Woodo, and the Pied Piper of Paedo...

Busy weekend ahead for Los Piscos… Andy’s been drafted up at the last minute to play alongside Peter Crouch since Owen has been shoddy. It was felt that considering their similar levels of fitness, and the fact that Andy’s used to playing alongside someone much taller than himself, Mr. Wood would be ideal to lead England to glory. There is a minor problem, and that is that Woodo (as he is now known to footie fans everywhere) is not only really not very good at football… he doesn’t even like football, and has no understanding of the offside rule.

Cue practices cancelled as ‘the other two’ (as Ed and I have become known to footie fans everywhere) have attempted in the relaxing and conducive-to-learning atmosphere of Piscorp to teach Andrew the offside rule using microphone stands and assorted musical bits to represent players. Cue mass confusion, as the shoddy microphone stands we use fall to bits in front of our eyes, as if the Swedish back four had suddenly developed leprosy, losing arms and legs and other vital body parts. Cue Wooderino kicking a rolled up newspaper around dismembered microphone parts, and asking “am I onside if I’m behind the defenders arm, but two meters away from his body?” Of course, as if things weren’t confusing enough the phone went, and Ed got summoned by the Lord Chancellor to go on a paedo-cull, equipped only with a net, and a big gun. This brought chaos to Piscorp, as Andy had still not yet mastered the ‘when the ball is played’ bit of offside, and I was far too pissed to even contemplate going over the notion again. Ed was on the phone banging on about his constitutional rights, Andy had embroiled himself in an altercation with a surly yet crippled microphone stand/international defender, and during one brief moment of clarity when time seemed to stand still and the Lord Chancellor was shocked into silence at Ed’s use of the words “ram”, “black rod” and “sandpaper”, tears were shed at this mêlée of chaos, retribution, and 4-4-2…

Then, as luck would have it, young Wayne Roony popped in. “Don’t worry boys,” he said with that cheeky yet thuggish grin of his, “the old metatarsal is as right as rain! And Theo Walcott’s been drafted in to go medieval on those kiddy fiddlers – he’s already been giving Arsene Wenger psychological warfare half as a practice run, and half just on the off-chance.”
“Sweet!” Three pisconians proclaimed (well, two – Andy was subjecting a Swedish fullback microphone to a non-fifa approved noogie). “Well, now you’re here Wayne, have you brought the flugelhorn? Fancy a buzz through ‘Cozy Hell’?”
“Sweet,” said Roono, and puckered his lips in pre-emptive anticipation…

So all got sorted in the end, and we can embark on our original plans – tonight at The Grapes! Woop! Tomorrow, in an acoustic stylee, at The Halcyon! Woop woop! Collapse on Monday, with that old twingeo in my metatarsalo throbbing awayo…

Petros Petros Pisco