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



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?

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