Bill meets... The THFC Transfer System

Bill_Oddie

Everything in Moderation
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So, I’d already met Kevin-Prince Boateng (now sold) and Jermaine Jenas (now stripped of the vice-captaincy, relegated to the bench and tried to be sold to Wigan Athletic) and now I was due for a special meeting with none other than Daniel Levy. It was reassuring to meet someone who I wasn’t going to get fired, hopefully. There was much to ask him, but most of it would have to wait. Today was all about one thing and one thing only: Our approach to transfers.

As I pulled up Bill Nicholson Way, the Lane loomed large over my head. Strange to think of it being offices rather than just the legendary venue for heroic, mighty athletes playing courageous, skillful football at the peak of their talents. And Gilberto.

As I was led to meet Mr Levy, my guide (a square sort of chap with wires seemingly sticking out of his back and looking a little hung-over) took me past a roped off area, guarded by a grunting, hairy monster that looked more than a little like Paul Kemsley. There came from behind him the most peculiar, squawking noises I had ever heard. It was like a herd of geese bothering a cattery. Peering past the gloom, I realised there was a huge pit in the ground, thirty, maybe forty, feet deep.

“W…w…what’s in there?” I asked.

“Come on, I’ll show you,” said my guide. “But, be careful, they get quite rowdy this time of year.”

The noises came louder now.

“Dduuunnndddddeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeellll!”

“Dontdontdontshootthemessenger!”

“Taykitorleefit-taykitorleefit-taykitorleefit”

“These,” said my guide, shining a torch into the pit, highlighting an extraordinary array of creatures, “are the In The Knows.”

Some of these beasts (they wore bright plumage, flapped incessantly and squeeked at high pitch) were reciting lyrics to popular music hits from the past 40 years. Others were urinating on a picture of a man doing a handstand dressed in a Liverpool kit. One was writing on the wall in crayon. His spelling was abysmal. Another was sitting in a small tree in the corner. Finally, one especially weird-looking hairy fellow with little horns on his head was eating a tin can, clopping on his hooves and generally acting the goat.

“They look wild” I said.

“Wild? No. Just hungry. Here, let’s feed them.” My guide leant over the edge and shouted down “Cudicini in the bag. 1 million; Stewart Downing done deal; Hossam Ghaly in return; and enquiries from Allardyce, Bruce and Moyes for Bent and the Hudd.”

We walked away to a massive ruckus as the beasts fought off each other to get onto the one internet computer.

“Would it be possible to interview one of them later?” I asked.

“No” my guide said, definitively, “you can’t question the ITKs.”

So, on we moved and I was led into a chamber of a room at the end of the corridor. On the walls were huge pictures of Winston Churchill, Nelson, Queen Victoria, Henry VIII, and Warren Mitchell. Over each of their faces was sellotaped a photograph of a red-faced man in a battered trilby, mid-twitch, in conversation with his tight-trousered son. He seemed to be saying ‘triffic’.

One photograph was not taped down on a corner, so I lifted it up, and saw that underneath it there were a pile more photographs. Each taped in a similar way over these heroes’ faces. Under the first was a photo of a Spaniard with immoveable hair, then a broadly grinning Dutch giant, a man driving a car very slowly past some prostitutes, a boring man in a boring mackintosh, a beautifully-coiffeured man with a halo round his head, and then many, many more until the final layer… a man who should be Sir.

The door opened and I quickly rushed over to meet Daniel Levy. He was much smaller than I imagined. Possibly less than three foot. Still, he was a friendly sort, made me call him Daniel, offered me a garibaldi biscuit, that kind of thing. We sat down and he invited me to begin the questioning.

Bill_Oddie: Right, Daniel. You’re well known for delving into the transfer market. Every summer and every January you spend a fortune on talent. Do you ever feel it is something of a waste to…

Daniel Levy: [pointing] What’s that?

BO: Oh, it’s just my Dictaphone. It’s okay to record the interview, isn’t it?

DL: It looks brilliant.

BO: Yeah, it’s all right. I bought it last year for fifty quid and it’s served me well.

DL: I’ll give you three hundred pounds for it.

BO: What?

DL: I’ll give you three hundred pounds for that Dictaphone.

BO: What am I going to do the interview with?

DL: That’s not my problem. My name is Daniel Levy and if you don’t sell me that Dictaphone right now, you’ll never hear from me again.

BO: Well, I kind of need you to talk to me, so okay. Three hundred quid. Can I get cash?

DL: Yes. We’ll spread it out so that I give you a fiver now, and then fifty pence posted to you every fortnight for the next 25 years.

BO: That’s ridiculous.

DL: Then we’ll turn our attentions to another Dictaphone.

BO: Oh well, nevermind. Now, can I ask…

DL: Damn you, Oddie. You’re a good negotiator. All right, final offer: I’ll give you a tenner now, a scarf from the club shop, a dozen balti pies from the canteen, and a quid a week for the next five years.

BO: No, really…

DL: …Please! Harry said he’s down to the bare bones in voice technology. He only has ten hi MD recorders, six answer-phones, four speaker systems and three tape-based Dictaphones. He says they offer a mish-mash of sound quality, so I really need this one. I’m begging you. What do you want?

BO: Look, just give us a pen and paper so I can write the interview down.

DL: A swap deal? Ooh, I’m good at them. Let me tell you about the time I got Jermain Defoe for Bobby Zamora and a few horseshoes for the rag’n’bone man in charge at West Ham back in…

BO: Maybe later. Right, so we’ve already signed Defoe, Palacios and we’re rumoured to be in the market for…

DL: [pointing again] What’s that?

BO: It’s the pen you just gave me.

DL: It looks brilliant.

BO: You just gave me this pen. Look, it’s got your name engraved on it.

DL: I must have it.

BO: But you just gave it to me.

DL: I’ll give you ten thousand pounds for that pen.

BO: What, spread over the next decade?

DL: If those are your terms, Mr Oddie, then I accept.

BO: No. Look can I just ask about the rumours that we want to sign Carlo Cudicini and why Harry Redknapp has denied it?

DL: My name is Daniel Levy and if you don’t sell me that pen for four hundred thousand pounds right this minute, you will never hear from me again.

BO: Fine. I’ll take a cheque.

DL: Thank you, Bill. It was a pleasure doing business with you. [shakes my hand]

At this, Daniel walks out of the room and in comes John Alexander carrying a 36-page contract for the purchase of Daniel Levy’s pen. I go to leave but he opens his suit jacket to reveal a handgun holstered under his shoulder. I sign and take my leave, none-the-wiser, lacking an object I didn’t really care about or need to do my job and with an awful lot of money in my pocket.

Now I know how Blackburn Rovers felt in the summer.
 

spurs_viola

Rui Costa,dreamspurs no10
Joined
Mar 10, 2005
Messages
2,454
#12
Maybe now with that new Dictaphone Harry can listen to himself before he opens his mouth for the next interview...
 

JimmyG2

SC Supporter
Joined
Dec 7, 2006
Messages
7,490
#16
Laugh out loud funny.Shoudn't you be spending your time with a higher class of riff-raff
than you get on here? Enjoyed it.
 
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