As Worzel came down the stairs, a package was shoved through the letter box followed by the sound of someone running away. The walls of the flat that the club had paid for him and Elsie to share were on the rather thin side. That’s odd, he thought, I’m sure the post had already been delivered. He picked up the package and walked into the kitchen where Elsie was sat at a small table, chopping on a bit of toast. “I thought the post had been?” Worzel asked, holding the package in his hand. Elsie didn’t look up, but pointed at an envelope propped against the teapot. “Ooh, I wonder what this could be?” He ripped the package open and pulled out a CD. The words ‘Play me’ adorned the round disk. Elsie sighed, took it from Worzel, got up, and stuck it in the mini hi-fi next to the toaster. He pressed play. The voice had a distinct Cockney accent. “Your mission, if you choose to except, is to keep Birmingham City in the Championship. This season will self destruct in ten games.” Elsie looked at Worzel. Worzel had the Birmingham Mail open at the puzzle page. “This suduko is hard” “That’s probably because you’re trying to do it on the crossword grid” Worzel put his wax crayon down. “Ooh, what’s this? picking up the envelope that was propped up against the teapot. “Is this meant for me? It says manager” Elsie sighed again and just nodded. Worzel opened it up. There was a note written in Chinese and a half completed Christmas savings card for Morrison’s. Elsie picked the note up and translated. “It’s your transfer fund for January. To be redeemed by the end of December”
Over at the training ground, the two Paul’s, Groves and Williams were overseeing a friendly game between the first team and Cadbury United under 11s. United were wining 5:0. “If we can just hold on to half time without conceding another goal, get them together, tell them, they’re doing well. We might score in the second half.” Paul Two looked at his watch, they’d been playing for fourteen minutes. A weird noise filled the air. A blue box appeared in the middle of the pitch. A door opened and a woman popped her head out. “Ah no way. I didn’t regenerate for this. Cybermen and Darleks I can do. Even if them and those stone statue angel thingy’s teamed up together but this? No chance.” With that, the noise and the box was gone.
“I’ve got an idea” Elsie raised his eyebrows, he was all ears. “Why don’t we give Trevor Francis a ring. He’s on a free transfer isn’t he?” Elsie bowed his head and repeatedly smacked it with the palm of his hand. “He’s already been asked, remember?” The blank look on Worzel’s face, clearly showed that he hadn’t. “His doctors advised him, not to even think about it, let alone set foot in the place.” “While we’re at it, so was Superman, The Genie of the Lamp, Tommy Shelby and Dynamo. All renowned for doing the impossible. All turned us down, on the grounds that keeping us up was way way beyond impossible, even for them. Jesus Christ won’t even answer his phone to us. I heard from a reliable source that he said something like “Miracles I can do already, but keep Blues up? How? It’s too much. Hand me another loaf of bread, I’ve got the whole of Poland to feed because of Brexit.” Yoda was quoted as saying “The force is weak, help I can’t, relegation I see” before slaying a whole battalion of stormtroopers, whilst sat in the corner with his eyes shut, using just the power of his mind to control not one, but two light sabers. Undeterred, Worzel asked “So where’s Morrison’s? I don’t even know where one is” Elsie looked skywards in exasperation. “There’s one straight across from the ground. Have you not seen the signs. . . .” The rest of the sentence tailed off. He was watching his boss chewing on the wax crayon. “I don’t like these coloured twiglets much.”
It was half time at the training ground. The under 11s were winning 16:0. Three of them, including the goalkeeper, had wondered off, a good ten minutes before the end of the half, phones in hand, on the hunt for Pokemon characters. The two Paul’s were addressing the team, until it was pointed out to them, that they were actually addressing the wrong team. Predicament rectified, they went about their team talk. “Look Jota, you’re just not getting forward enough” “Paul, you’re talking to Groundsie” remarked Paul two. “I thought he’d grown” exclaimed Paul one. “Which one of you is Cheikh N’Doye and which one of you is Jeremie Boga?” Paul two asked. “Neither, I’m the groundsman”
The head of the UN, Ban Ki-moon was staring at the front page of The Times, at a photo he never thought he’d see. An image that was basically a team picture of World peace. He shook his head in disbelief, still trying to come to terms that it was actually happening. He wondered through into the next room. They were still all in there. Everyone of them on an impromptu extended trip. “You’ve sunk my battleship” he heard the brash American with the delicately sculpted hair say in a loud voice. It was followed by an explanation in North Korean, followed by American and North Korean laughter. “Another game?” Asked Donald. Kim Jong-un nodded his head vigorously with a beaming smile. Both Pope Francis, Chief Rabbi Yitzhak Yosef, Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi David Lau, Sheikh Ahmed Al-Tayeb, leader of the Sunni Muslims, Archbishop of Canterbury, Justin Welsby, the Dalai Lama, a delegation of leading Sikhs and a delegation of leading Hindus, were tucking into a huge MacDonald’s. Chatting together and swapping food like they’d all been mates since they were kids. “I’m telling you, Spurs will win the league” “No chance. There’s more chance of Birmingham City staying up” The whole table exploded in fits of laughter. The Pope was laughing so hard, that he fell off his chair. Over in the far corner of the room, every royal family was represented. They were having a massive game of charades. Queen Elizabeth II was up front trying to get the rest to guess what she was miming. “Mission Impossible?” The Queen clapped her hands. “Correct. How did you get it?” “You doing the scarecrow thing” “I knew you were on about Steve Cotterill.” “They could go on a run you know” More laughter. “Oh Meghan, you Yanks just don’t ‘get’ football, do you?” “That’s why you love me H”