Sean Thornton
I say a little prayer….
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24th December 2016
HRH Abdullah lay in his sumptuous bed in his boudoir in the Royal Palace, feasting on figs picked from his garden only minutes ago. In fact, he'd get Phipps, his trusted clerk to get some more for him, but it was late and he didn't want the family woken up by shouts of"Go Blades" "Soccer yee haw" at this time of night, even if it was the 24th December in Christendom. No, he thought, anyway, he'll only be arguing on Twitter.....
The Prince drifted into a deep sleep, wakened suddenly by ear shattering moans, yelps and the sounds of chains dragging across the marble floor. Despite being of Royal Blood and of high rank, he was vexed and afraid, he knew this could only mean one thing......McCabe was back asking for more money..........
The door burst open and in came Ebeneezer McCabe, dressed in finery, paid for from the money taken from babes in the club shop.
There's no bigger blade than me HRH, said Ebeneezer, but I sold you 50% and now you need to cough up again.
Again? Said the Prince, what for this time?
The fans want to strengthen in January, said McCabe, we've run out of excuses. Fax machine, flu, sunstroke, Brannigan, new pitch, no this time it's got to be done right. Tiny Jim is still on crutches so we need another midfielder, Matty Done can't score so more fire power up front and if we don't sign EEL it'll be Collins back from the States.
The fans won't wear it any more....
No said the Prince. Not a penny more, not until we are promoted. Now go Ebeneezer.
McCabe walked out, a fine Persian rug under his arm, so be it then, you will be visited by three spirits tonight I hope you learn the error of your ways and don't end up like me.
Wailing loudly, he left and all was quiet.
Some time later, the Prince woke to find a figure sat at the bottom of the bed, holding out a sheet of paper to him. Aaargh, the Prince cried, Nigel Clough, what are you doing here? This is a list of my required signings your Royal Higness, I need them all,,,
But this is just a list of body parts, with big wages figures next to them, have the medical team seen this? No, but my brother Simon has, in between getting the paper lads bags together.
Spend now or this will come to pass, said Nigel as he faded out of the room, the words "Brian Cloughs son" embroidered on the back of his track suit......
Immediately another man walked in, blinking owlishly with something slithering at his side, not really doing much in an unseen kind of way. Can I talk to you about geese Prince, he said.... The Prince looked at him, another one who wasted my money, begone foul devil, no more good money after bad, get out now.
He dropped into a fitful sleep. Waking to music, a Morrisey tune, he thought, he recognised from half time at the Lane puzzled he looked up and saw Gary Sinclair stood before him. What do you want he asked the purveyor of lager at £4.50 a pint?
Look on the big screen your Royal Highness, firstly there's an advert for Maggie Mays and then a shed company, then another advert for Maggie Mays Christmas Parties, then It's the Superdraw with Rooks winning the big Christmas draw again, but then, you will see visions of what could be, if you make the wrong decision...... Choose wisely Prince, Maggie Mays, open seven days a week for fat blokes to dance.......
The Prince watched as a hazy vision showed Blades fans dancing, hoisting the players and Chris Wilder on their shoulders, the ground rammed , fans even shaking the owners hands in joy, the Star proclaimed "Blades Sell Out" it looked magical. Then the screen went dark, Ebeneezer was sat howling, pulling fibres from the Desso pitch, the stands were empty, Wilder walked slowly to his car, his belongings in a box, his CW coat on the floor, two men were fighting to get in the managers door, Chris Waddle and Gary Megson, while the new DOF, Bryan Robson, looked on, smiling.... The Prince screamed,......
He woke up in the light, seeing it was still the 25th, and Phipps was wishing everyone on Twitter and Facebook a Merry Christmas, except VIP Blades, he rang Ebeneezer. What are we going to do in the JTW he said to McCabe We are going to sell someone aren't we..............?
HRH Abdullah lay in his sumptuous bed in his boudoir in the Royal Palace, feasting on figs picked from his garden only minutes ago. In fact, he'd get Phipps, his trusted clerk to get some more for him, but it was late and he didn't want the family woken up by shouts of"Go Blades" "Soccer yee haw" at this time of night, even if it was the 24th December in Christendom. No, he thought, anyway, he'll only be arguing on Twitter.....
The Prince drifted into a deep sleep, wakened suddenly by ear shattering moans, yelps and the sounds of chains dragging across the marble floor. Despite being of Royal Blood and of high rank, he was vexed and afraid, he knew this could only mean one thing......McCabe was back asking for more money..........
The door burst open and in came Ebeneezer McCabe, dressed in finery, paid for from the money taken from babes in the club shop.
There's no bigger blade than me HRH, said Ebeneezer, but I sold you 50% and now you need to cough up again.
Again? Said the Prince, what for this time?
The fans want to strengthen in January, said McCabe, we've run out of excuses. Fax machine, flu, sunstroke, Brannigan, new pitch, no this time it's got to be done right. Tiny Jim is still on crutches so we need another midfielder, Matty Done can't score so more fire power up front and if we don't sign EEL it'll be Collins back from the States.
The fans won't wear it any more....
No said the Prince. Not a penny more, not until we are promoted. Now go Ebeneezer.
McCabe walked out, a fine Persian rug under his arm, so be it then, you will be visited by three spirits tonight I hope you learn the error of your ways and don't end up like me.
Wailing loudly, he left and all was quiet.
Some time later, the Prince woke to find a figure sat at the bottom of the bed, holding out a sheet of paper to him. Aaargh, the Prince cried, Nigel Clough, what are you doing here? This is a list of my required signings your Royal Higness, I need them all,,,
But this is just a list of body parts, with big wages figures next to them, have the medical team seen this? No, but my brother Simon has, in between getting the paper lads bags together.
Spend now or this will come to pass, said Nigel as he faded out of the room, the words "Brian Cloughs son" embroidered on the back of his track suit......
Immediately another man walked in, blinking owlishly with something slithering at his side, not really doing much in an unseen kind of way. Can I talk to you about geese Prince, he said.... The Prince looked at him, another one who wasted my money, begone foul devil, no more good money after bad, get out now.
He dropped into a fitful sleep. Waking to music, a Morrisey tune, he thought, he recognised from half time at the Lane puzzled he looked up and saw Gary Sinclair stood before him. What do you want he asked the purveyor of lager at £4.50 a pint?
Look on the big screen your Royal Highness, firstly there's an advert for Maggie Mays and then a shed company, then another advert for Maggie Mays Christmas Parties, then It's the Superdraw with Rooks winning the big Christmas draw again, but then, you will see visions of what could be, if you make the wrong decision...... Choose wisely Prince, Maggie Mays, open seven days a week for fat blokes to dance.......
The Prince watched as a hazy vision showed Blades fans dancing, hoisting the players and Chris Wilder on their shoulders, the ground rammed , fans even shaking the owners hands in joy, the Star proclaimed "Blades Sell Out" it looked magical. Then the screen went dark, Ebeneezer was sat howling, pulling fibres from the Desso pitch, the stands were empty, Wilder walked slowly to his car, his belongings in a box, his CW coat on the floor, two men were fighting to get in the managers door, Chris Waddle and Gary Megson, while the new DOF, Bryan Robson, looked on, smiling.... The Prince screamed,......
He woke up in the light, seeing it was still the 25th, and Phipps was wishing everyone on Twitter and Facebook a Merry Christmas, except VIP Blades, he rang Ebeneezer. What are we going to do in the JTW he said to McCabe We are going to sell someone aren't we..............?
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