Do you remember that little guy who used to stomp around his bunker waving his arms at his men? You remember! Tried to conquer Europe, had a bad relationship with the Russians? No not Hitler! Jose Mouriniho – that’s the bloke, do you remember him? He used to be manager of Chelsea, the football club, not the building society.
There was a meeting going on at the Council offices this morning. A group of suits were discussing something serious; the Mayor was there and some of the council officers. I stood and watched by the open window and was amazed to see that Mouriniho was one of them. He’s not so short in real life, it must be because you usually see him standing in a dugout.
“What about Arsenal’s Adebayor and Portsmouth’s Mwaruwari, they’ve both scored hat-tricks and their costs are low at 8.5 and 5.9 million?” asked the Mayor.
“No, you’re talking Martin Jollocks,’ said a sharp dressed woman, ‘Torres is your man!”
“Sorry Margaret, but that’s complete nonsense, Torres never starts a game!” said Mouriniho. “You need Drogba or Rooney.”
My God! They were plotting to overthrow Jason’s Fantasy Football Team. It was obviously too much for them, an office junior with his name on the digital display board as top manager. I could see Jason a few windows along, sitting at his desk working on some earwax with his biro, oblivious of the scheming in the meeting room. On his screen was his team, Torres his central striker. Things were getting heated in the meeting room.
“I can’t believe you were a manager, Mouriniho, I don’t understand half of what you say and the other half is incomprehensible!” shouted the Mayor.
“You believe what you want Mr Mayor, but I’m telling you Schevenko is not a good choice.”
I thought it was time to go. As I got to the end of the street I could still hear them arguing.
“No, no, no,” sobbed Mouriniho, “not Schevenko, he costs so much and he does so little!”
Perhaps they could get him a job on the council as well, I thought.