A slightly whimsical and completely false accounting of a footballing life from the first person. Today, we hear from recently sacked Wolfsburg manager Steve McClaren.
Hold onto your knickers Lizzy, Schwinging Schteve is free again! The Crown Jewel of the Empire has been away on the continent too long, so allow myself to reintroduce, uh, myself.
First, I should let you know Lizzy–I’m a heartbreaker. Just as I had brought some respectability to Teesside and earned some silverware, I jet-setted down to Lahndan Town for a gig with the FA. Sven had told me it was much easier to flirt with the quality birds being boss of Ingerland rather than Boro.
Also, I was finally able to ditch my old ice-breaker, “You’re so Ayresome–wanna see my Teesside?” The missus gave me a right number of whacks around the head and neck for that one.
And let’s just say Mr. Beckham won’t be sending me any Valentine’s cards again this year. No, all Goldenballs sends me are those chalky, tasteless heart shaped candies with the words “Schteve Schtinks” on each and every one. What company makes those for him?
Why do I keep licking them before eating them? My tongue feels like it’s covered in saw dust. It was an honest mistake Davey, please forgive me–I thought Shaun Wright-Phillips was the future and Terry was a nice boy!
It’s not all love ‘em and leave ‘em for me, though, Lizzy. They still adore me in Croatia, where I helped that happening nation reach the Euro 2008 quarterfinals. Slaven Bilic is a cool cat–even let me play the cowbell on “Vatreno Ludilo.”
That song definitely needed more cowbell.
As for Enschede, let’s just say I don’t have to wait to be seated at De Bloemenbeek for some fish and chips when I’m in town. It’s such a laugh now I think about it–When FC Twente called, I thought they were talking about managing Tottenham.
When they said they were from “Enschede,” I really thought it was just their poor English accents and they were really saying “Enfield.” Oh well–Schtevie worked his magic and made another club lose its Cup virginity. Yeah baby!
Maybe I should go back there now I’ve ditched these uptight German cats.
What’s that luv? Oh, right. No, I told them I was off! See, this time the heartbreaker had his heart broken. I caught Edin cheating on me and my aging hipster heart just crumbled like those nasty little candies Davey sends me.
I became irrational, trying to force a group of lads used to playing in one formation to play in my 4-2-3-1 formation. I told Dzeko he could leave–via text message on a cell phone going hay-wire because of all my tears dripping on the keypad. I couldn’t tell him person–my ladykiller heart just couldn’t take it.
So, when Die-ah-go broke my heart this weekend, I knew I had to go. I had lost my mojo. So, I hopped in the McLaider (that’s right, I named my auto) and just drove. Like that lad in that Forrest Gump movie just runs.
Now, I think it’s time to return to the Island–my Shagadelic Wonderland. There’s a few gigs out there that interest me and goodness knows you could do with a bit of my grooviness Lizzy. Sure, I’m a bit of a heartbreaker, but now that I know what it feels like, I’ll let you down easy–because you are one classy bird.
So think about it Lizzy–you, me, and an umbrella. I know, it didn’t quite work out before, but I’ve matured. I’m much more refined now–what with learning fake German, fake Dutch, and acquiring the know-how to cultivate “medicinal herbs” when you catch a cold during our cold English nights.
You are stunningly bromwich–wanna touch my albion? No, that won’t work either.