ROY KEANE'S DIARY?
I had that dream again. The one where I’m trying to punch Jason McAteer in the face but I’m swinging like a little girl and he’s just laughing. I woke up in a cold sweat. I got out of bed and punched the wall just to make sure there wasn’t anything wrong with my arms. My fist went right through the wall. Typical. Shoddy craftsmanship. Rang down to the reception to let them know I put another hole in my wall.
I met up with the squad for breakfast. Couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Players laughing and carrying on as if they were enjoying themselves. Schoolboy stuff. I made them put their bowls on the floor and told them to assume the press-up position. Then I informed them that they had to eat their cereal while doing one-armed press-ups. Shane Long couldn’t even do twenty reps before he crashed face first into the bowl and came back up with a head covered in Coco-pops. Soft. Needs sorting out.
Then I noticed Aiden was wearing Crocs. I thought ‘Come on, where’s your dignity man?’. So I approached him, put him on the spot. I questioned his character. ‘At what point in your life did it become more important to have well ventilated feet than any self-respect?’ I asked. But he just kept his head down and kept buttering a croissant. Weak. I told them all to go to the toilet before training. Shay said he didn’t need to go. ‘Well you won’t be allowed to go during training, this is your last chance’ I said. Shay was adamant. I was disappointed in Shay. He should’ve squeezed one out. He’s a seasoned pro and should’ve known better.
Martin suggested we introduce a ball into training with the Sweden game tomorrow. He’s the gaffer, so against my better judgement I rolled a football into the middle. The lads seemed to enjoy it. Then Martin decided to do some work on set-pieces. He told O’Shea that he’d be marking Zlatan Ibrahimovic. John started to cry. I asked Martin if he wanted me to take him for a drive, make it look like an accident but Martin just pretended he didn’t hear me. John was breathing into a paper bag and everyone was patting him on the back, reassuring him that everything would be fine. A part of me died inside.
I didn’t see what the big fuss was. Zlatan. Silly name that. Running about there in a yellow jersey with that big nose looking like Big Bird. He’s a decent player but that’s it. A cocky sod too. The type of fella that’d probably make his own father call himself Zlatan Junior. I heard he’s going to Old Trafford next. Those prawn sandwich munchers will never love him as much as they loved me.
found @ 1024 likes ON 2016-12-22 09:28:58 BY ME.ME