To celebrate the non-binding verbal contract I’ve just signed (spoked?) with Newcastle United FC, Michael Ashley got me and Wisey two tickets for the Lion King at the Theatre Royal. Score!
Straight away I run my finger down the ol’ managers rolodex and get on the blower to Pep (reverse charge) giving it the big ‘I am’. Pep f*cking loves musicals – I prefer farces meself – and we have some quality banter o Espanol. He reckons my Spanish is better than my English – it wouldn’t be hard! Wisey picks me up at 7pm and Pards, my new number two, offers to drop by later and make sure the missus is comfortable. Top bloke. I tell Wisey to bring the cheque book tonight just in case one of these African lads can do the business for us. Turns out he doesn’t work for Newcastle anymore. First I’ve heard of it.
If the Lion King was a football team it would be Chelsea or Manchester United or whoever won the Premiership last year. It’s that good. Samba, Blemish, Hatem Ben Arfa were all top drawer. But my favourite was Rafiki, the wise old monkey. He reminds me a lot of Sir Alex… well, actually he reminds me of MYSELF mostly, but also Sir Alex, whose always there to offer advice over the phone or via Red Indian smoke signals (my favourite manger-to manager communication tool – I’m part Cherokee). Anyway, like I said, the Lion King… what a show! F*ck knows how they trained those animals to sing like that. Sensational stuff. Surprised cos I read a lot of sniffy reviews in the newspapers. Mind you, f*cking journos are never happy. Why do they have to question everything?
The only downside to tonight is I get some mega stick from the Geordies in the audience. So many questions: Don’t these people know who I am? (if you ask me the manager of 2002 division three runners up, Luton Town FC, deserves a bit more respect) Why did they laugh when I told them I made a 7% profit on the sale of Mick Harford? And who turns up shirtless to a piece of musical theatre? Thick c*nts, that’s who.
Thick c*nts I’m very much looking forward to working with. Seriously, fans just don’t get it. In football, like on the African savannah, change is temporary: sooner or later the natural order of things will reassert itself, that’s why the same faces return again and again. It’s the circle of life. Which reminds me, it’s time for my daily Skype chat with homosexual Watford chairman Sir Elton Welsby.
It’s tough being the lynchpin of world football.
By Michael Curle
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