Well gosh, since its all been a bit topsy turvy my mole has been too excited to text me some updates. Now his hands have stopped shaking with excitement (he's met genuine royalty, not the fake shit you are born into. Lets see your medals, biatch) he's finally gotten around to texting me with a few new tidbits
888888888888888888888888888888.... sorry, he (or is it a she...?) stills seems a bit excited. lets try again
8.55 am and a dour looking man with a big jacket and a face so craggy birds could nest in it, casually approaches the entrance to Melwood. His eyes are haunted, he's seen things no mere mortal should ever witness, the final, unedited Roy Hodgson press interview. As the grumpy looking Scot approaches the entrance he spies a dehydrated and hungry looking Spaniard weeping inconsolably outside the gates. Moved with compassion (he too understands what it means to have unfinished business at Liverpool) he offers the ex-gaffer his breakfast and promises to knock them off their f'ing perch.
9.35 am and after a long and stinted conversation (It is a bottle, si? With white, yes? it is therefore Milk, Fact? You will knock Blackpool off their perch??? Mentalidad.), made all the more difficult by a clash of civilizations (Halting pidgin English meets undecipherable Scots Brogue) Kenny takes a deep breath and crosses into Melwood.
9.36 am where a long running party still seems to be in full flow. In the car park Torres is still dancing and clicking his fingers. Dalglish approaches a nonplussed Fernando, the last time he was approached by kings it was his birthday and they were carrying gold, frankincense and Myrrh. Not to be outdone, Kenny promises "stick with me, el kid, it'll be silver all the way"
9.38 am Ryanbabel @ #lfc
shake my head
9.39 am Kenny walks through reception, salutes the prostrate and bowing ground staff and walks through to the food hall. Here a festive mood can also be felt with Claire Rourke trying to fasten some mistletoe to a nervous looking David Ngog's belt. The only sour note is struck by Carragher as Stevie G is repeatedly trying to double high five him. Perhaps Carra's shoulder injury is still playing up.
While he thinks no one is looking, Carra pulls out a mangy looking wallet he has had in his pocket since he was five. Brushing aside his communion money, he sneaks one last, lingering look at a picture of the Hodge, still dressed in his leather chaps, with a glue-on mustache and biker hat. Sighing he chucks it into the bin. In retrospect maybe it wasn't such a hot thing after all.
10.01 am and the king finally finds Sammi cowering in the remains of the oberFuhrer the Hodge's makeshift bunker. In the corner the remains of two badass hand puppets smoulder in the ashes of one England managers dreams. Sammy quickly leaps to his feet, sellotape still clinging to his cheeks. As he weeps and rends his shirt, he tries to explain that he was only following orders. Kenny merely points to the training pitches and suggests that the assistant manager assemble the troops.
As Sammi scuttles away, Kenny looks over at the half-burned glove puppets. Hmmm, perhaps he can find a use for those, to bridge the divide between Scots English and players with no English, like that Babel fella.
10.02 am Ryanbabel @ #lfc
Staring. Unblinking. Staring. Not shaking his head.
10.11 am Having discarded the idea of glove puppets for now, Kenny walks out to the training pitches and suddenly a maddened, salivating figure leaps on the King and starts biting his neck !!! TRANSFER NEWS !!!! has Suarez finally arrived for a medical? Not sure he'll pass it with rabies.
10.12 am Not Suarez unfortunately, just a very relieved Pacheco finally coming out of hiding from behind the bike shed. As he clings to Kenny he keeps babbling about 'El Diablo, El Diablo'. Kenny makes a mental note to reduce Pacheco's sugar intake.
10.13 am and training has not yet started. Instead an extended conga line has formed behind the oblivious Dutch gold Kuyty, as the players celebrate the departure of Team England's new manager. For now Kenny doesn't intrude, a 20 mile conga jog should get the players a few yards fitter.
10.27 am Ryanbabel @ #lfc
Shaking my ass, BRAP, BRAP, HENCH
11.43 am and the now exhausted players line up for some technical coaching from the King. However, problems arise straightaway when Kenny quickly realises that their is only one set of goals, the other one has disappeared. Apparently the Hodge had never bothered to use them, since scoring goals was frowned upon. Some bald Portugese slaphead who has been continuously darting to the right of the pitch explains that he has never even heard that their is another half to the pitch, never mind a second set of goals. A frustrated Kenny goes in search of the Holy grail.
11.52 am It appears that a hungry Soto has been using the nets to trawl the swimming pool for lunch. So far all he has caught is an unappetizing Danish red herring. A disgusted Kenny advises him to chuck it back. As Poulsen splashes face first into the water there is no sign of him being rescued by a Japanese motor, a dangerous Belgian or cheating Argie.
12.01 am Ryanbabel @ #lfc
Hoff and who want to give me £7 million? Shake my hand!
