Good morning ITK tards. Well, well......... it all kicked off good and proper yesterday didn't it? Paulinho, Villa, Croatian saucepans........... it's rampant. And certainly not part of Daniel Levy's masterplan.......... Fast Forward to the 1st September. The transfer window has just closed. SC is a poisonous place after negotiations for everyone we have been linked with broke down at 11.59pm and we signed nobody. At all. Even worse, we sold several players. We could barely field a team. Even the most ardent Levyite is struggling to make a case for the defence, it was always going to happen. Things change, the good he had done can only take you so far the facade had been breached. 'This time you've fucked up big Danny boy' he said to himself as he looked into the mirror, squeezing a pimple. A few days later, Spurs were at home for the first time since the Transfer Window closed and the mood was ugly. The team was being read out over the tannoy......"Today's team is.........Lloris, Vertonghen, Bale, Adebayor, Dempsey, Discotheque Benjamin and Walker and erm......well, erm, that's it' A murmer went around the crowd. A voice called out 'You're a **** Levy!'.....Suddenly the ground choir, aka the drunken bums in the Park Lane started chanting 'Levy Levy you're a ****, Levy, you're a ****' Several fans even took their season ticket cards out of the official plastic wallets and threw the empty wallets onto the pitch. The ground bums then all turned toward them and chanted 'Yiddo yiddo yiddo'......... It got so ugly that the team stopped their warm up routines and left the pitch. Bale twisted an ear on his way off which left us down to six men. (I would have said five but Dempsey gave me the snake eyes) Pretty soon after, the game kicked off. Six men against 11, it wasn't going to be a good day. Levy was sat alone in his office shitting himself. Suddenly out of nowhere, a great big four poster bed appeared and a wizened old hag got off it. 'You're that tart off the telly, erm, erm, you know, the silly bint off Murder She Wrote' She smiled. 'If you mean Angela Lansbury, then yes. Yes I am.......But today i'm Eglatine Price, the witch off Bedknobs and Broomsticks' 'whatever' snapped Levy as he slumped back into his chair. Angela Lansbury smiled and said 'If I get you out the shit, you'll have to do me a favour'......Levy's eyebrow's went up so far it almost looked like he had hair. 'Do go on'.......Angela Lansbury leaned forward and whispered into his ear........... Spurs were 3-0 down when Levy reached the side of the pitch. Levy walked onto the pitch singing to himself. Bobbing along, bobbing alongGo do a deadline deal for mewhat a chance and one that I will keepSign a star while his club is asleep Oh yes i'm bobbing along, bobbing alongextend the last hour for meeeeee He stopped short as the booing reached a crescendo. The crowd went quiet as he raised a microphone to his lips. From the right angle he looked exactly like a Chupa Chups lollipop. The players and officials looked on bemused...... Then he spoke. 'Traguna, Macoides, Tracorum Sadis Dee' Eh? What the fuck? said someone in the crowd. The bloke next to him said 'I think he said Traguna, Macoides, Tracorum Sadis Dee' they looked at each other said 'fucked if I know' and shrugged. Levy then said it again 'Traguna, Macoides, Tracorum Sadis Dee' and again 'Traguna, Macoides, Tracorum Sadis Dee' then another voice joined in. Then a third, a fourth and a fifth. Pretty soon it was going around the ground as people started chanting 'Traguna, Macoides, Tracorum Sadis Dee' A few minutes later the whole ground was rocking to it as everyone chanted "Traguna, Macoides, Tracorum Sadis Dee', clapping and stamping their feet. Traguna, Macoides, Tracorum Sadis Dee Traguna, Macoides, Tracorum Sadis Dee Traguna, Macoides, Tracorum Sadis Dee Suddenly, in the Spurs Museum, vintage Spurs shirts from 1961 twitched and freed themselves from their frames. A few seconds later several pairs of shirts, shorts and boots ran onto the pitch, as if being worn by some invisible man. Levy smiled and left the pitch. The crowd roared as the shirts of Blanchflower, Mackay, Greaves, Dyson and Smith joined their real life team mates and started stroking the ball around the beffuddled opposition. A three goal deficit was soon reduced by one, then two and pretty soon it was 3-3. The crowd lapped it up, cheering, singing and howling with delight as Spurs went two, three and then four goals up, eventually running out 8-3 winners. The final whistle went and the shirts all flopped down lifeless and empty onto the pitch.........the magic had run its course. Levy smiled. They all doubted him but he was Dan the Man. The man with a plan. Dandaman, fo shizzle. He walked back into the boardroom and there she was. Angela Lansbury smiled. 'And now for that forfeit you agreed to pay'.......'no problem witchypoo, just name it' said a very very happy Levy. She moved toward the great big massive bed, dropped her dress to reveal her snatch, which was rather strangely shaped and looked exactly like a walnut and said 'Ever gone down on a 96 year old'? She smiled and said 'Not Murder She Wrote, more like Suck that you Scrote' as Levy started gagging and retching*........ THE END *Oh come on! Did you really think I was going to tell a story like this without at least some wrongness?