Author A. Ferguson

Author A. Ferguson

Secret Diary of A. Ferguson aged 68 1/4

January 14, 2010 Tags: Just for fun 3 comments

11 January 2010 – Fitba, bloody hell! If it is nae bad enough that ma team was knocked oot the FA Cup, it had tae be the wee bassas Leeds. It’s enough to drive a man tae the drink.

Nae that there’s anything wrong with a wee dram or a boatle a’ soup. Giggsy calls me the ‘Exorcist’ because every time I visit, the spirits disappear.

I say as Rabbie Burns does, ‘It’s guid to be merry and wise.’

Talkin’ aboot the drink. That can be the only explanation for tae performance against Leeds. I told my son – Darren Fletcher, nae the other useless bass – ‘son, ye nae cannae take the drink. There’s no gonnae oot for ye an’ singing auld lang syne at Hogmanay.’ Did he listen, did he feck?

Then the wee bag o’ shite gets himself a red card at Birmingham. Maybe it’s aboot time I disowned this Darren, like the other wee eejit called Darren. I’ve always said Alex McCleish wis ma real son anyways, nae Darren, even if he’s a wee ginger feck. No doubt aboot it.

There’s been a lot of talk aboot money this week. The Glazers are gonnae borrow £500 million to pay off the club debt. £500 million?!!! That wouldnae even pay off my wummin, Cathy’s, credit card bill!

They say all the trouble started with ma hoarse, Rock of Gibraltar. If I had nae fell oot with those Irish bassas, they would nae have sold to the American jobbys. All over a wee turkey baster full of hoarse jiz.

It was nae a holiday!

But I isnae worried aboot the money situation. I disnae spend money unless its good value. Ask Dimitar, Juan Sebastian, Ralphe and Rio. It’s always aboot the value.

Times like this are stressful in the Ferguson hoose. Cathy, she’s the worst. She’s always stressing aboot the little things when it’s the fitba that really matters.

‘Oh Alex,’ she said. ‘Look at me, ay am fat, an ugly, pey me a compliment.’ ‘Yir eyesight’s perfect hen,’ I said.

I still disnae understand why the wummin is so upset!

I am writing this from Qatar where I’ve come with the lads for a wee holiday training camp. It’s bloody hot but nae as hot as the furnaces at the shipyards in Glesca when I was a boy.

The Qataris disnae have a scooby about fitba but I’m hoping one of the punters is rich enough to pay off Cathy’s credit card bill, nae-borra!

Secret diary of A. Ferguson, aged 67 3/4

December 30, 2009 Tags: Just for fun No comments

30 December 2009 – It’s been a funny week in fitba, no doubt aboot it. Ma auld pal Hughsie – or Linda as the wife indoors calls him – wiz fired this week by the windae lickin’ bassa’s at Citeh. Jesusjonny!! Two defeats all season and they’ve already fired the mincy heid! What is the world commin tae? That’s 14 Citeh managers I’ve outlasted.

Linda wiz ma main striker when United were aboot to knock Liverpool off their fecking perch. But Linda was naer any good with his boots. He wiz always complaining that his boots had a lace missing. ‘No,’ I said, ‘look at the label – it says Taiwan.’

Linda had that terrible hair as a player too. I said to him then, ‘Ye’ll naer make a manager boy, nae with that perm’. So I called him today, he wiz greetin’ like ma fancy wumman and I said ‘Nae offence doll, but yev got a face like a leper licking a thistle, pull yersel together.’

I’ll miss Linda. I once sat in his office sharing a wee tonic after a match at Eastlands. ‘Comfy?’ he asked. ‘Govan,’ I replied. As if Linda disnae know.

Citeh have hired a Tally. What is the world commin tae?! I disnae trust the Tally – if he says it’s pasta, I check under the sauce. I have adjusted United’s tactics over the years. More Italian than the Italians, they say! That’ll teach the wee bassa.

I’ll welcome Roberto tae Manchester in the traditional way – a Glesca Kiss.

It's ma birthday!It’s ma birthday on Thursday. 68, bloody hell! But I’ll naer be retiring to let Jose have ma job. No way pal. I tell youse, they’ll have tae drag me oot in a box.

Jose, the Special One. I always thought he looked a bit like Tony Ferrino and you know where he came from – the Valley of Our Souls.

We were friends, shared a fine bottle of Chateau Lafite 1787 in ma office. But the trouble started with Jose’s dog, which he loves. I said to him, ‘Jose, is that your dog ootside? Well, I think my dog may’a killed ‘im.’

‘What kind’a dog you got that can kill a great dane?’ Jose said.

Ma dog’s a chihuahua, ye see. I think the wee bassa may’a gotten stuck in his throat.

Talking of pals, ma best pal is What a Friend – ma hoarse that won the Lexus Chase. I told youse ma hoarse is better than Mickey Owen’s hoarse any day. Now that’s a birthday gift!

Better than ma boy Darren. The lil runt who wasnae any good at fitba is now on the dole … so I called him up, I said ‘Darren ye wee bassa, fancy filling in at the back for a wee spell?’

‘Nae problem da,’ he said ‘But da, I’m a manager now da.’

Sure you are boy. Well it is the season of father Christmas, is it nae?