Written by grimbo

Sunday, 20 February 2011

image for The Aberdeen Almanac

Fit like, abodys.

Its me wi' the ferst o' mah midweek conflabs aboot fitever's been oan mah mind ower the last puckle days.

Weel, mah guidsel an mah freends One Eyed Boab, Pisa Pete (he's got ae leg shoarter thun the ither so he hiz a helluva slant), Stumpy Nick an' Dode the Dreep (fa bide in the orramin's bothy doon the road), huv bin crackin' awa an' agree thit ane o' the biggest vexes in fitba iz the mollycoddlin' thit gangs oan wi' the players.

Fan ye view the loons arrivin' fir a gemme, they're a' happit up in baseba' bunnets, trackie buddums an' multi shaded spoarts shin, lookin' fir a' the world az if they've jist come aff a fashion shoot raither than the team motir..

Eneuch is eneuch.

Ahm tellin' aw managurs tae stairt a ticht new regime fir their hale sqwad.

Oot gang the hot shoors, the Adeedas gel, the Calvin Klein Euphoria Bloassim an' the herr driers. Fae noo oan, the laddies'll be staunnin' aneath the renn watter pishin' oot o' the barst spoot at the side o' the auld staund, laitherin' thersels wi' a bar o' the finest carbolic , haein' ae skoosh o' Leedils finest oaxter embrocation an' dryin their boadies wi' a sprunt roond Pittoadrie in the scuddie..

Fae noo oan, the laddies will turn up on match days wearin' club colours fae tap tae buddim - spoarts jaickit, flannels an' hose an' the only thing thit'll be oan their heid will be a guid dab o' brylcreem.

An' there'll be nae mair o' this bletherskite durin' the week whaur they hae twa hoors o' licht joggin' up and doon the pitch afore they spend the rest o' the day in the bookies or the pool haw. No way. Fae noo oan they'll be passin' the eftirnins pentin' the waas, shearin' the gress, clearin' the mess at the back o' the Dick Donald or tar macadammin' the holes in the terracin'.

If the modern day fitba players hid less time oan their hands and kept thersels mair bizzy, then they widnae hae the pech tae lowp oan tap o' every quine thit cams within twa mile o' their wands.

Mibbes then the only thing they'll feel like jumpin' oan will be a guid chaunce in the six yaird boax.

We kin evur hope.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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