It’s a quite morning in London Colney.
The birds are tweeting, the squirrels are rummaging and the only other noise is the low crescendo of rippling gravel under the tyres of a solitary Ferrari, making its lonely way down the drive to the front door.
The car comes to a halt and out jumps Theo, busily looking around, trying to see if anyone else is around. Alas, no is to be found, so Theo makes his, now daily, solo, trip to the gym.
You see this summer has been a lonely one for poor Theo.
He had big plans. He was expecting to be in France with Woy and the boys. He was gonna prove to the world he was a Centre Forward, bang in a hatful at the Euro’s and get a big money move to Italy or Spain.
But then Woy decided, like Arsene, the he couldn’t ‘hit a cow’s arse with a banjo’ and that being a winger involves more than just running quick in a straight line. So Theo was dropped like a hot potato and his grand plans we in tatters.
He then thought he’d catch up with the boys, for a few weeks in Ibiza, but that plan went tits up too.
Jack had offered Woy 200 B&H from his duty free allowance so miraculously went to warm the bench in Paris for 3 weeks.
Rambo was off partying with the valley boys in France too.
The Ox was in hospital, again.
Jenko had caught a train to the East End and hadn’t been seen for a year.
And Gibbo had disappeared at the final whistle vs Villa and wasn’t expected back till August.
Theo decided he had to think quickly and think big.
The fans were turning against him, as cheeky Tottenham jibes only get you so far.
Woy obviously prefers money whores like Sterling, so basically, his England career was screwed.
And Arsene was scouring the four corners of the planet for a new striker or two or three.
And he came up with what he thought was a genius idea.
It’s just a winger playing in the other half, simples, any idiot could do that. Plus, Debuchy wanted out and Hector was off with the Spanish squad for the summer, which meant 6 weeks of ‘Barca DNA’ brainwashing and a transfer to the Camp Nou come August.
So to expedite this plan, Theo set about his new routine. Get to the gym daily, bulk up and reinvent himself as a right back.
Theo was half way through his daily routine, when Nacho burst through the door, “Theo, Theo, what’s this Brexit stuff? What does it mean? I am so confused.”
Thinking quickly, “Nach, when was the last time you played for Spain.”
“A couple of years ago, I think, Why?” Asked Nacho.
“Well” Theo added, “The UK has voted to leave Europe. This means all Johnny foreigners are out, unless you are the best of the best”
“What do you mean ‘the best of the best’? Like in that Tom Cruise film?”
“Err, yeah, exactly. If you haven’t played in 30% of Spain’s internationals in the past 2 years, you can be deported. No more immigrants allowed you see.”
“WTF, that’s fcuking outrageous”
“Them’s the breaks, Nacho, me old mucker. If you ain’t the best, you are out with the rest. My advice, get on the dog and bone to your agent and get a move back to Spain, pronto.”
“Too bloody right, I know when I’m not wanted. Screw you lot”
Nacho stormed off towards Arsene’s office to hand in his transfer request and pack up his locker.
Theo, with an evil glint in his eye, rubbed his hands together, jumped on the bench press and thought;
‘Sorted. Now I’m sure I can convince Wenger I can play left back too!’ ???
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