The Football Association may finally have to take action against Howard Webb after it came to light that his relationship with Utd manager Ferguson is closer than it ought to be.
I was contacted by private investigators hired by an unnamed collection of managers from the Premier League and The Football League. Not wishing to be named the managers involved instructed the investigative firm, One Eye On The Door, to contact the media and release the findings of said investigation.
Chief Investigator Richard Jeffries said:
"This is one of the weirdest cases I have ever worked on, and that's saying something. I've witnessed a nun roundhouse kick a priest in the face before." He continued, "The primary focus of the investigation was to ascertain the nature of the relationship between Webb and Ferguson. We staked out a few of their hang outs and eventually hit the jack pot when they met one evening back in 1999 at a tailor's in London."
It was at this meeting the bond between referee and manager took a sinister turn. Owing to public pressure and fearing the wrath of football's various governing bodies Webb and Ferguson had kept their friendship hidden from most people. However, the fallout from this impromptu get-together may yet lead to bans, fines and be held responsible for instigating the highest level of mass simultaneous vomiting the country has ever seen.
Jeffries explains: "The tailor was measuring Webb up, we assumed for a suit. Then, with no warning Ferguson whips out his todger, rips off his foreskin and hands it to the tailor. There was blood everywhere. Even Moses wouldn't have gone near that red sea. The tailor, who we recommend should see a therapist or at least a sports psychologist, then hand stitched a sweat band incorporating the material he had just been handed. Webb placed the sweat band on his wrist, and credit where it is due the tailor had done a fantastic job. The sweat band blended in to obscurity it was so similar to Webb's own skin colour and texture. Webb then began practising the art of mopping his forehead."
Some friends meet to play cards, go to the cinema and when weather permits perhaps a couple of innings of beach cricket. It had always been assumed that when from the sidelines Ferguson beckons Webb and taps at his wrist that he is fishing for more time at the end of a game if Utd are losing by a goal, or to blow the final whistle if Utd are winning by 0.5 of a goal. Instead, Ferguson all this time has been furiously prompting Webb to mop his forehead with his foreskin.
Questions will inevitably be asked. Does this really affect Webb's decision making on the football field? Is Ferguson's acclamation of the consistently shoddy career that Webb has had so far not enough? And of course, just how bad must the infamous sweat band smell after an outing at the theatre of screams?