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It had been a relatively quiet time at FFOland, as the clubs and managers settled down to the new season.
After the public hanging of AB and the youth rate uproar most of the managers had decided to actually get on with it and enjoy playing the game they loved.
However, this was FFO and it wasn’t long before the next gathering of the bosses.
“It’s just not right, he’s ruining that club, and i always like to stay somewhere for ages as a long term project and definitely didn’t fuck up Barcelona or anything” piped up Sam Bradwell, who had been one of Roma’s biggest critics.
Hamza entered the arena, driving his infamous clown car and greeting the crowd with a ‘honk honk’. He was ushered in to a side office where sitting waiting was JB, flanked by Nick Lovell and John Read.
“Ok Hamza, let’s see how you’re getting on - Nick?”
Lovell looked over his glasses at a balance sheet and raised his eyebrows. “I’m afraid Lord Sugar, ahem i mean JB, since the last round, Roma are in debt!”
”What?! The veins in JB’s temple bulged with rage as he took it in “Johnboy, what can you say about the squad management?”
”Well to be honest, Lord err JB, he’s absolutely decimated a title winning team and invested most of the money into clown noses for all of the fans, and a full circus act after the game which some of the players have to perform in”
”Well, well , well” said JB “What do you have to say, my friend?”
Hamza squirted a water pistol at them all and stood up to say “Thanks lads I’m off it’s been shits and giggles” and started walking out of the door
“Wait, wait, errr - I regret to have to say that Hamza, you’re fired” said JB, extending a finger towards the door
”But i quit!” Said Hamza, and vanished into a puff of smoke.
“Right lads, I’ve got a few things to get straight - first, I’m fed up of running games for literally no one so we need to cull a few teams - I’ll go and announce it now”
JB entered the main FFO managers lounge and took up his chair
”Right lads, we need to get rid of a few teams, cos it takes ages to do things so we’ll cut down the two second level leagues and they can play 4 games each”
”Whaaaaaaat?????” shrieked the Dark Arts Duo in unison “Are you out of your mind??”
Ed Clark was furiously entering data into his master computer, the Clarkculator, shaking his head more and more each time he hit return. He could take no more. He stood up to face the front, and quietly and calmly started talking “ I have calculated that this could give second division teams another 6 games of football, that’s potentially 600 minutes of actual football” He paused for breath and the volume and urgency grew “That means that some players could actually gain up to 200 abs more so over 5 seasons assuming they stay at the same level and that there are never any future changes they could end up with players good enough for a mid table bench position in the league above”
Talbot tagged in “And once again the best teams are handicapped and one of the lower level teams could actually produce 1 or 2 players that we might actually conceivably want and that’s never right”
”Yeah that’s right we want absolute complete and utter dominance of FFO, and to be the richest and have the best academies and we are fucking doing it” shouted Clark, this time shouting “Oh fuck no, sorry, bad Ed, don’t say it, you’ll get in trouble, sorry”
Tensions were rising in the FFO lounge and several of the senior managers were called into action, calming things down, with lots of gentle ‘pushing down’ actions forming a circle of calm. Through the middle of the crowd emerged a new young hero. It was Bridgey, King of Stockport. “Fuck it lad, I’ve ad enough” he said
“I fucking beg your pardon?” Spitted out Clark
” I’ve had e fucking nough. You two twats are constantly moaning, it’s a fucking disgrace. You immediately dig out anything that gets announced before you even think about it, constantly looking for an angle that isn’t there - just get on and play the fucking game and let us enjoy it too!”
“We’ll fuck me, who the fuck are you?” Said Talbot “Have you been drinking?”
Bridgey’s face turned to look him in the eye. “I will fight you and i will win, because i am a good fighter and you will lose. If you continue to talk to me like that i will commence with a headbutt”
”Come on then, Bridget!” And it looked like it was going to kick off until the calm down gang stepped in and escorted all 3 from the building.
Minutes later a carrier pigeon flew into the building and landed on the table in front of JB. He opened the message inside. He grabbed the bird, scribbled ‘FUCK OFF NO” and returned the message, giving the bird a little pat. It was Bridgey’s resignation.
It wasn’t long before his phone was buzzing, demands being made about warnings and codes of conduct.
“Ok, see you lads, meeting over - I’ll let you know what I fooking decide, can’t be arsed with it to be fair” and they all trudged out.
Banks lit a large spliff, leaned back in his chair, and chatted to his pet snake Casper. “Tha knows Casper these lot are a fookin pain in the arse at best of times” Casper knowingly looked at him at nodded his had, then made a series of hissing sounds “Yes I fooking would like to shove one up there too, but one day my friend”
Meanwhile, back in the lair, Ed Clark was tucked up with his pad and pen. There was a list of clubs on there, with ‘SEEK AND DESTROY - TOP SECRET’ written at the top. He took the pen and started scrubbing out the next name on the list, Roma. He smiled to himself as he had eliminated the credible chances of one of his former rivals ever usurping him. Next on the list? Real Madrid - right, here we go…………