Me and our Vic would sort the squad out no problem, good Kop, bad Kop, etc.
I'd have them all with No 1's (Skin heads) in case you don't know what that is, in early, but not too early, say 06.00 in the morning, breakfast, watching some of our greatest performances, followed by desert, watching/reading fan's stories how they beg steal and borrow just to get to the game, followed by a juice whilst watching all of our European Cup wins.
Training: Tommy Smith would be in control, make them fucking nearly die on the training pitch, followed by Jimmy Case who'd teach them to give 100% and again, die for the cause, yet, just keep that little bit back, hand's and knee's job, for dinner time.
None of this mumbo jumbo music for me, ear phones, I pods, mobiles, not allowed, they sit having dinner, whilst listening to the Spion Kop in full voice, all the song's, everyone.
Afternoon training, a easy rest from Tommy, I'd have Phil Thompson on the scene, hard man is Phil, takes no shit. Work the fuckers until they are on their knees, drag em back in shave and a shower, time to relax?
You can drink as much as you like lads, as long as it's only water or juice, time to get up and around the local comminity, and give something back, No offence Bernie from Brazil or Nigel from the Netherlands, but the club needs to focus on it's local support.
Next up, a trip to one of the local school's, any school will do, the room erupts as you walk in, they love you, hang your pictures on the wall, even wear Ryan Babel undies every day of the week.
One of the player's then ask's "That's incredible, I'm really truley touched" we go all over the World, meet fan's from every corner of the globe, with a tear in his eye, he say's, You boy's must love going to Anfield, feel really proud putting something back into our community, a deadly silence...
The COCK of the school stands up, wearing a LFC kit underneath his school togger, a wee JUSTICE badge upon his coat pocket, Nah mate, no one in here get get to the match, we are the hidden wealth , that the club don't want to recognise, my arl fella tell's my stories about the Boy's Pen when he was a lad. We have to sit in front of snidey c*nt reporters listening to snide remarks about the Pool, does your head in mate.
Not just about the players, also the fan's, the saddest thing about this is, the club don't give a fucking shit who you are as long as you pay the price, we are close to losing our identity, how many from the old day's still go, I see less and less.
What's our name?
LIVERPOOL.
An arl song for you that Vic.
