Season 2021-22 Opinion Talking Points

Blue is the colour of my true love's hair. Ride On, Conor

I walked in, bold as brass, armed with 3,000 essays on my laptop on why Allan won't be sitting in front of the defence. Blue Bill chimes in: "I didn't realise he's not your favourite, Conor. I don't think you've ever said." When I told Moshiri we would have a goal start every game, he was so euphoric he began ejaculating on Blue Bill's leg. My lack of experience and suitability raised concerns but I had all angles covered. "Mosh, don't worry about me, wait til you see the strength of my team."

First up, I wanted Dave Abrahams as the “man above”, someone to guide my novice hand. I'd need at least 3,000 decades to pray for my holy soul. Not just to save me from crucifixion for attempting the resurrection of Holgate, but for our devoted flock's forgiveness for exiling the Brazilian Jesus Christ into the desert to join his Colombian Apostle, James.

Dave suggested I put a frame of the divine one on the wall with locks ever-flowing. He wasn't impressed when he arrived to see André in a halo. That Abrahams Man has taken God's love to a new level. His miraculous unconditional support for Satan for the last 6 months makes the parting of the Red Sea look a breeze, while the disciples have been to hell and back. He still wants to give him one more chance just before hell freezes over.

Danny O'Neill will run the academy since he never shuts up about it. I have forewarned him though that I'll be on to him should Koulibaly rock up clean-shaven, covered in acne, with his teeth braced and Danny claiming he's the first one off the production line. He has infinite free time now that the RSPCA have eventually been called after years of the most abhorrent abuse. His dogs were forced to witness some of the worst scenes imaginable every week at 3 o'clock and listen to Danny in full Kiefer Sutherland mode bleat on all things Everton 24 hours round the clock. They have never seen mental torture like it, consigning Escape to Alcatraz to a walk in the park. Woof, Woof. The TV ads asking to donate £2 a month are now demanding £20.

Next, I had Darren Hind in mind as Chief Scout. He's promised no lighthouses, no shithouses, no outhouses, no alehouses. An aversion borne by Biden kicking him out of the White House. Mind, it didn't stop him screening Moshiri for a luxury boathouse. I've asked for No don't plays, No won't plays, No can't plays and No fucking intention of plays. Let's hope he can pick a player better than he does a nag. Darren was as cantankerous as ever in negotiations, the big Mosh man swinging it by footing the bill for his yearly sub to the “I love Donny Osmond” Fanboy Magazine, a major sticking point up to then, excuse the pun.

Mike Gaynes was in as my number two. I needed an alternate voice to challenge me and boy that fecker never agrees with a single word I say. When I told him we were going to take the gig, he said, "Oh no we're not". Hey, what's fucking new? I lied to him that Holgate was sent back to Barnsley and he cried with relief when accepting terms. Though he was a sight for sore eyes, a shell of a man, explaining he had lost 90 pounds in the last month or so with the worry that there's no one else in the world who would take the job. I told him he looked as white as a ghost, he chastised me for being racist.

Up next was Christine Foster as Head of the Physio Department. I needed someone to straighten out a few of our corpses. She promised Big Yerry will end up 12 foot tall by the time she works her magic. Jay Wood will be enlisted as Senior Fitness Coach to run a few of those lard arses into the ground, they won't know what hit them as they grasp for their very last breath. Even the poor buggers on death row share the peace of muttering a final word.

The room went eerily quiet when I wanted Tony Abrahams as Head Coach and Rob Halligan for the goalies. Suggesting qualified people was clearly a big no no. "Fuck me, we might have to win something" retorted a dismissive Bill. Moshiri said you better sort out a defensive coach. I told him to stick it where the sun don't shine. "No need Mosh; After two years of watching Jurassic Park does Goodison with those two bores, we are going full throttle and playing eleven up front".

I went into every detail. I enlisted Mick O'Malley as head of security. His first job was to escort Benitez out of the building, I think he liked that one. I even got Gary Smith to steal a peek at Benitez's computer on the way out to see what all the fuss was about. Unfortunately Gary hasn't been seen or heard since!!!

All was going swimmingly and contracts were being drawn up when I opened my big mouth and proposed captain Christy Ring. I knew that man would be the death of me. I said Christy was perfect, I wanted another strong Irish voice belting out at half-time with Seamus ready for pasture and I thought giving the 'job for the bhoys' would go down well with Blue Bill. To my shock horror, Kenwright went fecking apeshit as he promised Seamus captain for life. He said Christy's powerful Celtic belting tone wouldn't be to the taste of the lads in the dressing room. Think he got the wrong Christy.

Ah well, it wasn't to be as Mosh broke the news I was told to “Ride On” out of Finch Farm. I suppose every cloud has a silver lining and all that — Delph was delirious he was spared the one injury that had so far eluded him, a permanent jawline fracture after being left alone with Christy for 5 minutes.

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