Yesssssssssss! I'm on my way to Brazil, wohoooo! Good old Roy, he knows a quality player when he sees one, which isn't very often in my case having been on the bench due to my managerial faux pas this season. Now I suppose you'll want to know how the news was broken. Okay if you insist. Well, as you know the Premier League season ended yesterday and straight after the match I ran the gauntlet with the rest of the lads while the so-called fans chucked their burgers, hot dogs and drink cans at us. Bloody ingrates, what's wrong with mid table obscurity year after year? What do they expect? European football? I should bloody cocoa, what with that Croation twat of a gaffer and that effin' Russian mafioso oligarch who runs the club as a money laundering operation. Anyway, I digress.
After we'd skedaddled and given the fans the slip, it was off for a night on the town via the local Rastafarian fast food restaurant "Kebabylon", to neck as much lager as we could and maybe to drop one or two what you might call slightly "nefarious substances". In fact by 2 a.m. the whole first team squad were off our faces, just as well Roy had let me know the score before then. He had called me just after nine o'clock before it got serious.
Well, early on I'd managed to pick up a couple of teenage well-wishers in my Lambo and I was parked up in the city centre multi-storey where one of them was happily sucking on my gearstick when Roy called me on the dog and bone. How inopportune. Can you imagine it? There was the England supremo telling me how he'd been impressed by my play this season, while all the time I was giggling and gasping as things were coming to a crucial point. Just as he was telling me I am in the squad I couldn't hold back any longer and let out a resounding "OH YESSSS". Roy told me he was impressed by the extreme emotion I had shown at the news before asking me who that was coughing and retching in the background. Well, I had to tell him my sister was ill and rang off. Phew! That was something I'll never forget.
It's a pity Cashley won't be there though. Who's gonna book the hotel rooms for our spit roasts?