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...
A young Micky escaped the evil clutches of Liverpool’s gang of petty criminals and thugs just before they started dropping the soap in the showers. Traumatised by his experience he spent the next few years in the underbelly of the gambling cartels of Spain and the North-East of England. Sir Alex Ferguson stepped in offering Micky the opportunity to sharpen his investigative tools without having football as a distraction.
It was just your typical Tuesday. Carro and Stevie G had popped round for a natter and a cup of tea (MUGS), on their way to pick up their Giros. We caught up on a few things. Which British professional boxer they were most fond of? “Haye, Haye, Haye”. What was their favourite Little Richard B-side pre 1960? “Hey, Hey, Hey”. Which literary festival they would be attending this year? “Hay, Hay, Hay”. Which of the catchphrases used by animated character Fat Albert, in Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids did they prefer? “Hey, Hey, Hey”. Which international human resource consultancy group were they most impressed with? “Hay, Hay, Hay”. I also asked them what I should feed my horses but they didn’t have a clue.
Despite what people say about them they are so knowledgeable on a wide range of subjects. I waved goodbye to them … C U Next Tuesday Scousers.
As I turned to my phone and began to concoct one of the #greatesttweets I’d ever posted about my endlessly exciting life, it rang. Incoming: SAF! “Hello”, “Hold the receiver closer to my face, Mike”, I heard him bellow. “Sorry?” I replied. “Oh, Micky, I was talking to Phelan … just pass it here … Have you ironed my y-fronts yet? No? Well hurry along … Sorry Micky…I’ve got something to tell you…” SAF proceeded to tell me about the forthcoming reassessment, rebuilding and clear out at the club. Of course I wasn’t surprised when names such as Gibbo, Wes and PIG were mentioned … But, STOP THE PRESS!!! SAF then reeled off my name! Doesn’t he know who I am? Scottish bastard! This was an outrage!
A couple of hours later my wife convinced me after a bowl of my favourite angel delight, that I should pick up the phone and tell SAF I didn’t really want him to stick his bagpipes up his arse (She explained he probably didn’t even own any bagpipes. What did she know?). It turns out this was a sensible move as SAF was willing to give me a chance to extend my contract by a year. In return I had to complete my toughest task to date …”Bring me the secret to Barcelona’s success!” This was not the only surprise he had in store for me. He also informed me that I wasn’t, as I presumed, the only agent working for the club. This other agent had been set the same task and whichever of us returned with the secret would get the contract. The other, his P45. Something would have to be done and fast.
After a few days spent building a fire from dead ponies in the back garden I attempted to contact Gary Crisps (agent Salt and Linekar) using smoke signals. As my Step-Dad Alan Shearer had had him tied up in the basement without informing me, this had been a huge waste of time. It could have proved costly!
I asked Crisps if he had any information on ‘the secret’ and its possible hiding place but he just banged on for ages about how great they were in possession and harped on for donkey’s years about ‘total football’ and all that. I had no option but to bring in the Walkers. He cracked. With every thin potato chip that passed his lips he spilled more beans. My jaw hit the floor.
I made haste to the Camp Nou aboard my all terrain wheelchair that Hargo had finally returned. As the season was over Sir Alex had no need to assure the press that there was nothing suspicious concerning my whereabouts by releasing any pre-prepared statements but ironically I had felt a twitch in my groin earlier that day when stroking one of the mares. Yeeeehaaaa!
The journey would ordinarily take up to three weeks, but fortunately the breaks on my wheelchair had been cut, so it took only two. The breaks had been cut? Hmmmm … no … No! NOOOOO!! It can’t be … Hargo! “Yes Micky, It’s me Owen Hargreaves. I hope you don’t mind me reading your inner-monologue? You are correct. What’s more I have already collected ‘the secret’ and am on my way back to OT to deliver it to SAF.” “Whhhaa!” I couldn’t believe it. “How did you?” “I’m not going to tell you my methods Micky. But the thing about where ‘the secret’ was kept is all true and I’d prefer we left it there.” “It’s really kept in the tip of Messi’s penis?” “Yes Micky and it was kept in Ronaldinho’s before him and Figo’s before that, right back to Cruyff and beyond”.
“How did you?”… “Ssssh!!” “But…” “I said shut it Micky!!” “Well let’s have a look then”, I asked excitedly. “Here”, he said passing it to me, “But it’s tiny, it looked so big in the picture, Crisps showed me, of it in situ in Messi’s penis?! ” “Yep! It turns out Messi isn’t so perfect in every department after all!” We heartily laughed and made our way home.
Later, as I walked away from OT, a single red tear rolled down my cheek. I turned and looked back at Hargo one final time. I raised my hand to gesture a final solemn salute. As I did this I reached to my neck and began to scratch. The PVC began to come away. Forcing the hole wider, the mask split open. My true identity was revealed … I’m Owen Hargreaves! Hargo looked at himself aghast. He reached to his neck and mirroring my actions burst open his own disguise to reveal … He was Micky Owen. We looked to the sky and shouted in unison, “WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN?!” Eric popped out from behind a cloud. “When the author runs out of ideas or has a writer’s block a highly improbable twist is sometimes the only… (Sorry don’t know where the rest of what Eric said went?).
I’m arranging it with the Bifurcated lot to have a small skip put outside each and every one of your homes, so you can dispose of your laptops and this very sensitive information safely. It will be arriving around 4pm tomorrow. If you could put your wheelie-bin in the parking space outside so we can get it nice and close that would be champion. Thank you.
I will not rest until the integrity of Manchester United is upheld.