(A routine press conference at Brigadoon Rovers media centre has been disrupted by the news of shady Serbian Tokenski Foreignerenski, a name too difficult to type, being slaughtered by asylum seekers. Richard Littlejohn immediately revealed his evil plot to ensure his selection for the Raith match by abducting young Adidas Docherty. Now read on...)
"Ah ha ha ha ha ha!", Littlejohn cackled maniacally before, with a bang and a puff of green smoke, disappearing into thin air. Docherty stood, perplexed and shaking, in front of the assembled crowd. He said: "Ladies and Gentlemen, it would seem that, due to personal pressures I will have to step down as manager of Brigadoon Rovers". The crowd gasped. A strangled "No!" was heard. Docherty continued: "In order to fight the forces of Richard Littlejohn and find my darling daughter Adidas I vow to fight full time against the evil fiends arrayed against me. Sadly that leaves no time for football. I leave the team in the hands of my assistant. Scooby-Doo."
Docherty turned to the huge semi-lingual canine: "C'mon Scoob. You can do it". "Eh Boss", Long suffering assistant manager Sanny Tumper tugged at his gaffers sleeve: "I'm the assistant manager. Where's this dug ye keep goin on about?" Docherty turned to look at his canine companion: "He's right here Sanny. And he'll be overseeing the club from now on". "Haw ya feckin nutter", Andy McLaren yelled: "I ken more
Alex Docherty in full flow
than most about hallucinogenic visions. There's nae dug." Scooby turned to Docherty and sneered. "Yer feckin right I'll be overseeing the club", the imaginary beast snarled: "I'll be overseeing yer wife and yer daughter just directly" "No Scoob. Not you as well. They're all against me. All of them", sobbed Docherty. Scooby nodded: "Ye'r feckin right there, ya mad radge". The last thing Docherty saw, before sinking into unconsciousness was the huge jaws of the rabid Great Dane closing around his face.
The Duncan Ferguson Rest Home For Emotional Sportsmen was set in several acres of luxuriant, landscaped gardens. Hawkeye Thenoo and Big June trudged up the gravel drive towards the main wards: "Who'd have thought the boss was a paranoid schizophrenic, Hawkeye?" Rumbled Big June, his titanic cleavage straining against his thin summer dress. "He heap mental man, Big June", sighed the Indian Brave: "Is the Andy Goram Wing to the left or right of the fly eating zoomers?" Around the two players an array of bizarre behaviour was occurring. A figure in a sedan chair was being led around the gardens muttering: "the next level in Europe, the next level in Europe. Take me there! NOW, NOW NOW!!!". "Him ex chairman of heap big club" said Hawkeye. A short behatted figure stood before them "I eat the spiders to make me strong!" He raved: "Do you have spiders?" Hawkeye brushed past him: "Retiral in Barbados heap big cover story. Him been here since John Barnes arrived".
A similar story was being played out around them - here an SPL-TV proposal, there an OF for the Premiership headline. Big June shook his head, his vast décolletage heaving as he did so: "How did the boss end up in here?".
The two were led down a narrow corridor past small cells with plexiglass fronts. A low voice was heard from the left: "I can smell your phanny!" "Feckin less of it. I washed it this morning", replied Big June They arrived at their destination. Docherty stood, erect and still in a blue boiler suit, behind three inches of perspex. He smiled a thin smile and said: "Hello Hawkeye. And June. How nice".
Don't mess with HawkeyeThenoo
"Awright boss", the two replied. "Tell me June", began the Schizo Gaffer: "What did Frank McAvennie say to you?" June looked uncomfortable: "He said he could smell my phanny". Docherty smiled: "I, however, cannot. I apologise for his rudeness. Yer arse, on the other hand, is
"Boss", Said June "Ye've gottae get oot o here. Richard Littlejohn has picked himself in three positions and is trying to deport all the foreign players, Zorro's making a right feckin mess of the wallpaper in the club deck and Alan McInally's talking about signing a contract with Sammy Lingh and introducing compulsory devotional meditation instead of goal celebrations". The transgendered defender looked at the floor: "I cannae even describe what Andy McLaren's been doing". "I see", said Docherty: "I had Andy McLaren for contract talks once. I ate his liver with Buckfast and a White Pudding supper. I was out of my t1ts for weeks"
"Boss", said Hawkeye: "You signed heap mental bastrt. Him still alive" "An oversight on my part", sighed the erstwhile gaffer: "I sent him to Williamson. No-one could survive that hunger". "Me heard enough" said the Indian half breed. Looking around Hawkeye spotted a sink unit in the corner of the room, with his bloodine surging in his veins he grabbed it, it's weight almost defeating the tremendous strength in his Apache arms. With a yell it came free. He ran towards the previously unmentioned window, launching it, and them, to freedom. Something brown and gooey spattered across Big June's face. "Fur fecks sake Boss", the transexual moaned: "Feckin pie filling. Fae Love Street! Ya filthy bastert!" "No time for eat now", Hawkeye intervened "Freedom await. And Brigadoon play Raith Rovers on Saturday!!"
To be continued.