Many a times i have woken up not completely sure of where i was, but never have i woken up not knowing where i was with a strong stench of fish in the air.
I was on a fishing boat, i knew that much, and only that much. The rest was a void in my head completely blank like a black hole sucking and dispelling any memories anywhere near it. My memory was Fahooked.
Last thing i remember was the game. Last game of the season against Tottenham at home, a 3-1 victory. Not our greatest performance but there was something about that tottenham shirt that wouldn't let me lose. The whole game was a intervention from a higher being, a god of some sought, either that or our goalkeeper took a unreasonable amount of amphetamines before the game because he was possessed by something. God or chemical, I'm not sure but he saved our arse's time and time again, the team damn near stopped defending, knowing he would just save the next shot. Brazilian midfielder Coelho had the game of his life, bossing the whole game from midfield and even getting on the score in the process to set up a memorable final game of the current season, finishing with West Ham sitting third on the table.
The players, the coaching staff and myself, hadn't even bothered to shower, we immediately started partying in the changing rooms. I got a strange vibe just as the party started to kick off, and that's the last thing i remember. Now i was on a fishing boat, surrounded by nothing but ocean with a scattering of giant tuna and human bodies, having a hard time inhaling the putrid odours both species where giving off, polluting the atmosphere in the vicinity i was currently occupying. We were a floating can of off tuna, roasting in the sun.
It was gross man, unbearable. It crushed my whole entire good spirit in one nostril filled inhale.
I notice a remote control with a red button in my hand. There is a two wire cord connected to it running down the decking, the wires go about two feet before splitting and going in opposite directions, at the end of the wires is a battery clamp, one positive, one negative. The clamps are each connected to there own human nipple that pokes out of a male dressed in a leather gimp suit, red rubber ball in mouth and all. I held in my hands a small electric shocking device connected to the nipples of a gimp.
It was K.Wimmer, the ex-spurs player and now team gimp. It may seem cruel at first, sure we force him into it, and do god awful things to him, but remember before you feel sympathy for him, his an ex-spurs player. A positive wave hit me from the ocean and i felt like the day was on its way up, i hit the red button and started to fry the nipples on the gimp, he jumped up like a cartoon character and started dancing and clapping like a circus monkey, it was hilarious, i hit the button again. That's why we have Wimmer around, just when you think things are Brad pitt, he managers to cheer you up again some how.
It took me about ten minutes to stand up, but once i did, i was unstoppable, with the gimp on my leash i was determined to find out what happened here, get drunk, and find a way back home, and not particularly in that order. I hit the red button again, and chuckled out loud as the gimp danced. We made our way down to the captains deck and started going through the cupboards until i found a bottle of whiskey, i did a quick preyer and checked behind my ear, a joint was there, bingo, i hit the red button again and chuckled. Bottle in one hand, gimp leash in the other and joint in mouth, i was going to find out what the Fahook was going on here.
Life can be a cruel bitch sometimes. One minute your in Brad pitt, and it gives you hope, only to rip that sweet tender hope away.
The gimp shocker broke. I was devastated. So i stuffed Wimmer back in his shipping crate next to goalkeeper Vorm and began to drink my depression away, heavily. It wasn't too long before i was incoherent and out of sight, braking everything i could find. I found my players, that wasn't the problem, the problem was none of them would wake up, they were sleeping like comma patience, they may actually all be comma patience at this point, how would i know? Signs are all there and the way the day is shaping up right now, it wouldn't surprise me. I guess the party was too much for the pansies, that and the xanax that was spiked in ever drop of alcohol in the place. I don't know how brought the hookers, or strippers or whatever they were, but i went through one of there purses and found a bunch of xanax and other pills, natural i thought it would be funny to stuff them in every bodies drinks, laughing hysterically whilst doing so.
Maybe its all my fault, maybe the reason Babacar is asleep in-between two giant tunas with his arms around them like he just made three way love with them is my fault, wait, did he? Maybe its my fault Brandt is wearing a eye patch on both eyes, plastic hooks on both hands and his duct taped to a wooden plank hanging over the boat, facing down to the ocean. What the hell happens when he opens his eyes and just sees darkness, his gonna think his gone blind, the poor John Snow will freak out, it may completely snap his mind. Maybe its my fault, Savic, Mario Suarez and Itturraspe are all wearing grade "a" military equipment with assault rifles hanging on all three of them, well Brad pitt, we needed security incase we got hijacked by pirates or intercepted by the police, we weren't getting bullied or going to jail without a fight, and i knew these three monsters were like "The Expendables" 4, 5 and 6 just waiting to happen. So i made them security, nothing wrong with that, smart, i thought but now they were sleeping, snoring and farting, nothing but trumpet sounds and foul smells with those three Fahooking buffalo's. So much for security. Is it my fault that i found Kolasinac and Silva spit roasting a most unsavoury women whilst all three are asleep? Asleep, full erect and still penetrating, what substances where flowing through there blood to make there bodies do that, i thought.
I zoned out and started to list substances i thought could produce this effect if mixed together when i was almost knocked back sober. Mitrovic walks up the lower deck stairs eating a bowl of wheaties, he loves his wheaties, has them every morning without fail. Maybe thats why he was built like a bull, but no amount of horse tranquilliser could put this guy down, i should have known he was awake and eating. Before i could question him, i felt a vibration in my pocket, it was my smart phone, which i had in my pocket this whole time and i never even bothered to check, i felt like a real arsehole.
The phone had it all, it was all there, the whole story. How during the party in the changing room i got a text from Borussia Dortmund in Germany, wanting me to come down and bring my players with me, there current manager under performed and was sacked like a potato, to be replaced by me. How i then proceeded to grab the wife of the West Ham chairman and stick my tongue down her throat, push her around the changing room too all the other fella's for some fun, she loved it the old dirt bag by the time the initial shock wore off. Needless to say the Chairman was not happy and fired me and all the players, having us thrown off the premisses and heavily beaten on the way out like the punks that we were. The Chairman soon after this received a convenient phone call from Dortmund with a offer for me and all my players, the Chairman was so enraged he agreed immediately, not a moment of hesitation, he screamed yes while spitting lava out of his mouth, he was Fahooking fuming.
Me and Mitrovic sat and watched D'Alessandro, he was sleep walking but instead of just walking around, he would juggle a football, and never ever let it hit the ground, it was a wild phenomenon, the man literally played football in his sleep. We watched him for hours, cruising on our way to germany, hoping that whoever set this boat off, did so in the right direction, but before i could start to worry, i fell asleep, hoping for the best.
Maybe it was all my fault. But Signal Iduna Park, here we come.