Brigadoon Rovers: The Adventure Begins

Last updated : 02 September 2003 By Goatboy69

It had been a hard pre-season for Alex Docherty's lads of Brigadoon Rovers. After the muted euphoric feeling of being saved from relegation to the 2nd Division on a technicality, things had gone downhill. Seven of the first team had been arrested at the celebratory party following the news that the team were to stay in the 1st Division. Three for being drunk and disorderly, two for procession of a mystery white powder on their upper lip, one for impersonating a football player and the captain for propositioning the arresting officers. They were yet to be sentenced but the board of directors had already judged they were guilty and have decided to make an example of them and had torn up their contracts.

This left Docherty with a problem. One week after the end of the season and he only had 6 players on the books. His little black book of contacts had not brought forth many players to fill the gaps. He had even had to stay registered as a player himself and he was 48 with a hip replacement scar to remind him of the damage he had done to himself when he used to play, lets say, an aggressive style of game. The pre-season games would have to be arranged and fixtures fulfilled. But where would he get the players to wear the strips?

Just as he was staring at his cup of cold coffee, he heard a knock on his door. "COME IN" said Docherty in his hideous Dalekesque monotone. Maisie McStrocher enterd the room. An orc in tights. "Ye wantit tae see me, Boss?" She spat, dribbling slightly, her gusset glistening in the strip light. "ITS ABOUT THE PIES" Docherty ululated "THEY'VE BEEN FECKIN FREEZIN LATELY" "Never mind that" Maisie replied "I've got news for you. I've been to the Doctors. I'm pregnant. And it's yours"

Dropping his voicebox to the carpet the Doc frantically tried to communicate by climbing out of the window only to be caught by Scots/Indian midfielder Hawkeye The Noo. "Big Chief heap trouble. Many moons pass since pay talks. Ya feckin radge" said the feather strewn half breed. "NEVER MIND THAT" Docherty mimed " I'VE GOT A BSTARD ON THE WAY" "I know. I saw Jim Mclean in the car park. Heap trouble White man. Maisie speak with forked toungue by the way. Know? Squaw have banging with entire west stand. And Wullie McScm". "WHAT!!!" Docherty screamed uselessly flapping his jaws "ILL KILL THE BASSA!". "Look like white man/woman do job already". The two men turned to see the stiffening body of Wullie McScm, his shellsuit red with blood, stretched under the car of Big June McKelvie, the transgender defender.....

"Ya perra f@nnies!" The apparent corpse jumped to it's feet, blood gushing from the hypodermic needle still stuck in it's arm. "Ah wis jist chekin oot the white horse, know?" Docherty turned to the half breed. "WHIT THE FECK IS THIS JUNKIE BASSA UP TAE?" The Indian brave turned to look at the syphlictic visage of his manager. "Me know not. Many moons ago my fathers sailed across ocean and found new land. They call it Umnaga. In White man toungue - Falkirk. Big wheel big attraction." The half bred dolt paused to remove a feather from his briefs "there we find men in enp1ssed coats and firewater for sale from one-o-one. Then men with needles. I find baby Wullie and bring him here. Undergo sun dance. Him heap big man"

"WELL GET HIS FECKIN BLOOD AFF MA CAR PARK!" the speeechless impairment mimed. A window opened above. Maisie leaned out, her sagging breasts clearing the sill by several feet. "Whit ur ye gonnae dae aboot the wean ya cnt?" She suggested. "FECK THE WEAN" the vocally challenged manager replied "ITS THAT CNTS!" He turned, staring at Wullie McScm, his blood coagulating slowly on his nylon suit. A scream was heard from above. "Oh my God. I'm having a miscarriage" "Miscarriage? That's what happened to ****ing Milosovic! You ****ing shower of ****ing troll ****s"

The slim figure of shady Serbian striker Tokenski Foreignerenski had arrived on the scene. "I'd like to cleanse everyone one of you ****s and use you for fertiliser" he diplomacised. Wullie McScm was first to respond. "Awright Big Man. Huv ye met William Orange. Our star player?" At that the unmistakable sound of a flute band became louder. William Orange, a young man with a bleached crew cut, entered the car park. He approached Docherty. "Boss I need a word. Ah canne play on Saturday. Ah've just been asked to play fur the Rangers"......

"Ardeer Rangers. Mah brother Deek's got food poisoning and cannae play and they want me in his place" The manager froze. "FUR FUX SAKE. AH'M GONNAE PLAY MASEL AND YOU WANT TAE FECK AFF TAE AYRSHIRE JUNIORS?" The bleach faced footballing genius smiled. "Aye but at least they're aw prods doon there, eh?" Suddenly the calm of the blood spattered car park was shattered. "Oh mister Docherty. Very good are you. Net I find. Oh yes" Docherty turned to see a turbaned individual carrying a laundry basket with odd hissing noises coming from within. The man in front of him was wearing a loin cloth and was placing a length of rope vertically into the sky. "Goal scoring I will. Oh yes. Charm too I will the 1st division goalies" With that a beguiling eastern tune filled the air, confusing the flute band who had gathered outside the ground. A snake rose from the basket and, on the point of attack withdrew, seemingly beguiled by the sound. "OKAY SON" said the dalek voiced Boss of the beleagured club. " WE'LL GIVE YOU A SHOT. WHIT'S YER NAME?"

"Oh my most famous man. My name is Alan. Alan McInally"...... "Many years have I spent, trekking from ashram to ashram. Ayr to Glasgow to Munich to Kilmarnock in search of meaning of life. Holy man tell me "seek wisdom in p1sh club in Scottish 1st division". Here am I. A poor man at your mercy most glorious sahib" With that he began to sing "Land of Hope and Glory..." "SHUT UP!!!" screamed Docherty, twitching madly in the autumnal light. "YER PARTNERING TOKENSKI UP FRONT. AND GET THAT SNAKE TAE FECK!" "Boss" A deep voice resouded across the car park. "Boss. Theres a problem. I've got my dabs."

Big June Mckelvie stood, massive, before the dwarfish figure of Docherty, her solid thighs and trunk supporting her straining breasts which threatened to burst from her nylon polo neck from Whateverys. "There's nae way I can play. I've got cramps and I'd be red carded in a minute wae my PMT" "WHAT?" mimed Docherty, " WE NEVER HAD THIS PROBLEM WHEN YE HUD A PRCK!" "Hello sailor" A further voice joined the throng in the car park. "WHIT DAE YE WANT MCCAVITY?" Phil McCavity, the club physio famed for his obsessive interest in groin injuries stood before Docherty. "Ooh get you! Back in the knife drawer, Miss Sharp!" He minced, " Thought you'd want to know. Mickey Finn has failed a drugs test. His urine contained minute traces of urine. The rest was alcohol, obviously. Bona riah by the way" With that the camp chiropractor skipped off.

"OH GOD" the mute manager screamed to himself "NOW OUR ALCOHOLIC MIDGET IRISH WINGER IS UNAVAILABLE. WHAT'S NEXT?" He turned and looked at the disparate collection of misfits and freaks. "YOU MAY LOOK LIKE A PARTICK THISTLE TEAM FROM THE LATE 80'S BUT BY GOD I'LL MAKE WINNERS OF YOU YET!"

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