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Gangs of the FFO
Ed Clark sat in his dark lair, head in hands - “Why is it always the little old me that gets the bad luck?” The PSG supremo was looking at his results over the season. Outside in the street he could hear the chit chat of the passers by “So, do you think he’s lost it then?” “Hahaha Juventus even beat him” “Are the dark arts losing their grip?” He slumped even further into his chair and booted up the master computer. Steve Talbot was in darkness, awaiting his dark arts buddy. “Well, well well Eddie baby - things are not working out for you pal are they?” “No they are fucking not!” retorted Clark - “That fucking Banks boy beat me, and i’ve been mercilessly having a go at Ian Greaves, that’s backfired as well” “ I just as well give up and fucking sell Mbappe” “Ok mate, calm down - there’s only one way to defend this - just pretend that the Champions League is the only important thing in FFO and all that you care about, and that really teams should be judged on the 8 games they have to win 5 of to win that, rather than the consistency required to win a league”
“Fuck me, that’s brilliant Stevie - i am going to spin that till the fucking results start to swing around”
As he said it a message pinged on his phone “hahahaha PSG are shit!!! Here’s a collection of texts where you said you were going to walk the league you twat” - it was AB, who was feeling particularly perky after a few less full moons. “You’re a bellend, i beat you” he went on - AB was known for being particularly merciless in these situations. “No problem, i’m just going for Champions League again this year pal, and also to try to grass up anyone doing anything wrong - i bloody love it”
AB disappeared to have an unprompted go at Neil Kirby and it was just back to the DA boys. “Right there’s only one thing for this” Talbot summoned up the master of all, GS “ Hi lads, hows it going - i don’t care about FFO though, don’t even want to hear it , btw are there any jobs going there, fuck i’d love to be back” “Not really GS” said Clark - although at this fucking rate i am going to throw the towel in so you may as well have PSG” “Stay calm my young apprentice said the shimmering image of GS, all will be fine- just trip out the Champions League shit like normal”
“Yeah, good one GS, we thought of that” and GS was gone - “So, can we think of any more ways to annoy the fuck out of JB Stevie? Despite all of the effort that goes in we can always find a flaw with his ideas!! Although to be fair the spot auctions have actually been handled really well, but don’t tell him i said so” “Well, Eddie baby, i think you’re going to keep your head down for a bit - you’re making a twat out of yourself with all of your rantings - and you’re going to have to win the CL now” - “ I know, let’s pitch in to Steve Outten together on Discord for a laugh” “Haha, ok i love it “, said Clark, and off they went to have a go at the Man U boss Outten was sat at his desk, security guards either side, wearing a nice new suit when they both arrived via helicopter to the United training ground “ Oh just fuck the fuck off you two, not interested” said Outten as they approached, and had them ejected by security. “Fuck, who can we annoy next i wonder?” and off they went.
Meanwhile Gary Windebank was meditating in the park as Tim Davey and Darren Humphris went for a pint in central London “Fuck me, is that Windy over there?” said Davey to his hard man friend? “Yeah, let’s go and see if he’s alright - Windy??” The Millwall boss looked up “Hello my old fuckers, how are you” he said “”what the fuck are you doing” said Humphris. “This month my friends, I have turned to the bible and i am reading it in hope that i can gain greater enlightenment into the world” Humphris and Davey looked uncomfortable - “Wh - What??” “ Yes, in an attempt to reach the nirvana of spiritual health i have decided to better myself and educate my former pals, such as Terry Hurlock, in the ways of peace and tranquility” “Fuck me old son, i wasn’t expecting that!” said the Arsenal man - “so you won’t be joining me and Davey for a couple of pints and a slagging off of the fucking woke wankers then?” Windebank opened his eyes again “Fuck it, yeah allright then” and off they went.
Over on the golf course Fiorentina manager Neil Kirby was just about to tee off. He was joined today by his disciples, Sam Bradwell and Mike Bridge of the Deal addiction squad. He stopped and took a drag on his large cigar and addressed the pair “See lads, you just keep on dealing, don’t stop - 1 v 1, 4 v 4 3 v 5 7 v 4, just keep on doing deals and eventually some idiot will drop you a golden one and you’re away” “ I’ve got it!” said Bradwell , just a constant rotation of basically the same players with no gains whatsoever and just slowly getting worse and older as the deals go on - it’s fucking genius!” “I’ve been doing the same with Stockport” said Bridge - just keep on posting until someone needs a 19-14 AM, it’s ideal” “ Ok lads - our next target is Everton - they have been playing a 14-10 at DM - they're bound to be a place that we can offload some dross” said Kirby. As he put his ball back on the tee his two buddies noted something a little strange - on his ball were the initials ‘GS’. Bradwell and Bridge looked at each other, puzzled, and wondered if they had really seen that. Was Kirby secretly the old boss of the DA? Had he nicked a ball? An interesting mystery to unravel…..
Hamza was laughing to himself as he looked at the league table. If it wasn’t for that bloody Barcelona team, he really would have some bragging rights. The whole world of FFO had criticised every deal that he had made, but he was still sat in 5th, and ahead of the likes of PSG, Inter and Atletico “ROFL” he shouted to noone in particular - “Those fucking pricks will rue the day that they wrote Mr Hamza off” - “I will beat you PSG!! - Roma are unbeaten in 6, and they have one win in 6 - we’re going to have a party, yes?” Sam Bradwell came around the corner with his golf bag and greeted the Roma manager “High five Hamza - we are bucking the trend, yeah! “ said Bradwell. “Fuck off Sam, you criticise literally every deal i do. I’m going to watch you crash and burn this season when your own shit revolving door of shit settles” “Wo bro, that’s cold!!” said Bradwell “ But fuck you, we’ll see” and off he went, Hamza giving him the V’s as he left , and as Bradwell tuned around he pretended to be playing with his hair. Ian Greaves sat back and enjoyed all of the nonsense whilst just checking the league table again. “Haha these fuckers that thought EFL was all that” he thought to himself “Look at me, the title is going to be mine - although to be fair AC Milan are getting a bit scary” and off he went to get some Werthers originals.
JB took a call from his brother’s girlfriend - “Look, our Andrew is having one of his turns again, i think he’s likely to savage the rest of the managers - can you find him something else to do?” “Don’t fret lass”, said JB “ I have the perfect solution - we ‘ll pack him off to Brentford to see if he can sort out that shit show!” “Good lad” she said, “Or i think we were going to have to get the medicine out again - and as you know, it only can be administered up the arse, and i’m not fucking doing that again after last time” “Fair enough” said JB
So, how will PSG recover from their terrible start? Will Ed keep spinning the Champions League plan? Will Talbot make Chelsea a force? How will Windy’s enlightenment continue, and will AB be distracted from his random attacks? More next month
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