After a glorious win over Sweden against the odds, Roy moves intothe modern age indulges in a spot of r&r: resting and retweeting. I m all too well aware, thank you very much, of the slightlyirritating perception of myself as something of a doddery old-timer in surgical socks. Nothing could be further from the truth. Inseveral decades coaching at a very high level in a number ofvibrant and forward-thinking European nations (citation needed) Ihave embraced bold new techniques in everything from centralheating to meatballs.
And now, thanks to the gentle yet persistenturgings of Bevington, I am au fait , too, with the thoroughly modern concepts of just going with it andTwitter. I ll admit that until last night I was still labouringunder an admittedly attractive misapprehension that a Retweet wassomething of a Pamper Day at a Duncan Ballatyne spa involving arubdown, a selection of nibbles and a precision cutting offer(optional). Now, I have a multitude of followers and find myselfendlessly re-tweeted. Such is life.
On the football front it s make or break time tomorrow – butenough of that. Having basked in the glory of my unexpected winagainst the Swedes, and having being widely photographed not tomention filmed enjoying some downtown downtime myself, so to speak albeit in a sedately-paced golf buggy – I felt it notunreasonable when my captain approached me on behalf of my playersto ask me if I might consider cutting them a little slack. Stillclammy from his exertions last Friday, England s heroic John Terry blocked my path and said: Hodge. Ladth are going up the wall here.
Our ballth are gonnaexthplode if you don t let uth off the leash. I see, I said. What did you have in mind, Skip? I dunno, Hodge. It th Krakow, innit? You know what they thayabout Krakow I ll admit that until last night I was still labouring under anadmittedly attractive misapprehension that a Retweet was somethingof a Pamper Day at a Duncan Ballatyne spa involving a rubdown I should reveal at this point that, having amassed three wins and adraw from my dour games in charge to date*, I have alreadydispensed with the nicey-nicey, pause-and-smile philosophy that TheEarl and Bevington have been trying impose on my game. I ve alwaysbeen a very firm believer in telling it how it is and, as such, Ilooked my leader directly in the eye and spoke to him, man to man.
In essence, John, this is a sperm issue? EJT winced and lookedaway. I continued in my typically direct style. What you retelling me is that the men need to ejaculate, yes? The Skipperjust stared at me, aghast. Lithen, Hodge leth th juth say that Dennith Withe and JodyMorrith are thtayin in the Olde Towne, yeah? You catch my drift?What thay the three of uth juth keep it low-key? Thtay out parthtcurfew, thtart a fracas in a bar and get thrown in the thlammer forthe night? Nothing too arduouth As his leader, mentor and prime source of inspiration I chose toignore his speech impediment and soldier on.
As you do. Very well then, John. Go out and get fucked up. But, son.
Iheld him by his shoulders and looked him squarely in the eye. Come back in one piece, hey? Your country needs you. Later that night he came staggering back into the hotel lobby,near-hysterical with mirth. Ladth, ladth! You ve juth gotta come and thee thith! My many dozens of followers on Twitter keep pointing out an assumedslip of the thumb in respect of my repeated of use of dour gamesin charge as opposed to four games in charge. He could barely stand, let alone speak.
Every time Wazza tried toget some sense out of him he d attempt to steady himself, but themoment he started to speak he would collapse again, under ever moredelirious bouts of giggling. Ultimately he was reduced to thisgurning, speechless figure, wriggling on the lobby shighly-polished marble floor, near-asphyxiating as he tried topoint outside. Wazza and Gazza helped EJT to his feet and he managed to wave his arm in thedirection of the general Skagny Varagny/olde towne area. Wefollowed at a cautious distance, keeping a disciplined line. EJTindicated we should follow him down into a cellar bar and, I mustsay, it was difficult not to see the funny side of the, how shouldI put this cabaret that greeted us as we pushed inside.
With the entire squad roaringin delight at the spectacle, it was advisable not to mention wiseto show nothing of one s own personal torment at such publichumiliation. For, what I was faced with, in what. It transpired,was none other than Krakow s most distinguished Sapphic venue, wasa chorus a revue, if you will comprising seven butch ladiesof a certain age all sporting The Frosted Cotton and singing Three Lions in the modish, I m led to believe, karaoke style. As Bevingtonsagely grief-counselled me later that night, it was a far, farbetter thing I did just go with it, not to mention take one forthe team – which I did, cheerfully (though one could dowithout Wazza s now tiresome comedy routine of back-combing hismiracle growth and winking every time I address the players).Bevington advised me to go with it, and to give as good as onegets.
Therefore I shall merely sate that however it has come aboutone cannot dispute that the atmosphere among the players is buoyant as is Wazza Rooney s hair! A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Now –bring on the damned Ukrainians is what I say but enough of that. * My many dozens of followers on Twitter keep pointing out anassumed slip of the thumb in respect of my repeated of use of dour games in charge as opposed to four games in charge. Their assumption is that my expansive thumbshave hit Mr d instead of his suave next-door neighbour,M sieur f . Far from it. I should take this opportunity toplace my cards very firmly on the metaphorical table and state inbold that I ve never been a big believer in dour = dull.
For RoyHodgson, dour is a sainted virtue. Dour = determined. Dour =dogged. Dour = knowing your bloody limits and still being in thebloody tournament, smartarses! On that note I shall leave you safein the knowledge that your dreams are safe in my hands. See you inthe knockouts, naysasyers and you may Retweet that, should youwish J.
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