Hercs in the dressing room before City

We join the lads gearing up for the Derby*

Houllier: Look, I know what derbies mean to players, Nigel you have a captain's speech prepared I understand?

*NRC nods and nervously takes to the pulpit with a few sheets of A4, he adjusts the microphone and it gives a little feedback as he begins.*

NRC: Pride. Derbies are all about pride. I know all about pride, my mum raised me on her own whilst doing heavy shifts as a nurse, she was proud and strong and we must be too.

All the lads: Yeah! Wooooooo!

NRC: So lets go out there and make the City players feel like they've been lined up and shot!

*A couple of the lads begin to look wary, Sidwell, Delph & Warnock are still cheering*

NRC:... With a bazooka! Then like we've scraped together their ashes and and crushed them into cat litter...

*Houllier is beginning to look alarmed, the Hall of maim are standing and whooping*

NRC: ....Then like we've fed the cat all kinds of spices and stuff that don't agree with it's stomach, then when he's done his business on the litter mixing it all around and...

*a horrified Houllier leaps to the microphone pulling it away from NRC*

Houllier: ... That was .... Passionate .... Thank you Nigel.

*A couple of the lads are clapping with shock, a few are being sick into buckets, tears are streaming down Sidwell's face*

Sidwell: Beautiful (sniff)

*NRC is barging his head back to the microphone*

NRC: ...Pouring it back on to the toxic dump that is St.Andrews!

*Houllier wrestles the microphone off NRC*

Houllier: Thankyou Nigel, that is quite enough.

Delph: Great news boss, I'm fit for the derby. I can play where ever you want me.

Houllier: Fabian, you are still on crutches, I don't think zat you are quite....

Delph: Yeah, the crutches, um .... I ... I just need them when I'm relaxing, like reading glasses.

Houllier: Fabian I don't ...

*Delph drops his crutches and begins kicking violent and wildly*

Delph: ungh! Yiaaaah!!! Huh!!

Houllier: Look Fabian, I admire your commitment but....

*Delph collapses in a heap screaming in agony, and clutching his leg. A number of lads rush to his aide*

Delph: Back off! I'm fine!

*Delph begins biting at and headbutting the air from the floor whilst growling*

Delph: See boss? Good to go.

Houllier: Fabian, you can not even....

Delph: So shall I crawl to the pitch? In the hole behind the striker right?

Sidwell: I say let him play boss, it's like the saying goes 'if he's violent enough, he's good enough'

A.Young: Who says that!?

Sidwell: It's a well known football saying.

A.Young: That's 'if he's good enough, he's old enough'

Sidwell: Oh ... Yeah, that's kinda more likely isn't it? I should probably get this tattoo removed...

*Heskey and Downing are talking amongst themselves*

Heskey: Right this is it Stewart, we do the business here and no more stick for us from the twisted old geezers in the stands.

Downing: What? Tha business? Like tha cat like?

Heskey: No. Goals man! Goals!

Downing: Oh ... Reet.

Heskey: For heaven's sake man, pull your shorts back up.

Downing: Reet.

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