Thursday 19th August 2004
Dear Diary
Did you see the disaster this week in the friendly internationals? I couldn’t believe just how badly we played, it was shocking! I mean, the fact we were at home meant absolutely nothing to the players. 1-1 with Bulgaria, it’s a disgrace! Those 11 bring shame on the glorious emerald jersey.
Mind you, the result should seriously piss off that bloody Pearse, so in a way it’s good. He! He! He!
Scotland didn’t do much better either, so that makes me a wee bit happier tooell. I read in the paper again that everyone’s calling for Berti Vogts’ head but he’s refusing to budge. Oh, I admire a man like that! He’s quite like me when you think about it Diary, eh? I’m not sure how misunderstood Berti is mind you (like I am by those ignorant HBOS b*stards) but any man who refuses to acknowledge the inevitable but instead buries his head in the sand and remains defiant is OK by me. Wonder what his address is as I think I’ll send him a Christmas card. I got some made special, with my little round green face on them. He’ll like that, I’m sure.
Mind you, if he’s as unpopular as the papers say, maybe he’ll want to hide. I’ve a spare lilly pad I’ve been keeping for a rainy day, so maybe Berti would like that. Not sure how well he’d float on it mind you, but he could always shove a pipe up his nose and hide underwater if need be. I can maybe become his mentor: show him the dodges, bluffs, tricks and the like. Nobody knows better than me how to grab the attention by saying absolutely nothing.
Anyway, I can’t sit here writing all night as my wee webbed hands are sore, so I’ll say ta-ta for now. But I’ll write you again soon Diary as you’re my best friend.
You are, aren’t you? Eh? You are, eh? Please? Be my friend? I don’t have any.
Luv D xxx