Ted and Jimmy - the best
of friends
In recent months the spreading of persistent and
ugly rumours about Burnley FC seems to have become something of a growth industry. Sadly,
try as we might to only hear and report good things, and to stop up our ears whenever dirt
begins to be spread about this fine club of ours, some such rumours have, of late, come to
even our attention. Particularly distressing and unfounded, these wicked slurs concern the
alleged lack of harmony between a senior figure on the coaching side of the club and a
skilful winger of Scottish extraction. Dear friends, nothing could be further from the
truth than these vile inaccuracies, and it is out of a sense of civic duty to right these
wrongs, and with a sense of rare pleasure, that we reproduce, in full, this important
conversation overheard on the Gawthorpe training ground one cold April morning that really
proves, once and for all, that Ted and Jimmy - they're the best of friends.
"Here Ted, come over here a minute will you
mate?"
"Sure thing, boss. Whatever you say goes,
you know that's my motto."
"Good. It's great to know that you're one
player I can always rely on."
"So what can I do for you, then,
gaffer?"
"Oh nothing, nothing. Just fancied a
friendly chat. As you know, I like to keep up with how my players are getting on. How's
the latest addition to the McMinn clan, by the way?"
"Och, I'm touched that you asked, boss. The
wee bonny bundle's fine, fine. I'll gi' the young 'un a kiss from you."
"Oh, would you? That's lovely, Ted. Erm,
tell you what, why don't we go for a bottle of Bud together when training's
finished?"
"Just like old times, eh? I'd love to. So
that's in about, what, ten minutes then?"
"Make it five, eh?"
"Aye, as you wish. Ah, just one thing there
wee mon. I'm mortally sorry, but I've gone and left my wallet in Derby. I've got nae
money, and at the end of the day, I cannae buy the beer."
"Hey don't worry, Tin Man. It's on
me."
"Och, splendid mon."
"Think nothing of it. Happy players make a
successful team, that's what I always say. Come to think of it, while I'm here, is there
anything you'd like to get off your chest?"
"Oh well, och, no, it's nothing."
"Tell me, that's what I'm here for."
"Aye it's just a wee thing. It's just,
well, no, forget it."
"Go on."
"Alright. It's just, well, why hav'nae been
playing lately?"
"You're injured."
"No I'm not, that's just what you alwuys
tell the press."
"Ah, no, but, but you have been playing
lately."
"For the reserves."
"Yes, you're needed. Your role there is
vital. Yes, vital. Crucial, in fact to our push for promotion."
"Promotion?"
"Promotion, yes, why not? You can call me a
dreamer if you like, sure, that's what they call all great men, all men of vision, men
ahead of their time, like Julius Caesar, that painter who invented helicopters, and that
little fella, you know, the one who went mad."
"Adrian?"
"Napoleon, Napoleon. Oh, but they can
scoff, and they will, but let's see them scoff on the other side of their faces when I
bring first division reserve football here to Turf Moor. When Liverpool, Man Utd, all
those teams are playing here, what talk then of relegation from the morons and merchants
of doom?"
"Alright, boss, relax. I don't mind doing
my bit. It's not as though I'm short of company there. We've got Alan, Tony, Donkey. What
about, er, have you ever fancied putting, er, David in for a bit, though?"
"That's a personal matter between David and
myself. You know I can't say anything about that. He's still got the negatives."
"Alright, alright, fair enough. But what
about that time you had me playing down at Gawthorpe on a Saturday morning?"
"Erm, yeah, right, the thing is, what I've
done then is, alright, I'll let you play on Saturday. How's that?"
"Oh, great boss, and against my old side
Derby, eh?"
"Against er...yes that's right, that's it,
yes, that's the idea, see? In against your old side, Dartford."
"Derby."
"Yeah, Derby, right. We'll tear them apart,
that'll show them. Who can say then that I'm not a fair man, a winner, a leader of men and
a tactical whizz to boot?"
"Sure boss. Stick wi' me. I'll make the
most of my chance. I won't let you down."
"Down? Down? Who ever said anything about
down? We can't go down. It's in the rules. It's not allowed, see. Trust me, I know. A
shadowy figure told me in a dream, a vision that things will be great again, a shadowy
figure with the face of Alan Harper."
"It's alright boss, I know we're no'
doomed. Why don't we go for that beer now? My shout."
"I thought you'd left your wallet in
Derby?"
"Eh, yeah, right, I have. Erm, I'll get 'em
in at Port Vale on Monday. Did I ever tell you aboot the time I met Sean Connery?"
"Port Vale? I'm glad you mentioned that,
Ted, because I've got a very specific role in mind for you there."
"Fantastic. What?"
"You know that, er, suit you've got? The
grey one?"
"McArmani with a feint tartan weave?"
"Yeah, that one. Bring it on Monday, will
you?"
"Aye. What's the plan?"
"Leave the tactics to me, eh? I'm the only
master tactician around here. Suffice to say, I know exactly what I want you to do."
"Great boss, whatever."
"What are you like at throwing the ball
back?"
"Eh?"
© 1995, The Burnley Express
Firmo
June-July 1995
