Now then, Now then, Now then.... There's a lot of glum sounding Jacks around here and that will never do. So drop me a line on this thread and Uncle Terr will attempt to "fix it" for you (as best he can, through the medium of posting on a footie forum )
Well Terror, go down with a laud speaker at training and tell Monk what he should be doing, I'll join you....................
please log in to view this image Good Morning ladies and gentleman (and scruffs), Welcome to a very special Christmas edition of "Terr'll Fix It!" We'll start off with a very lovely letter I received from Penclawdd, North Gower...... "Dear Terr I used to enjoy going to the Liberty Stadium to watch Swansea City play football but can't get to as many games as I used to. Lately it has occurred to me that the manager, "Monk the Magnificent", doesn't know what the actual **** he is doing. Please can you fix it for me to attend training and give him some friendly advice from the touchline? Yours faithfully, Phil 180" Goodness Gracious! There's no need for profanity Phillip. Now then, now then. 'as it 'appens Jenks is an old friend of mine and is a good sport, so he was happy for us to spend the morning at Fairwood. Here's what happened.... (Video starts to roll, beginning with Garry Monk welcoming Phillip and I to the training ground and posing for photos.....) Training session is now in full throttle, Garry pacing up and down the touchline shouting instructions, Phillip walking behind him nevermore than 5 yards away with a loudspeaker in his hand....me walking next to him dressed as a scouser Canned laughter Monk: "Naughts! What do you think you're doing?! Get back there next to Fede! Tuck in, tight, keep your shape! Phillip (shouting through the loudspeaker): "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING!" Canned laughter Monk: "Brilliant Tayls! Naughts look at Tayls! Look at Tayls! That's what you've got to aspire to son" Phillip (shouting through loudspeaker): "NONSENSE! DON'T LISTEN KYLE, ATTACK! ATTACK!! ATTACK!!! Canned laughter Monk gives Phil a funny look Phillip (shouting through loudspeaker, red in his face, in Monk's face): "...AND WHERE THE **** IS FAT FRANK TABANOU? £4MILLION QUID!! £4 MILLION QUID YOU CCCUNT!!" (At this point I'm forced to physically restrain Phillip) Canned laughter Monk: "Corky the cat! Come here son I've got a job for you....(Jack Cork ambles over)....listen, forget all this training lark son you'll never make a Swansea City footballer as long as I have a hole in my arse, especially with my future England captain further up the pecking order.....Unlucky Shelves, right idea son! (Jonjo attempts a 60 yard pass and knocks it on to some adjacent farm land)..." Phillp (through loudspeaker, to camera): "HE'S PINGED A ****ING COW" Monk: "....how about you take the day off eh Corky, take the month off.....(hands Cork 500 knicker) got time to pop in the bookies for me son, I want £500 on Bafe to score Saturday" Phillip (screaming down megaphone) : "GOMISS! GOMISS!! **** MY EYES THE COW'S GOT MORE CHANCE!....AND A BETTER TOUCH" Monk: Look this was fun but can you **** off now? Phillip (without megaphone, in Monk's face): "Why don't you ****ing make me..." (Huw Jenkins has spotted what's going on and sent security over, who drag Phil 180 off) Phillip (screaming at the top of his lungs): "JENKS! NO! YOU KNOW ME MATE I'M SKEWEN MAFIA!!! SACK THE ****ER JENKS! DO IT NOW BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE!! E-MAIL THE TWAT JE-E-E-E-E-NKS......." Jenkins (to Monk): "Isn't that the fella who was stalking you for the last 18 months? Blowing you kisses from the car park? Monk: "Yeah" Jenks: "peculiar man, who's the twat in the shell suit?" Monk: "I don't know but he keeps putting dog **** through my letter box...." Jenks: "Never mind, a blip in form...brings them all out....how hard have they all worked today?" Monk: "200% boss, 200%...I'm so proud of them.....we're all going to do a triathlon later, will help with the stamina for keeping our shape"
I'd like to go on a hovercraft, meet ABBA, dress up as a pirate whilst riding a unicycle and fire Garry Monk out of a cannon. Cheers. p.s. are you having a breakdown?
please log in to view this image Now then, now then. What have we hear guys and gals, another letter, this time from a young man named Dai (No, not THAT Dai!) who lives in London.....I think. It says... "Dear Uncle Terr I'd like to go on a hov-..." - hold on, we've got a bit of a Andy Robinson here, proper greedy ****er.....ah, here's one I can help with.... "...Dear Uncle Terr, Can you fix it for me to fire Garry Monk out of a cannon. Cheers. P.S. are you having a breakdown?" - ua-ua-ua-ua-ua-ua-ua! Cheeky bastard! Well it was funny Dai should ask for this one as I have had sack fulls of mail over the last couple of months all asking if I could fix it for Garry Monk to be fired. So I contacted the club and as we all know Garry's a good sport so he agreed in the hope that watching his arse being fired from a cannon would cheer young Daimun up and in some way make up for the epic amounts of turgid football that has been served up under his rein....I arranged to meet with Garry and Daimun on the deck of the Russian warship 'Pyotr Veliky' (Peter the Great) currently in the med. What I didn't tell him was that I had arranged for Paulo Sousa to be on board also. Here's what happened ("Roll videotape!")..... (Cut to Monk, Daimun and myself clambering up a ladder to board the Nuclear powered anti-aircraft warship in the bright Mediterranean sunshine. Blue skies overhead as we shake hands with serious looking Russian naval men. Monk is laughing and joking with Daimun thinking it's a set up just for the TV cameras and a prelude to some circus act that will take place later in a TV studio somewhere.) Monk: "So when do we finish filming lads?" Me: "Patience Garry, ua-ua-ua-ua-ua-ua-ua! Daimun has to finish binding you into the straitjacket first" (Daimun finishes the job and Monk is tied up nice and tight...the sound of footsteps can be heard as a shadowy figure strides up the deck towards us) Monk: "Who the ****'s this?" (Sousa comes into shot, huge grin on his face) Me: "It's Paulo Sousa Garry, when he found out you were up for this he couldn't wait to get involved" (Mild panic on Monk's face) Me: "Thanks for coming Paulo! As you can see, we have multiple guns on board we can use I'll leave it up to you to load Garry up into the cannon of your choosing, let Daimun know when you're ready by yelling "Fire!" Monk: "Ffffuck right off..." Sousa: "now now Garree, you alwayz deed have a poor vocabulary and a big ****een, how-you-say 'gob?'" Sousa turns to the Russians, Sousa: "which one will get him into Syria?" Serious looking mother ****er points at the biggest, longest cannon on deck please log in to view this image Monk: "you ****s! Sousa you arrogant twat....I'm glad you didn't get the promotion!" Sousa silently and rapidly stuffs him into the cannon, kicking his head until he is squeezed in the barrell Sousa: "FIRE!" Daimun obliges. queue music;
If you could arrange some sort of " A Huw Jenkins Christmas Carol " I would be forever it your debt Terr'll. A night of terror about Jenkins past and Jenkins present might get him to realize it's important for him to do his job well and not everyone else's terribly , it might get us back to where we use to be or quite frankly , the future looks less than bright . Also , if you have a bit extra for me , if you could get my dogs to like me I would appreciate it. Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to you and yours sir ...cheers
Cracking account there of training ground protest Terror, but where the hell did you get 'Monk the magnificent' from? ........... PS: Sounds like some random comment from a Jackas Liberal to me............
