Read Online Football Crazy by Terry Ravenscroft, Ravenscroft - Free Book Online

matches,” said Dave, with some measure of pride.
    “ Noice to know our efforts is appreciated, ain't it lads,” said Stock.
    “ Even if they are nuts,” agreed utility man Chrissy Knox.
    Dave corrected him. “Disturbed. Disturbed Chrissy, not nuts. There but for the grace of God, and all that.” He looked around. “So which of you guys would like to be interviewed?”
    “ Me,” said Moggs, elbowing his way to the front.
    “ You, Moggsy?” ridiculed Cragg. “Who wants tae listen tae an idjit like you!”
    The big goalkeeper turned on the Scot. “Who asked you to stick your bleedin' oar in, Craggy?” Then he said to Dave. “Put me down Dave.”
    “ That's one then,” said Dave. He turned to Briggs. “And how about you for another, Darren?”
    Briggs shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “Yeh, why not.”
    Dave switched on his tape recorder, tapped the microphone to ensure it was working, then sang into it. “It's the Day... ayve...Rave Show.” He turned his attention to Briggs. “With me now is ace Frogley Town striker Darren Briggs. Tell me Darren, as a Frogley player, what is your reaction to the news that meat pie magnate Joe Price has bought the club?” He held the microphone out to Briggs and the striker spoke into it.
    “ Well obviously Dave, I'm just over the moon about it.”
    Moggs protested immediately. “Hey I was going to say that!”
    “ Well you'll just have to fink of somefink else to say then won't you Moggsy my son,” said Briggs.
    “ Moggsy?” said Barrel in disbelief. “Do us a favour Briggsy; he won't be able to think of anything else.”
    Moggs turned on him. “Oh yes I will, Barrelly! We're not all thick Yorkshire bastards.”
    “ No, some of ye are thick Lancashire bastits.” said Cragg.
    “ Piss off, twatface,” said Moggs, bringing the eloquent repartee to an end for the moment.

    Donny and George were in the latter’s office awaiting the arrival of Joe Price.
    Even though it was his first job in football management and he had yet to prove himself Donny had no doubts whatsoever about his skill levels in his chosen vocation. Why should he have? He had everything required of a modern young manager; he had an FA coaching badge; he had a wealth of experience as a player for six league and three non-league clubs; he had a lovely wife Tracey Michelle; and, like Ron Atkinson, he had a Mercedes. (Donny's favourite anecdote about his hero concerned the time that Big Ron had taken over the manager's seat at Manchester United. Apparently when it came to the question of a car the chairman had offered him a Rover. Big Ron had told him that he didn't want a dog, he wanted a car, and had promptly demanded, and got, a Mercedes. When Donny had taken over at Frogley Town he hadn't even been offered a dog, much less a car, so he had been forced to buy his own Mercedes, a P registration job, but a Mercedes nevertheless).
    Despite his qualifications and obvious suitability for the job Donny was as aware as anyone that a footballer manager's job is never likely to be vying for top spot in the Job Security League, that his position is at best insecure and at worse bloody precarious. So, ever mindful of the tenuous nature of his profession, he had put a great deal of thought into his appearance for this, his first meeting with the club's new owner.
    Donny had seen Price on three occasions in the past; once when they had both been boarding the train for Manchester, the other two times when Price had passed by in his Rolls-Royce. He had also seen Price's photograph in the local several times. On each occasion Price had been wearing a bowler hat. Well aware that to copy someone is the sincerest form of flattery Donny had considered wearing a similar type of headgear himself for their first meeting. The problem was that if he were to do this it would cover up his Ron Atkinson hairstyle, and that was just not an option. He had then considered wearing a bowler hat for Price's arrival, then taking