Nosey Barstool returns… or does he?
‘I proudly accept this Premier League trophy on behalf of the people of Wigan,’ he mumbled under his breath as he held his favourite Bovril mug aloft.
But Paul Cook’s daydream was at once shattered by a knock at the door. He looked up to see Tash Forton, the club’s resident small time Internet weblogger, peering through the large hole where a door handle once resided.
‘Excuse me, gaffer, but there’s a guy that says he can play in goal for us.’
‘Oh good, this might save me a job! Send them in,’ commanded Cook in a Lord Sugar accent.
‘Oh, but I’m already in your office,’ came a voice from the waste paper basket. ‘I’ve been here for the last 2 years.’
From the crumpled remains of shredded contracts emerged a raincoat-clad figure. His face was 89% covered in year-old stubble and chunks of morning coffee biscuits.
Lunging forward, Forton snatched the 1920s trilby from his whisky-soaked forehead.
‘Gasp, you’re not Nosey Barstool, our beloved private investigator… you’re Adam Bogdan! I thought you left after the Barnsley floodlight incident!’
‘That’s what they wanted you to think,’ replied the man. ‘And I would’ve gotten away with it if it weren’t for those meddling managers.’
Paul Cook raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Look, forget all that… we need a goalkeeper for Friday’s game against Liverpool. Can you handle that?’
Bogdan attempted to light his cigarette with a Smarties packet, but it slipped from his grasp to the heavily scratched linoleum flooring.
TO BE CONTINUED…