He may no longer play for United,
but we have managed to get our grubby
little hands on the archived, top-secret,
investigations he undertook while he was
still under our employment...
At Manchester United, without regular football as a distraction, Micky Owen, with the help of side-kick Berba and spirit guide Eric provided the club and SAF with a headache, no I mean, erm … oh no, I do actually mean headache. At first this detective nonsense was at least partially helpful, but now he was just getting in the way a bit and none of it actually made much sense.
It was a typical day I’d just finished scribbling the name of ‘‘arry Redknapp’ from all the parcels, welcome cards, footage of me in my prime, England statistic packs and various other gifts and replacing it with ‘Psycho’. Berba was going on about something or other, about putting himself in a shop window or something, well, he is a dummy, so should fit right in.
I was about to revisit my personal archive of footage of me playing really good for England and that – just to see if I’d forgotten anything – when a man-size carrier pigeon crashed through the ceiling. “Coo, Cooeeerrrrrr!!!!! … yer got any plasters?” It was Phelan. “What are you doing?” I shrieked. “Whooo are yoooooo talking tooooo? Yoooo don’t know whoooooo I am. I’m just a humble pigeon!” he sort of hooted. “For christ’s sake! I’m talking to Michael Christopher Phelan, age 50! But you’ve got a point, aside from that I don’t have a clue who you are or what your function in life is.” I snapped back. “Ooooooo that’s a bit ruuuuuude and upsettiiiiing” He hooted back. “Are you crying?” I instinctively knew from bullying Berba, that in asking that question, it would actually make him cry.
A few hours later, when Phelan came round after I’d knocked him over the head, because he hadn’t stopped crying, he unravelled his “claw” (A kitchen utensil) and handed me a note. The note was, of course, from SAF. It included an article highlighting that the masters of modern management were the ones who could juggle the squad the best throughout the season and keep all the players happy. The article went on to claim that unfortunately some managers were struggling to do this. I wholeheartedly agreed with the author of the piece when it listed Rafa Benitez, and AVB, BUT STOP THE PRESS!! The article went on to suggest that SAF was also guilty of mismanaging players, leaving some to simply rot on the bench* … actually … WAIT A RUDDY MINUTE! That’s true!! I’m not taking this case. “Berba?!!” Where is he? He might want to take this one on himself, “BERBA?!!”
*As a footnote, SAF had also reiterated the importance of carrying out the investigation without revealing one of the club’s biggest secrets! Nothing was going to be done and fast!
The secret he was talking about, I guess, was how a few years ago, having grown bored of jumping up and down on beds of cash and lighting our cigars with £100 notes, we had invested in some genetically engineered ‘human’ suits for a bit of a laugh. They weren’t just any old humans, no, they were all exact replicas of the members of the squad! This allowed SAF to play Scholesy, Keano, Rio etc … when they were suspended, simply by putting them in, say, the John O’Shea suit. Didn’t you ever wonder how Phil Neville became such a good midfielder? Well that’s cus, that wasn’t him!!! It was someone in his ruddy genetically engineered replica body suit!!! It was anyone of a few players who could squeeze in to it. We had an issue recently when Phelan took home Fletch’s suit, his wife wanted to see him in or something, but when it came back it was in absolute tatters. What they’d done in it, no one actually knows or wants to know. Anyway, without a suit, (we all have to wear one so no one notices we’re a bit fatter than we should be, with the extra layer) Fletch’s only option was to get out the old Scholesy one from the back of the store cupboard. Hence the comeback of Scholesy! Mad isn’t it. Scholesy never came back. It was Fletch in his suit. Yeah, quite a few flaws with regards to the plausibility, but I guess you stopped reading these things about ten investigations ago. Well, you know what they say, “There’s nowt as queer as stuff and that!”
“Micky, Micky, Micky!!” Eric repeated in the tone of voice that suggests I’ve done something wrong. “Will you ever remember that your inner-monologue is being written down?” “CRIPES!!!!!!!!”
As there was no case, I’ve no need utter my now famous viral catchphrase…
Okay, so, wherever the heck he is, Berba had better have set up this bloomin’ self-destruct thing this time! If SAF or anyone sees this I’m toast. What? What? Sorry folks there’s someone trying to get my attention. Look whoever you are, I’m trying to do something here. Can’t it wait? What? *whisper, whisper, whisper* Oh! No one actually reads my diary. GREAT! PHEWEEE!! Thank god for THAT!!!! Hey, wait a minute…