The Diary of the Average Pub Fan

[Dr. Pepper]

The Diary of the Average Pub Fan​

The daunting screech of the cold-hearted authority knawed its way through my ears. I stood there, dismayed, by the act of true idiocy commited by this toothless, bare knuckle brawling animal. "It"; turned to the law obeying servant and unleashed a wave of remarks and phlegm alike. Searching - deep - for any sort of intelectual words of comfort I found this, "Radcliffe you f-ing cock!"

Yes; Joshua Radcliffe; the nineteen year old buffoon had just fouled (by which I mean savagely beaten) a mere infant by the name of Nigel. This fair haired child calmy gathered the ball and slotted it past the keeper (I'm assuming there was one, although it didn't seem that way) to take the lead. Farsley Reserves were beating Farsley Celtic. Oh ████!

Five minutes of tedious "hoofing" continued before Danny Nugent made a mockery of my defence by nutmegging a certain Mr. Collinge and then scoring a goal that even David Nugent could convert. My heart sunk to an unbearable low. My managerial career over in a flash. We were 2-0 down to the f-ing reserves!

Before this game I had a dream - a vision. A vision of fluid, passing football where the ball would never be abused - only caressed calmly into the opposition goal. My dream was shattered within ten minutes at the hands of 22 Neanderthals. As the minutes continued to eat away at my soul, half time finally approached. Things had to change! Forget the flair - It was time to boot it upfield for the big man!

Half time saw a switch of formation. The detailed, tactical dream was gone - it was time for good ol' fashion long balls. Something seemed to be working - we actually strung 4 successful passes...before someone thought it was rugby and picked up the ball.

My tinkering was no use though and we failed to create any real chances. The centre-back duo of the plumber and his mate from the pub seemed to be too disciplined for my boys to break down. A harsh reality check for my career. The morale of my players was at an all time low - even lower than when our local pub burned down. I was in way over my depth and yet I felt my managerial ability was going to waste on a bunch of beer-bellied, skinheads who couldn't tell their arses from their elbows.

As I dragged myself into the changing room, I was hit by an unwelcoming storm of disgust and rage. I had lost the dressing room already. Those vultures tore me apart limb for limb without saying a word. One started flickering with a penknife before looking at me and nodding. As the foul stench of sweat and cat urine stayed with me for the whole day, it made me realise, we were f-ed.

 

[treva]

Absolutely love that start. The description and lexical choices (yes, just finished my English exam ) were excellent. Interesting storyline as well. Look forward to seeing where you go with this. Nice to see you back in the stories section mate.

 

[ARay]

Interesting Mani. I am curious to see how you proceed with the story.
Will there be something extra-ordinary take place in the diary of an average fan

 

[blake]

Yowza!!!

Keep it going.

 

[Dr. Pepper]

Absolutely love that start. The description and lexical choices (yes, just finished my English exam ) were excellent. Interesting storyline as well. Look forward to seeing where you go with this. Nice to see you back in the stories section mate.

Hah I've just finished my exams recently too and that's why I'm capable of writing cohesively .

Cheers for the comments guys, really appreciated (yes I'm kissing arse )

 

[Dr. Pepper]

As I was about to dig into a wonderfully crafted Bacon Sarnie, my phone rang and I answered abruptly. It was Ol' Sim. Now Ol' Sim is 37, the oldest player in our team, a lot older than me, and yet is the most flamboyant footballer in our squad. Having said that, in comparison with the "outside world" he still seems like an elephant bulldozing through London during traffic.

So as I was saying, Ol' Sim rang up and wanted to have a word. Did I mention he was also my right hand man? I guess it was because he was so old that he got that job. It's not as if he had a brain. He could spot a talent or two though and that is what he did. He told me that he'd "checked out a lad named Nightingale from 'uddersfield". He continued by saying "he may look like a pansy, and he aint 'alf, but this lad can play a bit so sign 'im up gaffa. We could get this lad on loan for a while and I tell ya; this lad has some chalk on 'is boots. Now, I'm going down't shops, you want owt?"

I was about to make my first formal offer as a manager. This felt somewhat exciting (sad I know). I got on the "blower" and some back-of-the-van businessman picked up.

"Alreet, like, whose calling me man?" said this man with a broad Geordie accent.
"Erm...-" I was actually feeling nervous. I thought to myself "you f-ing pansy, get your act together!" and continued with the conversation. "This is Mani... speaking from Farsley Celtic. May I speak to Lee Clark?"
"This is me man. What you calling 'bout, like?"
"I'm interesting in signing one of your youngsters, Lewis Nightingale, on a loan deal."
"Howay man, alreet jammy toastie Kevin Keegan like." I was becoming impatient and unbearably annoyed by those illiterate words.
"Listen you Georde twat, loan of Lewis Nightingale to Farsley for 3 months. Yes or no!?" I bellowed at this imbecile in rage.
"Alreet man." I hung up instantly and the Huddersfield manager was presented with a harsh dialtone.

Moments after I had finished with my phone call with Lee Clark, the obnoxious ring began once again. It sent a tingle down my spine and my conversation with this person began far from pleasantly;

"WHAT!?"
"Urm...hello sir, is this Mani... , the manager of Farsley Celtic?" said the innocent woman on the other end.
"Yes, sorry, this is him, who are you?"
"I'm the secretary from the Glenn Hoddle Academy. We would like to invite you to a friendly where you would have a chance to look at our promising young talents. Would you be interested?"
"I'd have to check my crystal ball." I replied wittily - she was not impressed unfortunately. "Yes I would be very interested. We could do with some decent players" the woman laughed along with me "No seriously, we're ████."

After exchanging the formalities with this woman I had organised a friendly with the Glenn Hoddle Academy. I finally sat down on my sofa - feeling a sense of accomplishment. I grabbed a hold of my bacon sarnie and soon realising it had become cold. FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!...

 

[Imager36]

Haha! Very good so far... I shall be reading with interest...