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 even a sniff of football as a distraction, Micky Owen was afforded the role as Fergie’s own personal detective. Along with his spirit guide Eric, and new partner Berba he provides the club with something that on the surface appears like it may be important. After almost a year of this investigative diary, we still haven’t worked out what it is.

It was a typical Saturday afternoon. Berba and I were continuing our ‘Old Trafford Eye-spy Championship. Sometimes Berba gets the monk on if he can’t get one and SAF and Phelan, who encourage me, have a little chuckle about it – you might have seen them?.  Well, SAF does, Phelan just mirrors what SAF is doing, to give the impression he has a clue what’s going on. Berba had been guessing since kick-off, and we were now entering the final ten minutes. The letter was ‘U’ and I’d smugly batted back suggestion after suggestion.

Out of nowhere a voice from the crowd shouted, “Get Morrison on!” SAF’s jaw cruised into second gear. “Yeah, what about Morrison?!” came another voice. “Yeah, what about Morrison?!” came another. A small huddle of fans began chanting “Morrison! Morrison! Morrison!” SAF was now purple. Berba grasped my hand tightly. The full time whistle went and we’d not done very well. I was chuffed though because my Eye-spy would carry over to the next game. As we made our way down the tunnel towards the dressing room SAF accosted us and shoved us into the gents. “That ruddy stinks!” he screamed at us. “Sorry boss, I had a dodgy Guveche last night and snuck in here at half-time!” replied Berba. “STOP TALKING! I’m not talking aboot that, but now you mention it, CHRIST. If only you were that devastating on the pitch, hey?! … Anyway, I’m talking about those lot out there. Morrison this! Morrison that! Telling me that I’m not trusting the youth, I’m livid!” said SAF, visibly shaken. “Leave it with us boss” I assured him. “Come on Berba” … Something would have to be done and fast!

A month passed and we’d just been going up and down the aisles – occasionally waving to our new friends; Chris on checkout, Tina on fish, Paul in ‘World Foods’ and Alison at the news kiosk. Eric had briefly popped his head out the clouds to offer some encouragement, but had been so busy preparing his electoral speeches for some government thing or other, that we’d hardly seen him. We could now fully understand what those fans were going on about; I mean some of the 2-for-1 deals compared with other leading retailers were unbeatable. Much of the fresh produce was for the most part sourced organically from local farms, and the range available would certainly blow most medium to large supermarkets out of the water. However, although in a direct like-for-like price check it held it’s own to a degree, when we went on to some price comparison sites and compared our ‘real baskets’ with the other leading competitors we found that it was lacking somewhat. The overall feel of the place was a bit pokey. Not the expansive fluorescent lit superstore people have told me that the heathens frequent and expect to be dazzled by. If anything I’d say it was a tad dated in its general marketing and appearance. Overall, we concluded that SAF was probably right in his stance and we couldn’t wait to get back and reveal our findings. “Come on Berba”!

“Boys, where the sodding hell have you been?” exclaimed SAF as we peered around the door to his office. “We’ve been on the case boss.” I replied with pride. “What case is that then? I thought you’d both retired or run off together to one of those hedonist holiday camps. D-I-Y Prince Alberts and all that!” “What’s that supposed to mean?” I replied while letting go of Berba’s hand. “Anyway, here’s all the information you need on the Morrisons case” said Berba as he tossed the document on to SAF’s desk with aplomb. “Thanks, but I won’t be needing it … you were gone so long, I gave Hargo a quick call and asked him to set up one of those fake twitter thing-me-bobs for Ravel Morrison and start stirring things up a bit until I decide what to do with him … wait a minute, did you say Morrissons?”. “Huh? Ha … ha … HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA Morrissons! AS IF!” We all heartily laughed together and then I quickly yoinked our report from SAF’s desk and  ran away.

Case Closed!

Sssshhh, don’t tell Berba (I don’t think he can read anyway). The ‘U’ is ‘Upside down ‘S’ – he’ll never get it. To give him something to do, as my assistant, I have instructed he visit all your homes over the coming days and weeks to fit the self-destruct device to your P.Cs and laptops for the future handling of these very sensitive files. No doubt he’ll take his ruddy time…

Keep ‘em peeled!