Footy Watch Bingo!
FootyWatch Bingo: helping the transfer window go down smooth
Hello there, I'm (not) Bill Oddie. Having grown tired of whispering at empty holes in the ground on SpringWatch, I've decided to down a bottle of Jack Daniels, take a load of cheap speed mixed with ketamine and embark on FootyWatch, my surreal, hallucination-inspired pre-cognitive guide to the next eventful few months in football.
In fact, it's just like last year's Transfer Window Bingo, but with a weirder intro. Simply award yourself six-eights of a point whenever you spot any of the following events occur during the transfer window or the opening months of next season. The first contestant to claim a 'full house' will be warmly congratulated.
Is there a better way to ease the pain of non-Euro qualification, spiralling debt, impending bankruptcy, fuel crises, Boris Johnson and Britain's Got Talent? Well, Jack Daniels, speed and ketamine works quite well for me, but anyway...
Daniel Levy is furious that Spurs' first game of the season fails to yield the 9 points to which they are celestially entitled. Juande Ramos is sacked. Spurs hire a top replacement manager, whilst lining up the next two replacements to save time later.
Birmingham City fans start a religion claiming that 'the world ended at the final whistle of the Villa game at St Andrew's in 2002; yes it did: it did, it did, it did. Nothing has happened since then. Lalalalalaaaaa I'm not listening.'
John Terry spends the summer arguing with a pitch in Moscow.
Steven Gerrard assembles the world's press with a saintly wave of his hand, and issues the following diplomatic statement: 'By the power invested in me as a sporting deity, I hereby grant Gareth Barry permission to join us here in Footballing Valhalla, Liverpool FC. His days of struggling through the ghastly life of a mere mortal, playing alongside non-overpriced, non-Spanish non-primadonnas are over. Come, Gareth, join us and taste the sweet nectar of Big Four divinity.'
Spurs fans are shocked that they have failed to sew-up the Premiership title by mid-September. Ramos' replacement is replaced, then fired, then fired again.
Man City sell all their players and replace them with an elite Thai Death Squad. Despite losing every game, each of their opponents sportingly agrees to let them have the points after a post-match 'discussion', and they sew up the title by the end of October.
Liverpool's co-owners are photographed pulling each other's hair, accusing each other of having 'started it', and threatening to tell on each other to Rick Parry. Rick bangs their heads together and sends them off to bed without any ice-cream.
Birmingham City are [promoted to/relegated from] the Premiership (delete as appropriate according to whatever year it is. I've lost interest).
No major football tournaments occur, particularly ones involving dagos, krauts and frogs, or three-quarters of the Premiership. All appearances to the contrary are not true. Lalalalaaaaaaa we're not listening.
The new, new Spurs manager lasts five days, with an unacceptable record of 0 points from as many games. His final duty as Spurs boss is to spit-polish his replacement's Gucci loafers in front of a packed-half-full White Hart Lane.
The tug-of-war for Gareth Barry becomes so vicious that he splits down the middle. We sell his right half to Liverpool in exchange for Scott Carson, John Arne Riise and Peter Crouch, and are left feeling a bit short-changed.
In a fit of indignation at a trophyless season, Roman Abramovich buys all of the footballs. All other matches have to wait until Chelsea are finished.
Following the theories that all odd-numbered Star Trek films are shit and that It's Lucky For Spurs When the Year Ends In One, it is revealed that you can tell whether it's an even- or odd-numbered year by whether Birmingham City are occupying a low position in the Premiership or a high one in the Championship.
Amid talk of introducing limits on foreign players, Arsene Wenger considers re-nationalising his squad to become English. He changes his mind and moves North London to France instead.
Something is amiss with the universe, as Tottenham Hotspur's widely-acknowledged divine right to win everything ever and be the biggest, bestest football team in the world fails to materialise for the 126th year in a row, despite them spazzing £34 billion on the entire squads of Brazil, Italy and Argentina.
Sir Alex Ferguson spends a fulfilling, self-congratulatory summer joyously filling the Champions League trophy with his own semen.
Anfield erupts into Civil War, while the gravity of the egotism and self-aggrandisement at the club collapses in on itself to create a quantum singularity. The losing faction falls through it, travels back through time and becomes Everton. Rafa Benitez gets caught in its wake and becomes Tom Jones in a Fat Parallel Universe.
The Moscow pitch wins the argument. John Terry cries like a big girl.
Don't forget to let us know how you get on. And feel free to add your own possible transfer window events and favourite drink-drug cocktails in the electronic space below. Best of luck!
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