Me
and the burd hud a braw Hogmanay up at the wee But' n' Ben.
No half. Woof Woof!
Ah'm
fair puggled, so I am, but noo it's time fer serious business.
I
huv tae report that there's bugger-all happening until we take
oan the Belgies in March, but in the meantime, as heid bummer
o' the Scotland team, it's ma duty tae go oan as many freebie
trips as possible and get paid fer it.
Magic.
And
see, "bigshot lawyer brother Jock" thought he wiz the
brains ae the family? "Daft opinionated shite." How's
that for a commentary ya pretentious unemployed ex-pundit-cum-failed
director-arse?
And
by the way. It wiz me that told Dad where yer wankmags were hidden.
But, it's no like ah hold a grudge or anything.
"Bring
oan the Belgies!"
They
were a bit dodgy in World War One and they're still a bit iffy
now, it huz tae be said.
My
approach tae the forthcoming game is simple. I will select 11
out of the 14 partially-fit players who are still available to
me after the usual call-offs and injuries have reduced my squad
from 22 on the day of the game.
We
will defend like demons.
Mattie
Elliot will get sent off, nae danger.
I
will tell the players to knock the ball forward as often as possible
in the hope that a Belgian defender slips and a lone Scot is remotely
nearby to take advantage.
Put
yer money on 0-0. But don't say ah told you so. That sort ae thing
can get heavy according to Bruce Grobbelar an' his mates.
Paw
Broon
