With hundreds of people packed into the club you had to be miles
away not to here the chants of "Chilli Sauce, Chilli Sauce, Chilli Sauce." With some fancy flicks of the wrist,
a quick throw over the head, caught one-handed round the back the big, black disk was slapped down onto the turntable and
BANG! Off it goes, DJ kebabs Chilli Sauce booming through the club.
From that moment one everyone knew that there was a hidden
quality within that boy. A quality that could be applied to any sport, DJ set or job.
But, as we all know, Murrell's real talent is in managing an efficient unit
of professionals in a 5-a-side league out-fit.
Also, as we all know I am Murrell and there's no point asking
me, because I don't know why I talk about myself in the 3rd person neither.
So, what am I doing here? Well I'm here to overlook the whole operation,
of course with the help of my man Jones. I was sitting their, getting fatter and fatter, more breathless than ever (and
that's from just sitting there) wondering what the rest of the lads were doing with their lives. And the solution?
Get everyone out once a week to play football, get a bit fitter and meet up to discuss the wonders of the world such as life,
love and birds tits.
I hope you already know but I'm not just a tightly wound up football manager,
I'm also a friend to the players. If any of you boys have any problems, come sit on my knee and let the tears flow.
That way I'll know what grovelling pussies I need to start weeding out of the team.
As you all know, I own the club, all the players and that babyface logo on
the home page. I'm the chairman, the manager and the worst player on the team, all rolled into one fat abomonation of
turd.
We're here to laugh and enjoy our time. If we crack a few heads on
the way, good stuff. If we win a few games on the way, good stuff. If Clayton turns up to a match, wow. Ha ha.
Murrell out.
