moon. I say once every blue moon, but in truth I did miss a couple of blue moons due to being injured.
Of course not everyone at Spurs was supportive. Darren Anderton and I never got on. He felt I was a threat to his place on the physio table. He was very competitive, always claiming he could get injured easier than me. But I showed him. One day I fly landed upon my outstretched leg and pop! my knee was dislocated. In your face Darren.
But I also have to think of my country. I've never been a regular at international level and not just because I'm always injured. I'm also just not good enough. There has always been at least two better defenders than me. But I'm sure my retirement would be a great loss to the England team nonetheless. They need someone to make Owen Hargreaves look like he's regularly fit. Who will fill that role now? Well I suppose they could try and see if Tomas Rosicky has any English relatives.
So what to do? If I retire I may be able to play four, maybe five, games a season for Spurs but if I keep my international dreams alive I may one day almost nearly be in contention for a starting place in the England team at a major tournament right up until about two days before it starts when bang! there goes my knee again.
It is quite the conundrum.
Monday, 9 February 2009
Arsenal v Spurs: What You May Have Missed
0 mins: After losing the toss Robbie Keane wheels around, arms aloft, to appeal the decision.
5 mins: Ref tells Eboue that the two teams used up their quota of derby goals in the last match and no matter what happens the match will end 0-0.
6 mins: Eboue thinks 'the shops are open 'til 5 on a Sunday, if I get sent off I can still get the missus a Valentine's Day card.'
20 mins: Ledley King staggers onto the pitch holding a rifle and shoots Gael Clichy in the head. Causing him to require treatment from the physio. The Spurs fans chant 'Same old Arsenal, always cheating.'
45 mins: Ref blows for half time. Robbie Keane wheels around, arms aloft, to appeal the decision.
60 mins: Eboue, having been sent off and nipping to the shops, returns with a bag of pick 'n' mix. Wenger is furious, he didn't get any cola bottles.> > 81 mins: Niklas Bendtner does something quite good. Everyone is stunned.
90 mins: Ref blows for full time. Robbie Keane wheels around, arms aloft, to appeal the decision.
5 mins: Ref tells Eboue that the two teams used up their quota of derby goals in the last match and no matter what happens the match will end 0-0.
6 mins: Eboue thinks 'the shops are open 'til 5 on a Sunday, if I get sent off I can still get the missus a Valentine's Day card.'
20 mins: Ledley King staggers onto the pitch holding a rifle and shoots Gael Clichy in the head. Causing him to require treatment from the physio. The Spurs fans chant 'Same old Arsenal, always cheating.'
45 mins: Ref blows for half time. Robbie Keane wheels around, arms aloft, to appeal the decision.
60 mins: Eboue, having been sent off and nipping to the shops, returns with a bag of pick 'n' mix. Wenger is furious, he didn't get any cola bottles.> > 81 mins: Niklas Bendtner does something quite good. Everyone is stunned.
90 mins: Ref blows for full time. Robbie Keane wheels around, arms aloft, to appeal the decision.
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
Redknapp's Laboratory
Harry: Mwa ha ha ha haaaa! I have done it Jamie, I have worked out how to create the perfect player. Come, Jamie, to the laboratory.
Jamie: Yes dad.
Harry: How many times have I told you, when I'm in mad scientist mode refer to me as master. And lisp more.
Jamie: Yeth marthter.
Harry: That's better. You could try hunching your back more though. Now to create the perfect footballer I have had to scavenge graveyards to get the perfect body parts. I warn you the resulting player will be a grotesque, hideous beast.
Jamie: You're creating him in your own image then, marthter?
Harry: Yes. No, wait. Don't be so cheeky.
Jamie: Thorry marthter.
Harry: Now before I can bring my composite footballer to life first I must brew the essence of footballing genius. Pass me the contents of that jar marked 'perfect player juice'.
Jamie: I can't get the perfect player juith out, Marthter.
Harry: Tap it up, Jamie. Tap it up.
Jamie: It'th coming now, Marthter. Where do you want it?
Harry: Pour it in to this test tube. Now all I need is to shake it up. Where's one of those stopper things you put in the top of the tube?
Jamie: Do you mean a bu-
Harry: Don't say that word!
Jamie: What? Bun-
Harry: Shh! You know we don't use the b word here Jamie, now where are those stoppers?
Jamie: Over in thith nondescript brown paper bag marthter.
Harry: Thank you Jamie. Now to pour it in to the player's mouth. Mwa ha haa haaa haaaa! It's working, it's alive!
Jamie: It lookth like Darren Bent, marthter.
Harry: Bother. I'll just go and buy Robbie Keane back.
Jamie: Yes dad.
Harry: How many times have I told you, when I'm in mad scientist mode refer to me as master. And lisp more.
Jamie: Yeth marthter.
Harry: That's better. You could try hunching your back more though. Now to create the perfect footballer I have had to scavenge graveyards to get the perfect body parts. I warn you the resulting player will be a grotesque, hideous beast.
Jamie: You're creating him in your own image then, marthter?
Harry: Yes. No, wait. Don't be so cheeky.
Jamie: Thorry marthter.
Harry: Now before I can bring my composite footballer to life first I must brew the essence of footballing genius. Pass me the contents of that jar marked 'perfect player juice'.
Jamie: I can't get the perfect player juith out, Marthter.
Harry: Tap it up, Jamie. Tap it up.
Jamie: It'th coming now, Marthter. Where do you want it?
Harry: Pour it in to this test tube. Now all I need is to shake it up. Where's one of those stopper things you put in the top of the tube?
Jamie: Do you mean a bu-
Harry: Don't say that word!
Jamie: What? Bun-
Harry: Shh! You know we don't use the b word here Jamie, now where are those stoppers?
Jamie: Over in thith nondescript brown paper bag marthter.
Harry: Thank you Jamie. Now to pour it in to the player's mouth. Mwa ha haa haaa haaaa! It's working, it's alive!
Jamie: It lookth like Darren Bent, marthter.
Harry: Bother. I'll just go and buy Robbie Keane back.
Thursday, 30 October 2008
My All-Time Spurs XI
GK: Bobby Mimms
Although generally second choice at White Hart Lane, Bobby was the kind of keeper who always got his hands to the ball. Generally when picking it out of the back of the net.
RB: Dean Austin
Voted in the top 50 worst Premiership players, the Austinator as he was known to no one lost his place to Stephen Carr. Frankly he could've lost his place to Alan Carr and it would've been an improvement.
LB: Ben Thatcher
When he wasn't playing well Thatcher resorted to violence. That was pretty much every match.
CB: Ramon Vega
Alan Sugar was always wary of signing any old Carlos Kickaball. He should've been more wary of Ramon 'Kickaballintomyowngoal' Vega. Vega has recently set up his own soccer school. Bet that's popular.
CB: Gary Doherty
Equally cack in defence as attack, Gary was instrumental in keeping Spurs mediocre all through his time at the club.
RM: Andy Sinton
Signed as part of Gerry Francis' campaign to bring every winger in the world to Tottenham, Sinton was picked by Graham Taylor to play for England. But then so was Carlton Palmer.
LM: Andy Reid
The only player to play for Tottenham that was fatter than Gazza.
CM: Steffen Freund
You thought John Jensen's goal scoring record was bad. Steffen's was worse.
CM: Paul Stewart
Here for his hair more than anything else. If it looks like Tom Jones's merkin shave it off, Paul.
CF: Chris Armstrong
Fighting off strong competition from the likes of Rebrov and Iversen, Armstrong makes it into this team due to his complete inability to step up to top level football. And his penchant for weed.
CF: Ronny Rosenthal
Son of Jim, Ronny showed an uncanny ability to miss from anywhere. Even 4 yards out. Regularly.
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