The Life of Brian’s Statue: Here Comes the Sun
When the Summer sun comes up over the top of Market Square, I stand here and soak up the rays. It’s bloody lovely, I can tell you. I used to enjoy holidays abroad in sunny places like Spain. I’d jump on a plane whenever I could, either with the family, or sometimes with the players.
I had to keep an eye on ‘em, though. Y’see, your average footballer is a bit daft. Some of ‘em would lie on a beach all day, and end up getting red raw. Some would get the idea that they could do water-sports. They’d go tear-arsing around on a jet ski and end up getting marooned on a sand bank somewhere after running out of fuel. And, whoever invented those bloody pedalos wants shooting. Late at night, after a few drinks, you’d always get one of your players dragging one out and getting themselves into a bloody mess, and end up getting pulled out of the water looking like a drowned rat. And you have to make sure they know they’re only allowed one ice-cream a day, else some of ‘em start to get a bit roly-poly.
Y’see, being a football manager means you’re like a dad to a lot of overgrown kids. Sometimes you have to be kind to them. Other times, you have to shout at ‘em, else they’d never bloody listen. When you’re on the team bus about to travel to an away match, you half expect to hear ‘em say ‘are we there yet?’ before we’ve even got out of the club car park. They drive you bloody mad at times!
But, it’s worth all the bother. Because, when they pass that ball around and play the game the way it should be played, it’s a joy to watch. Makes you proud. And, when that trophy cabinet starts filling up, it’s better than anything.
Y’see, my teams were just like an extended family to me. It cost me a bloody fortune in Christmas cards over the years. But, once my players realised I was taking them on the rollercoaster ride of their lives, that every day would be like a magic carpet ride, then they’d run through brick walls for me. It was like a ride on a big dipper, twisting this way and that; one minute flying high, the next swooping low.
As long as they kept away from the water flume, I was happy for ‘em to express themselves anyway they liked on the pitch. Y’see there was only one person who could walk on water. Me.