NEARLY TIME FOR THE OLYMPICS

PILOBOLUS

LETTER TO DEVON POLICE

This is (allegedly) a genuine complaint to Devon & Cornwall Police Force from an angry member of the public. Lengthy but brilliantly written.....

Dear Sir/madam/automated telephone answering service,

Having spent the past twenty minutes waiting for someone at Bodmin police station to pick up a telephone I have decided to abandon the idea and try e-mailing you instead. Perhaps you would be so kind as to pass this message on to your colleagues in Bodmin, by means of smoke signal, carrier pigeon or Ouija board.

As I'm writing this e-mail there are eleven failed medical experiments (I think you call them youths) in St Mary's Crescent, which is just off St Mary's Road in Bodmin. Six of them seem happy enough to play a game which involves kicking a football against an iron gate with the force of a meteorite.

This causes an earth shattering CLANG! which rings throughout the entire building. This game is now in its third week and as I am unsure how the scoring system works, I have no idea if it will end any time soon. The remaining five walking abortions are happily rummaging through several bags of rubbish and items of furniture that someone has so thoughtfully dumped beside the wheelie bins.

One of them has found a saw and is setting about a discarded chair like a beaver on speed. I fear that it's only a matter of time before they turn their limited attention to the bottle of calor gas that is lying on its side between the two bins. If they could be relied on to only blow their own arms and legs off then I would happily leave them to it. I would even go so far as to lend them the matches. Unfortunately they are far more likely to blow up half the street with them and I've just finished decorating the kitchen.

What I suggest is this - after replying to this e-mail with worthless assurances that the matter is being looked into and will be dealt with, why not leave it until the one night of the year (probably bath night) when there are no mutants around then drive up the street in a panda car before doing a three point turn and disappearing again. This will of course serve no other purpose than to remind us what policemen actually look like.

I trust that when I take a claw hammer to the skull of one of these throwbacks you'll do me the same courtesy of giving me a four month head start before coming to arrest me.

I remain sir, your obedient servant
???????

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Mr ??????,

I have read your e-mail and understand you frustration at the problems caused by youth playing in the area and the problems you have encountered in trying to contact the police. As the Community Beat Officer for your street I would like to extend an offer of discussing the matter fully with you.

Should you wish to discuss the matter, please provide contact details (address / telephone number) and when may be suitable.

Regards

PC ?
Community Beat Officer

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Dear PC ?

First of all I would like to thank you for the speedy response to my original e-mail. 16 hours and 38 minutes must be a personal record for Bodmin Police station, and rest assured that I will forward these details to Norris McWhirter for inclusion in his next book.

Secondly I was delighted to hear that our street has its own community beat officer.

May I be the first to congratulate you on your covert skills? In the five or so years I have lived in St Mary's Crescent , I have never seen you. Do you hide up a tree or have you gone deep undercover and infiltrated the gang itself? Are you the one with the acne and the moustache on his forehead or the one with a chin like a wash hand basin? It's surely only a matter of time before you are head-hunted by MI5.

Whilst I realise that there may be far more serious crimes taking place in Bodmin, such as smoking in a public place or being Muslim without due care and attention, is it too much to ask for a policeman to explain (using words of no more than two syllables at a time) to these twats that they might want to play their strange football game elsewhere. The pitch on Fairpark Road , or the one at Priory Park are both within spitting distance as is the bottom of the Par Dock.

Should you wish to discuss these matters further you should feel free to contact me on If after 25 minutes I have still failed to answer, I'll buy you a large one in the Cat and Fiddle Pub.

Regards
?

P.S If you think that this is sarcasm, think yourself lucky that you don't work for the cleansing department, with whom I am also in contact!!

KIDS!!!!

ANOTHER BRILLIANT BEER AD

10 ways to tell if your Amish kid is headed for trouble

• Sometimes stays in bed until after 5 am.
• In his sock drawer, you find pictures of women without bonnets.
• Shows up at barn raisings in full “Kiss” makeup.
• When you criticize him, he yells, “Thou sucketh!”
• His name is Jebediah, but he goes by “Jeb Daddy.”
• Defiantly says, “If I had a radio, I’d listen to rap.”
• You come upon his secret stash of colored socks.
• Uses slang expression: “Talk to the hand, ’cause the beard ain’t listening.”
• Was recently pulled over for “driving under the influence of cottage cheese.”
• He’s wearing his big black hat backwards.

The fighting philosophy of Bill Shankly

In an article from December 17 1968, now republished in The Guardian book of football, Eric Todd talks to the legendary Liverpool manager - a players' man who has always been 'daft about fitba'

Like the state of holy matrimony, an interview with Bill Shankly, manager of Liverpool, is not to be entered lightly. There is an element of chance about them both; in neither is the course of events predictable. Shankly has to be heard to be appreciated. Like Jim Sims, that much-loved slow bowler for Middlesex in years gone by, he expresses himself through the corner of his mouth. There the comparison ends. Sims favoured the confidential drawl, Shankly fires his words as if with a Gatling gun. And he does not often miss.

Thirty years have passed since my first sight of Shankly playing at Deepdale in the company of the Beatties (not related), the O'Donnells (brothers), Jimmy Milne, Jimmy Dougal and Harry Holdcroft, that most handsome of goalkeepers. Even in those days Shankly was a busy, fussy character who always played with his palms turned outwards, creating the remote illusion of a sailing ship striving for that little extra help from the wind.

"Naw, naw," protested Shankly, when I suggested that analogy. "It gave me strength. Did ye notice too that ah played on ma toes all the time? Like a ballet dancer? That gave me strength in ma calves, and ah've still got it. Preston was only a sma' place - Jim Taylor, the North End chairman, called us a village team - but it was a fine club who believed in modern methods. Ah lairned a great deal wi' Preston and ah've always tried tae pass on some o' those lessons.

"Ah was always daft about fitba'. Ah went tae Carlisle whan ah was 17 an' a half, moved tae Preston in 1933, an' finished pleyin' in 1949 when ah went tae Carlisle as their manager. They were a useful side but they hadnae a great deal o' ambition. But ah had. So when ah had the offer tae take over at Grimsby because they ware strugglin', ah went an' took less wages. Frae Grimsby ah went tae Workington, who were facin' extermination. They offered me a bonus if ah could save them. Ah got ma bonus. Then ah went as assistant tae Andy Beattie at Huddersfield an', when he left, ah took his place. Ah was made manager o' Liverpool in 1959 an' the rest you know. An' by the by, ah was never sacked in the whole o' ma life."

Shankly sipped his tea, long since cold, before he set off on a new theme. "People often ask me if ah ever made a mistake. Well, tae my mind 'mistake' is a misused word, especially in fitba'. For example, ye might say it was a mistake for a club tae buy such an' such a player but that is nae necessarily true. The player might not be able tae settle down or to fit in. He might no' suit his environment. Just bad luck. A fitballer's no' like a hat or a coat that you can leave at a shop if it doesna' fit or suit ye."

"Mind you, there are some managers ah've known who have gone about things the wrong way. The manager above all things should be solely responsible for the playing and training staffs and all tactics. He must be able tae coach and tae explain such basic things as how tae kick a ball and how tae pass it an' control it. In other words, he must know what he's talking about. What good is it tae go tae a golf professional for lessons if he disna' know the game? The same wi' a fitba' manager.

"Mind you, ah wouldna' say the best players make the best managers, although ah think that's been more the case in recent years - but a manager makes things so much harder for himself if he can't explain the game to his players. An' even that's only half the battle. Tae get the best out of his men, the manager has tae work tae a tactical plan they understand which need not necessarily be the one he'd like himself. For instance, at Liverpool we have Ian Callaghan and Peter Thompson, two of the best wingers in the game. They are as near tae the old orthodox wingers as there are, so why should they be used in any other way? It wouldn'a be fair for one thing. Natural ability is far too precious tae be messed about wi'."

"Before ah forget ah must just tell ye about Denis Law. When ah went tae Huddersfield, ah had charge o' the resairves, an' this wee boy o' 15 was one of them. Ye wouldna' hae thought so tae look at him but he had everything. He was fiery an' he was talented an' he was earmarked tae be a star. He was tae become one o' the greatest players ah ever set eyes on. Aye, he was that."

After this diversion Shankly picked up his management thread as if he had never left it. "As for me, if they're no' satisfied wi' me, they'll get rid o' me. We have a responsibility tae the people o' Liverpool. There was a great potential at Anfield when ah went there and ah like tae think ah have helped tae realise that potential. We have got tae try and maintain the high standard we have set, keepin' in line wi' other teams wi' ambition, an' mebbe winnin' the League Championship again. That would gi' us a record haul of eight league titles, one more than Manchester United and Arsenal."

Shankly is young enough to have expectations of seeing that day, successful enough to withstand those tribulations to which so many of his kind have succumbed, patient enough to go on making a living until he can retire and take Nessie, his long-suffering wife, on their first real holiday in 25 years. When they went to a football match during their honeymoon, Nessie had a hint of what was in store in the years ahead. "A wonderful, understanding woman," said Shankly, whose present idea of a holiday is to stay in bed until mid-morning.

He neither smokes nor drinks but sees no reason why others should not do so - in moderation - and he has a lively sense of humour, although he is not conscious of it. If he were asked to think of something funny, he would be a slow starter. He is, however, master of the "off the cuff" type of humour and frequently reduces his players and press conference to hysterics with asides he had meant to be taken seriously. The sayings of Shankly are as forthright and weighty as the sayings of Mao. In the streets around Anfield they are also much more respected.

Shankly is not impressed easily nor is he a willing subject for embarrassment. When he put through his own goal in Tom Finney's testimonial, he was no more remorseful than a lad caught pinching jam from the larder. Only once, perhaps, did he go close to blushing. He played in a game alongside Frank Soo of Stoke City and afterwards a Scottish selector among the crowd went up and put his arm round Shankly's shoulder. "Well done, Soo," he said. "You played a blinder." "He thought ah was the Chinese because of the way ma hair was cut," explains Shankly, and his chuckle is that of a corncrake in search of a mate.

I think it would be an exaggeration to say that Shankly is regarded generally as a "popular" manager - except at Anfield, where the Kop acknowledges him to be omnipotent. He is not as aloof as he used to be but he is not easy to know, not easy to draw out. His conversation, like the man himself, is fitful. He speaks in Morse, as it were. But for all that he is, and always has been, among the genuinely dedicated managers and his success as a player and as a manager has been achieved the hard way. He has in his time made mistakes over transfers - that is my view, not his - but he covered them up effectively. Above all, Shankly is a players' man who knows that if he fights for them, they will fight for him. It seems a sound philosophy.

The Duke of Wellington is reported to have made sure personally that his troops - who did most of the work - had comfortable billets. Shankly subscribes to the same principles and now squeezes the duties of accommodation inspector into his already congested schedule.

Before I left him, Shankly summoned the manager of a hotel and gave him his instructions. "There'll be, eh, 17, in the party," he said. "So, eh, that'll be 17 fillet steaks - ah'll let ye know how we want them done when we arrive - wi' chips. For afterwards, eh, there'll be 17 fresh fruit salads an' fresh cream. Right? Then for breakfast, eh ..." A players' man indeed.

thanks to www.guardian.co.uk/football/2008/jul/28/liverpool

RONALDO TO STAR IN REMAKE OF 'ROOTS'

FOOTBALLER Cristiano Ronaldo is being lined up to star in a multi-million dollar remake of the epic TV series Roots.

Producers say the star's treatment at the hands of Manchester United make him the perfect choice to portray the young African slave who is beaten by his brutal masters.

The Portuguese winger said he had been traumatised by 'outrageous' demands that he honour the £125,000 a week, legally-binding contract, which has brought him only, misery, adulation and Gemma Atkinson.

Speaking from the titanium gazebo in the rose garden of his 31-room mansion, Ronaldo said: "I feel I can relate to the suffering of African slaves.

"If anything, it is worse, because footballers cannot sing while we work, whereas they had time to develop gospel music during their 16-hours shifts before dropping dead from exhaustion."

In the series a young African boy is dragged from his homeland and shipped to America where he is forced to work in the fields by a cruel and violent plantation owner.

"The similarities are uncanny, though admittedly, the Lear Jet that flew me from Lisbon to Manchester wasn't packed with 150 other players sleeping head-to-toe."

Ronaldo also conceded that, while the slave-master in Roots administered brutal beatings, Man Utd boss Sir Alex Ferguson had nurtured his talent, lavished him with praise and turned him into one of the best footballers in the world.

"But without the freedom to do whatever I want, wherever I want, for whatever fee I want, I am exactly the same as a cotton picker forced to live in a shed, dying at the age of 32."

He added: "I know the people will love my acting. Already, in the streets, I hear many of them calling me 'Kunta'."

HILL FROM HELL

Thanks to Mike Molloy

15 YEAR OLD IS THE NEW JOHNNY CASH

Discovered singing on a Seattle street, Vince Mira, 15, is a somewhat shy kid who looks uncomfortable during a TV interview. But when he steps up to the microphone to sing Johnny Cash's classic "Ring of Fire," the result is downright spooky. He performs the song on Ellen Degeneres show




and here is another one