So, Joe goes to the awards, eh? Anna whicha wardsa
those? Thosa da psychiatrica wards, I suppose?
(Online Ed., adopting an Italian accent for the purposes of
a crass, contrived and deeply unfunny joke.)...
REFEREE McFUDDLE
...in which Joe goes to the awards
"Our next award, ladies and gentlemen, is for Best Non-League Fanzine and here to present the award is Mr 'Own Goal' himself - a warm welcome please for novelist, thinker and camouflage expert... Salman Rushdie!"
"One thousand thanks, ladies and gentlemen. Phew, what a fatwah, ha, ha, ha! But seriously, I have the nominations here in this envelope. But a quick plug, my new book Willie Horne Was Crap goes on sale this Monday. Now if a member of the security people could open the envelope for me."
A burly Group Four guard opens the envelope. Rushdie takes a pace backwards and inserts his fingers in his ears. The guard takes out the card and hands it to Rushdie.
"Ahem! The nominations for Best Non-League Fanzine are Macclesfield's Four Wellings and a Farnborough; from Morecambe Corpses Post Morecambe, I Touched Klinsmann, Did You? from Altrincham and lastly, Give 'Em Beans! from Barrow. And the winner is... Give 'Em Beans!
"And here to accept the award is... er, er!" (looks into the celebrity packed crowd) "Sorry, I didn't catch the name..."
"I didn't throw it!" The voice of Clint Wags rings out, he rises to his feet, kicks back his chair, plucks a cigar stub from his unsmiling mouth and throws it to the red Axminster. The theme from 'The Good, the Bad and the Ugly' blares from the PA system as Clint takes the stage to rapturous applause. Clint and Rushdie exchange pleasantries.
Rushdie: "Shalom."
Wags: "Shaddup!'
Wags accepts the Golden Meat Pie Trophy and addresses the audience.
"Ladies and gentlemen, it isn't me who should be up here..." (loud groan from audience) ...it's the man who used to write the chronic 'Two Colins' feature which inspired so many writers to think 'I could do better than that twaddle!' that made Beans! what it is today."
Yes folks, we knew way back last August that come rain, hale or pace we'd have a trophy at Barrow by the end of the season. True it wasn't quite what we expected, but full marks to 'Hisser' Heskcoat.
Anyway, what a night it was at the do. All the glitterbandi were there. I was sat on a table with Spurs Gruppenfuhrer Jurgy Klinnfilm and ace comedy duo Steve 'n' Fry. I didn't see much of the other one, but me and the one who plays 'Woosie' - Steve, I think, were cracking on good-o all night. We got on so well, what with Steve being such a good listener and all, that I more or less invited myself down to his flat in the Smog for the weekend to see him in this play about the notorious spies Ian Burgess and David Blunkett. But when I rang from Houston station his housekeeper said he'd done a bunk to Belgium and smeared himself all over with mud! That's showbiz!
Any road up, it's nice to get a bit of recognition for what is a difficult job. For example, if you praise a player in your article, by the time Rice hits the street, he's left the club in disgrace, signed for some lesser team, been back to Holker St. with them and scored a hat-rack in a four-nil thrashing! Yes, we've all put a foot among the pigeons in print before. So to eliminate all future error, from now on articles will be in the format you see above. Just delete what's not reet!
Well, what can I say? *Farewell/ carry on Tony Heskcoat. Tony certainly gave it his best shot last season. He was frequently out of his *dug-out/ depth/ head urging his players on with *amazing/ disastrous/ hilarious results. I understand the budget per game last season for players was £1,000, but the *drivel/ entertainment/ Brad Pitt that was served up resulted in about seven hundred punters staying away at the cost of about £2,500 per home game. So the policy seems to be lose money, games and punters. Any idiot can do that... even me! Then along comes Mr. Vaughan splashing *cash/ blue paint everywhere and gives Tony his full *backing/ time whistle quite rightly. So this season Mr. *Heskcoat/ Sheedy/ Lee/ Cruyff has refused to let anyone under six foot five attend pre-season straining or to sign for Barrow. In the press he assures us like that Pessimistic Meg on the telly that good times are just around the corner flag and that he has the players for 1995-96. Why not go the whole hog and give them the full twenty quid I say!
(*delete where not applicable)
'til next time...
the field of play shall be rectangular,
Joe McFuddle
Issue 023 - August 1995
