The Secret England Footballer: Russia 2018 Call Up

Funny story written by Paxton Quigley

Thursday, 17 May 2018


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Daddy's girl

I know...I know what you’re thinking. How is it that after two years in the wilderness Gormless Gareth has seen the light and called me back into the squad?

I’ll tell you how. Even GG knows class when he sees it and it’s when the going gets tough that the cat’s whiskers rise to the top. GG's team needs skill, wit and determination and someone with a propensity for gratuitous violence to get through this Russian malarkey.

Apart from that I’m not tainted by the debacle of Euro 2016 as I didn’t even get to kick a ball, so I’m completely blameless for Roy’s faux pas. I know that I might not live the lifestyle that “Mr. Southgate”, as he insists we call him, would like me to do, but with me what you see is what you get. I also think that Raheem and Luke’s mums have finally forgiven me and Lamps for taking their sons for some “extracurricular” activity in Miami in 2014. Both youngsters think they are men now, thanks to us.

Well it’s been a tough old season, what with the sanctions introduced on our Russian mafioso oligarch owner and his merry-go-round of managers. I have no idea who’s gaffer this week, probably some effing Bosnian prat again. The owner’s been threatening not to pay our wages as all his accounts are frozen, but he saw sense, sold our best players apart from me, sacked a lot of ground staff and dumped some reserves on frees to make sure the first team got paid. I’m glad he got his priorities right.

For some reason I can’t fathom, he’s persona non grata in Blighty now after that thing in Salisbury with the Skripals and Novichok. Apparently he’s a mate of Vlad Putin and he's fled the country for some reason. Now I’m told he’s going to sell the club, so the entire first team squad is on its best behaviour not wanting to be transfer listed due to unprofessional conduct. That’s really tough on us all, plus, I wanted to be in that England squad.

So yours truly has been keeping a low profile for the second half of the season, apart from that incident at the club's charity Christmas party where I was caught on somebody’s camera phone in the gents with my trousers around my ankles and that waitress on her knees. Come on, she was just being friendly and she’s a nice girl. I’m sorry she got the sack, but it was for charity so it was all in a good cause and I suffered too. Yes, really, I did. I got fined two weeks wages, 250,000 smackers. Can you Adam and Eve it? I was really pissed off about that. I wonder if whatshername got another job? She didn’t ask me for a reference although I’m willing to give her one. Haha.

So when the lads found out I’m back in the squad, straightaway they arranged a celebratory send-off dinner for me at our local Russian restaurant, Borshtch ‘n’ Beers. Men only. Private room. Hmm! I had a feeling something special was planned for me. Wink! Wink! I gotta say though, that Russian nosh doesn’t do it for me. Pickled cabbage? Golubtsy? Dressed herring? Do me a favour. I just hope that we’re taking our own food with us.

So, I spent the evening scoffing blinis and caviar and knocking back shots of Stolichnaya, so I was fine. Really, I was just waiting for my surprise and wowee! What a surprise. In walked a perky blonde cutie, dressed in a fur coat. She was scrumptious and even more so when she threw off the coat to reveal she was wearing Arsenal kit. Strippergram, yesss, I thought. Tight red shirt, tiny white shorts and knee socks. A pert round Arsenal too. I ask you, what was she thinking? That’s a red rag to a bull. There’s nothing better than putting one over the gunners.

Anyway, she started singing the old Cliff Richard song “Congratulations and celebrations, now that we’ve got you back in Gareth’s England squad” and so on… but I wasn’t really listening as I was captivated by her tight little body and bright red lips.

Everybody was cheering and then she sat on my lap so I whispered into her ear. She had a rather attractive European accent and she asked me what did I mean by shouldn’t she be getting her tits out for the lads? I said I would show her and took off her top and slipped off her bra. She acted as if she was shocked, crossing her arms over her boobies. That’s all part of the game, innit? She was playing hard to get, but after a couple of vodka shots and a few kisses and cuddles she loosened up and it wasn’t long before I had her bent over the table and was spanking her bare bum.

It was then that the skipper came up to me and said that I should be careful with this girl, but you know me with blondes and booze, so I told him to back off. The vodka had unleashed my inhibitions, not that I have any, and before you know it I might have taken it just a little bit too far in front of the whole team. She loved it. What a girl.

Well, after that I took her back to my penthouse flat and we had a great night of it. In the early hours I was lying there with her arms wrapped around me and something was nagging at me. What did the skipper mean “be careful with her”? So, I nudged the dozing little sweetie and she said “again, darling? OK big boy” as she would. Haha.

But first I had to ask her “do I know you, luv?” Well, apparently I do. She’s just back from uni in St. Petersburg and bugger me if she’s not the owner’s daughter. Bloody hell, she’s certainly grown up a lot since I last saw her. She’s promised not to tell daddy what I did to her in front of the first team squad, but I tell you I am scared witless now about flying off to the land of oligarchs.

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

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