Onwards and Upwards number 11 Billy Davies pulls a fast one

[andy1236660]

Red nose day really brings home how tough some people have it. It's traditionally the day I feel the most sympathy for the poor, the sick and the destitute. Most of all though, I feel sorry for all those people who can't get up in the morning, look in the hotel mirror and see Billy Davies. Mind you, mostly I just see the top of Billy Davies' head. f*** knows who they pay to put mirrors on hotel walls these days but but they have no sense of commitment. They don't even have a faction of the drive and sheer ability that made Billy Davies the success I am today.

Billy Davies knows exactly how good I am. Who else but Billy Davies could walk into the dining room for breakfast every morning and get a standing ovation from every one in the room? Those Derby fans know a thing about football, Christ, have they shown me some appreciation since I brought my on particular brand of genius to Nottingham Forest. 'Go, Billy' they cry as I head off for work each morning 'go give the red dogs your best'. It makes Billy Davies feel appreciates and sets him up for the day, I can tell you.

The thing that sets Billy Davies apart from the herd is his desire and his willingness to work hard. Take today for example. Mark Arthur slid under the door of my office leaving one of his nasty, slimy trails and started to panic. 'Don't worry Mark' I said reassuringly 'there's no way a Billy Davies side would ever get relegated to the third division.' 'It's not that' he stammered 'it's that....we've been burgled and the replicas of the Euro...' He ground to a halt, mid-sentence when he caught sight of the two European Cups in the corner of my office. 'Wha...wha..what are they doing there?' He said at last. I looked at the sad little b*****d with sympathy. Clearly he has no idea what kind of attention to detail you get when you hire Billy Davies. 'Oh, those' I explained, calmly 'I needed them to have my photograph taken with them. With Billy Davies on charge, we're certs to win a couple soon and you wouldn't want a delay before we could get pictures of them and the triumphant manager in the programme, now would you?' He slithered off, shaking his slimy little head. Slowly but surely the pennies are starting to drop around here.

Mind you, those European Cups won't win themselves. It's going to take discipline, hard work, attention to detail and no little genius to get there. Take yesterday. The team crept in, one by one, embarrassed and ashamed after a five nil gubbing at the hands of a Burnley side. A Burnley side full of pace and power, full of leadership and courage. A squad with depth and quality, a side on huge wages, a squad that we have no hope of competing against. I watched the players shuffle in, battered and bruised. I stood there, silent, and waited until the sloshing sound faded as Lewis McGugan's man boobs and belly finally came to rest. The only sound was the gentle patter of Paul Smith's tears hitting his knees. Then I gave them both barrels.

Confidence is a fragile thing and players without confidence make mistakes. All I can do is tell them how s**t they are, how fat they are, how lazy they are and how they're not good enough for this division and hope that they learn from it. And if they don't? I'll sell them for dogmeat in the summer and buy some big b*****ds who can play the Billy Davies way. Now I've got the photos, we need on with winning the European Cups.

 

[andy1236660]

Re: Onwards and Upwards numbers 1 and 2

I sat the dozy wee bastards down today to watch the dvds. As we reached the doorway of the screening room at the City Ground, Paul Smith hesitated. He stood in the doorway, inching forwards and backwards, like a rabbit in the headlights, making tiny little mewing noises. Chambers took the half pound of lard out of his mouth and, impatient as ever, screamed at him ‘What the f*** are you messing about at, nuggets?’

Many of the squad seem to have nick-names associated with poultry farming. Smith is ‘nuggets’, Cohen is ‘headless’ and Grant Holt, apparently, used to be called ‘duck’ after his reluctance to get his head to a ball. McGugan is called ‘family sized bucket’ for reasons that are only now becoming clear.

Smithy’s bottom lip started to go. ‘I’m not sure if I want to be sick’. ‘For f***’s sake’ said Chambers ‘if you want to be sick get to the bloody bogs. Make your mind up man.’ But it was no good, Smith stood there paralysed and then brought up three semi-digested burgers, a large portion of chips and most of a pork pie all over my best brogues. ‘Erm, sorry, boss’ he said sheepishly. A murmur started up amongst the rest of the squad ‘Wouldn’t have f***ing happened when Campy was here. Now there was a man who was decisive when he needed to puke.’

We spent four hours going through the dvds. At the end I got Ned to switch on the lights. I turned around and I faced the whole sorry squad. ‘Chickenshit’ I growled. ‘Yes, boss?’ said Perch. ‘No’ I said as patiently as Billy Davies could manage ‘you were chickenshit on Saturday, all of ye. So, now you’ve see the films, do you understand what you need to do?’ ‘Erm, we think so boss’ said Morgan, brightest of the bunch. ‘When we play Wolves you want us to show them our arses, call them m------uckers and then kick them in the head.’

Management is easy. You can have all the tactical skill in the world but show a side Brave heart, Die Hard and the Matrix and they soon get the f***ing point.

 

[andy1236660]

Re: Onwards and Upwards numbers 1 and 2

The first day’s training after a total twatting is always a fine balancing act for a manager of the calibre of Billy Davies. Come down on them too heavy and you can destroy the fragile confidence delicate young players. Too much arm around the shoulders and the little shithouses think that it was just bad luck or even, God forbid, the fault of the guy who picked the team. So today we decided to split them up and concentrate upon some individual weaknesses.

Cohen’s been looking a bit heavy legged lately so Ned took him out to do some sprints. Easy enough, you just chuck a stick in the river and give him a doggy chew when he brings it back. Ned tried to do the same sort of work with Chambers and Wilson but they just watched the stick float down the Trent and said ‘f*** that for a game of soldiers.’ But Ned has learned at the feet of the master and started throwing golf balls wrapped up as Cadbury’s Crème eggs for them to chase. They lost one or two teeth but at least it got them sprinting.

Then we did some work on real life game situations. Chambers has to see how far he could kick the ball despite being distracted by six players within ten yards asking for the simple ball. Eanrshaw got to stand with his hands on his hips while Breckin booted balls over his head and Smith got to practice his distribution while we played tapes of 15 000 people shouting ‘Get rid of it you w**ker’ at high volume.

All in all it was a good session and we went back to get changed. I sat in the Sauna for a while, congratulating myself on a job well done. You can win all the football matches you like but nothing shows the mark of a manager like a good day’s training. I sat there for a few minutes, sweating gently and basking in the glow that emanated from my own backside. I’d been singing ‘One Billy Davies, there’s only one Billy Davies, one Billy Dav…’ to myself for about a quarter of an hour when Nathan Tyson walked through the steam room. f***ing hell, when the boys called him the Big Whopper, I thought it was another fast food gag. I watched, hypnotised by his swinging dick as he walked past me and then looked down at my own effort. Slug-like, shrivelled from the cold and not at all reflecting the stature of its owner, it lay there, lonely as a shit left back playing a whole forward line onside. ‘Billy, Billy give us a wave, Billy…’ I was singing softly to it when McGugan walked in. He sucked his stomach in, threw his towel down and sat down next to me. He said nothing and seemed lost in his own thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I was convinced that he kept taking crafty peeks at my groin. I started to feel uncomfortable but got the sense that he wanted to confide in me. ‘Boss’ he said tentatively at length. ‘Yes, son?’ I replied, as paternally as I could manage. He dragged his eyes from my cock, looked me square in the face and asked ‘Are you planning on eating that shrimp?’

 

[andy1236660]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 4

Horses for courses. A cuddle or a slap. An arm round the shoulder or a kick up the arse. An elite football manager of the quality of Billy Davies needs to be a social worker, a psychologist, an agony aunt and an ageing rent boy, all rolled onto one. It's all about getting a player to sit down, standing on a stool or a step ladder, looking him in the eye and then sussing out what sort of man he is and what kind of treatment he needs. Much of it comes down to confidence. If you don't have any at all you end up clinging to your goal line like you're a promising midfielder and its a Greggs' pastie. Too much confidence and you end up being a **** like Robbie Savage.

Take today for example. I tracked down Robbie Earnshaw after training and sat him down in the dressing room. 'Look, son' I said. The rest of the players call him the pickled egg for some reason but it never pays to get too matey with the staff when you're someone of Billy Davies' ability. After all, I'm only planning on taking one or two of them to Chelsea when Abramovich gives me the call in the summer. 'Look, Son. You know me and I know you. We're very alike in many ways. We both think you're a bit special - at this level. You've got a goalscoring record second to none - at this level - and we both know that its all down to confidence. When you feel great you bang them in without a second thought, you're as deadly as anyone at this level, but when you feel undermined you're just, ......well, .... shit.

His little, child's brow was furrowed into a frown. 'Why do you keep saying that, boss?' 'Saying what, son?' I replied 'At this f***ing level. It's always been at this f***ing level with me. I'm the only man ever to score hat-ticks in every division, in both cups and for my country and yet every bastard sees me as a second division striker. It's as if you don't rate me and that you'll sign Frannie f***ing Jeffers the minute we get promotion.'

Robbie stood up, wiped the tears from his eye and, muttering 'at this f***ing level' to himself, started to get changed. He was red hot in training this morning but now his co-ordination seemed shot to pieces. I watched him fail to get his right leg into his trousers eight or nine times and then, feeling pretty pleased with myself set off for my office. As I say, only the master manager knows how to bring the cocky ones down a peg or two.

Smith was waiting for me in my office. Now he's a completely different kettle of fish. He's a nervous boy who goes to pieces if he feels at all undermined or criticised. Its a delicate art, keeping his self-esteem intact whilst pointing every piece of horrible goalkeeping and explaining that, while his brilliant saves don't change the scoreline, his f*** ups do. Today was tough as I had to back bad news to him without making him feel worse about himself.

'Morning, superman' I said. The others call him Willie. At first I thought it was some smutty footballers joke nick name, the way they call Mark Arthur 'Mr Ringpiece', but it turns out that that 'Willie' is short for 'Willie or won't he ever get off his f***ing line'.

'Big news son' I said 'I've got you a bit of help in the old goal keeping department.' He looked distracted. 'Are you alright son?' I asked. 'Yes, boss, I just thought I might need a wee.' 'Well go if you need to, son, I'll wait. Just make sure you're distribution's better than normal.' I find that a joke can lighten the mood and put a nervous player at his ease. 'Erm...I think I'll be ok.' He said, but not too reassuringly.

'It's like this, son' I started again. 'I've noticed that you've been struggling with some aspects of this whole goal-keeping business. World class shot stopper and all that but not awful good at keeping the old ball out of the old net. Now I know that you had the most clean sheets in the third division but this is a different League and it needs different measures. So I've got you some help.' He squirmed visibly and asked 'Some n..n...new gloves?' 'No, son' I said gently. 'A little friend for you to train with. A goalie you can share ideas and techniques with, someone to keep you company and some one to give you a little competition.' 'Competition?' He said in a whisper, clearly the idea was new to him. 'Just someone to help you get the best out of yourself, so you do your best for the team' I said, in my best Billy-Davies-is-not-a-total-bastard voice. He looked me in the eye and, with a quivering lip said. 'Don't worry, Boss. I'll do my best for you on Saturday against Wolves, I won't let you down and I won't let any goals in'. I moved my new tan loafers out of the way of the pool of urine that was spreading around his feet and said, as gently as I could. 'Don't worry son, not even a spacker like you could f*** it up from the bench.'

 

[Flaggers]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 4

Loving these, Andy! Please keep them coming!

 

[Erik]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 4

'Don't worry son, not even a spacker like you could f**k it up from the bench.'

lol

Keep these going. It may be the only thing that gets us through the next few weeks!

 

[saunders:]]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 4

Yeh I know there aren't many replies but these are hilarious mate

 

[It's Baggio]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 4

Brilliant.

Keep 'em coming.

 

[Matt90]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 4

rofl rofl

 

[Samuel]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 4

Well worth the long read.

 

[Maverick]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 4

'Don't worry son, not even a spacker like you could f*** it up from the bench.'

I can hear the wee man saying that in my head!

 

[Benchwarmer]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 4

Quality read!!!!

 

[Rich]

Re: Onwards and Upwards numbers 1 and 2

‘Chickenshit’ I growled. ‘Yes, boss?’ said Perch.

That, right there, has just made me laugh quite loudly!

It suits my 'sense of humour of an 8 year old'!

Well played.

 

[Rich]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 4

Could I perhaps suggest you put these on the content site a la Me Owd Duck?

They're really funny.

 

[andy1236660]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 5

All the work I’ve been doing to build the players’ confidence this week was needed when we came head to head with Wolves. When I did my interviews before the game, I wasn’t sure whether to use the line about us being completely unable to compete with a rich, well organised Wolves side made up of proper footballers or whether to use the one about us having the heart to punch above our weight. In the end I chose neither and went for the tried and tested approach: I slagged of Lewis McGugan. I ended my interview with a call for the supporters to be positive. This is an incredibly delicate period of the season and I don’t want anyone to get us relegated by being negative in any way. Our goalkeeper might be shit and our star midfielder might be a fat waster but you won’t hear Billy Davies saying anything of that type.

There were the usual fitness tests before the game. We checked to see whether Saint Julian Bennett is off his crutches yet, we gave Paul Anderson twenty minutes in his hamster’s wheel and took Lewis down to the public weighbridge at Bingham to see whether he was thin enough to play yet.

I like to keep team talks brief and to the point, often well under an hour and a half with each key point only mentioned ten or fifteen times. I made points about heart, fighting spirit, discipline and consistency. Consistency is the key aspect of success and I am so committed to consistency that I will change the side or formation every ten minutes until we achieve it. I’d decided to settle for a draw rather than another five nil twatting and went for a 4-5-1. Actually as it was more of a 1-4-5-1 as this week, for a change, we’d be using a goalkeeper. After my big motivational speech I thought I’d use one of old Cloughie’s tricks. I folded a towel on the dressing room floor, placed a football on top of it and, when I had silence, said:

‘This gentlemen is your enemy. Hate the ball, treat it with disdain and spend as little time in its company as possible. If it looks like its coming towards you, run away. If you can’t run away, kick it or head it as far away as you possibly can. That way you won’t get caught in possession and won’t get blamed if we lose.’

There was a moment’s stunned silence as the full import of my philosophy dawn upon the dozy bleeders and then I sent them out into the March sunshine.

As well as putting five across the middle, I’d planned for a draw in lots of other shrewd, tactical ways. We wouldn’t be using ball boys, just members of the groundstaff told to retrieve the ball with all the speed and enthusiasm of Mr Ringpiece negotiating a transfer deal.

All my plans came to fruition in the fist half. No-one got near either goal and we wasted four or five minutes every time the ball went out for a throw in. We had one of those special needs referees who get to officiate on a Saturday occasionally as an alternative to basket weaving. He was so shit that his linesmen were just embarrassed – every time he looked to them for help, they just looked away and pretended they were wearing James Perch’s invisibility cloak.

I kept getting McSheffrey and Anderson to switch wings but that wasn’t giving us any consistency so I went for the double substitution that always seems to bring a goal about. Sure enough, Wolves scored within minutes when Eubanks-Blake let go of Wes’ shirt long enough to get a cross in. The only answer to that was more consistency so I swapped McGugan for young Joe Garner. McGugan had had a poor game, disobeying my clear instructions by taking up to three touches of the ball at a time. Despite our best efforts he’s not losing weight but, instead he’s using the time honoured strategies of growing a bit of a beard to hide his second and third chins and, last refuge of the porker, has started leaving his shirt untucked. I thought I’d use some of the mind games that Alex Ferguson learned off Billy Davies as McGugan came off. I drew myself up to my full five feet eleven inches, pulled my jacket out of the way and stretched my shirt tight across my stomach. ‘That’s what a six pack should look like, you lardy c**t’ I shouted as he trudged off.

We lost one nil despite me sending everyone up front for the last ten minutes. Still, it wasn’t Billy Davies’ fault. He doesn’t really start work till the summer.

 

[Lee]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 5

Classic!

 

[andy1236660]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 6 - acquisition committee

A lot of cock is talked about the transfer acquisition committee at Nottingham Forest. People suggest that it’s cumbersome, inefficient and ineffective. All I can say is that they’re obviously confusing the committee with Luke Chambers and have forgotten to mention the arse the size of the Lake District.

The committee is the very model of modern business practice. Why only last week we had a request from Sir Alan Sugar who wanted to watch us in action while he stroked his old man. His old man wasn’t that keen but when your son’s a celebrity and a well known nasty bastard….

Every third Monday in months that don’t begin with J or A, the committee meets as long as there is an R in the season and as long as Mr Ringpiece doesn’t see more than three magpies as he slithers in to work. The membership of the committee is perfectly straightforward: there’s me, there’s Mr Ringpiece, there’s Keith Burt, the Chief Scout, there’s Mr Pelling, the financial director, there’s that nice Mr Pleat and there’s the Chairman in the Dominican Republic. There’s nothing at all sinister in the fact that the Chairman spends most of his time in the Dominican Republic and the rumour that he’s only there because there’s no extradition treaty with the United States is purely malicious.

The roles of the committee are straightforward. I’m there as the manager. My job is to devise a playing strategy that the various incoming players will fit into. This sounds quite technical but, really, it just involves me throwing a shirt at whoever we sign and telling the poor bastard he’s playing left-back. The nice Mr Pleat is there to make sure that I don’t confuse the Chairman with jargon like ‘midfielder’ or ‘goalie’. Mr Doughty’s been in football for a few years but is still coming to terms with the terminology and needs that nice Mr Pleat to explain things to him. Any suggestion that I’ve fallen out with that nice Mr Pleat is a complete lie. I’ve even had the odd evening out. He’s clearly got lots of points on his licence because he has to drive ever so slowly but he did take me to see some of his nice friends, Gilly and Leonie who took him off to give him treatment on an old groin injury while I read a nice magazine in the waiting room. Who’d have thought that rope and chain manufacturers would have such an imaginative house magazine.

Mr Burt’s a bit redundant, these days. He used to have to produce a scouting report on each player and come up with ten or twenty players in a similar mould that we could land for half the money. These days, however, he produces a simple brochures containing the player’s wage demands, his average weight over the last three seasons and, from now on, a photocopy of his driving licence. The main criteria for signing anyone at present is that they’re a striker and over six feet f***ing two. If they get over that hurdle, we’ll sign them, whoever they are.

Once I’ve identified a player and that nice Mr Pleat has explained his role to the Chairman, Mr Pelling has to tell the Chairman that we can’t afford him and get down on his knees and beg for the cash. The Chairman likes this bit and tends to rub his trousers vigourously while he’s told that only his cash can save his beloved club.
Once we’ve agreed on a target the initiative is passed to Mr Ringpiece who is given a budget for fee, signing on fees and wages and a time limit of eighteen months to rush the deal through.

 

[MarcusE]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 6 - acquisition committee

A lot of cock is talked about the transfer acquisition committee at Nottingham Forest. People suggest that it’s cumbersome, inefficient and ineffective. All I can say is that they’re obviously confusing the committee with Luke Chambers and have forgotten to mention the arse the size of the Lake District.

 

[Benchwarmer]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 6 - acquisition committee

Once we’ve agreed on a target the initiative is passed to Mr Ringpiece who is given a budget for fee, signing on fees and wages and a time limit of eighteen months to rush the deal through.

This is so true.

 

[Rich]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 6 - acquisition committee

Brilliant!

Number 5 had me in tears of laughter!

 

[saunders:]]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 6 - acquisition committee

:clap: more!!

 

[andy1236660]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 7

Modern footballers have no f***ing idea. You sit them down, you draw them pictures, you make them models out of plasticine, all to get one simple idea across. 'Kick the f***ing ball fifty f***ing yards'. Simple concept and the basic building block of success at this and any other level. Go and ask Johan Cruyff if you don't believe me. Simple stuff but not as simple as the f***ing footballers. Tell Chambers to kick the ball fifty yards and he'll kick it fifty yards into the air. Tell Smth to kick it fifty yards and he'll kick it into touch. Tell McGugan to kick it fifty yards and he'll try and f***ing score ignoring the diminutive Welshman unmarked in the six yard box calling him all the c*nts under the sun. Most of them can kick it fifty yards (except Aaron Davies who'd probably only hurt himself if he tried) but none of them have a sense of direction. Me and Ned gave this some though and wondered whether we could get the Chairman to put a lamp-post up in one of the penalty areas to give them something to aim at. We got as far as laying half a mile of electric cable and applying for planning permission before Wes spotted that there were two problems. One - how would it change ends at half time? and two - linesmen were likely to mistake it for Breckin and give it offside at a crucial moment. We thought of everything from onfield firework displays to hiring a blimp. Shit, we even thought of hiring a blimp and giving it the number eight shirt. In the end it struck us that all we have t do is find a tall footballer and get him to stand in one of the penalty areas. He wouldn't have to do anything, just act as a target. Hell, if we could get him to carry a christmas tree or let us set his head on fire it would be even better - at least the defenders would have something to aim for. Pembo says that, like all ideas of pure genius, it's been done before. Innovative players often get associated with positions that they or their managers invent. Don Revie was the first deep lying centre forward, Beckenbaur was known as the archetypal sweeper and the defensive midfield position will always be known as the Makalele role, even if Perch is doing the sort of cover version that would get him laughed off the X factor. After a couple of days of scratching his head and raiding his memory bank, Pembo finally came up with the name of the player who patented the idea of being a shit footballer who acted as a sort of semi-mobile training cone that was tall enough to see over a bulky midfield. A true pioneer of the game but who of us these days have heard of Grant Holt.

Perhaps the hardest bit of the job is coming up with a gobbet of wisdom for the Evening Post. So far this week, I've explained that I will keep the side up by bringing in new players and that I will keep the side up by picking the same side for twenty minutes in a row and building up some consistency. I've started to inject a degree of realism by explaining that pans for next year will depend on exactly where we're plying our trade. I didn't need to spell it out that the most likely scenario is that I'll by in the Premier League as Newcastle's fitness advisor and media Guru and tat Forest will be even deeper in the shit than they are now.

I sat up tonight and watched the Clough documentary. Of course there are lots of parallels but it took me less time than him to get Derby out of the second division and the chances are that I'll manage the same trick with Forest. One things for f***ing certain, though, you wouldn't catch a fat f***er like John Robertson playing in a Billy Davies side.

 

[Flaggers]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 7

the defensive midfield position will always be known as the Makalele role, even if Perch is doing the sort of cover version that would get him laughed off the X factor.

lol lol

Andy these just keep getting better! Please keep doing them, as it's brightening up my days a treat!!

 

[Samuel]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 7

lol.

Superb.

 

[Rich]

Re: Onwards and Upwards number 7

Absolutely fantastic!

These need to be put onto the content site!