THE Kenna League has awarded the lucrative contract to refurbish the committee’s executive bathroom to a Polish builder.
Work many considered to be long overdue began late last week, but critics of the chairman say the project has led to a bureaucratic slowdown at Kenna HQ.
No communication has been published since the season’s first transfer window 10 days ago. Managers desperate for confirmation of which mid-table treadwater bought which form-fiddling flake, who topped last week’s league and exactly what time the chairman woke up the day after transfer night have been disappointed.
The chairman brushed aside concerns he’s losing is grip on the league.
“Do you think Martin Luther King made his famous speech while busting for a jimmy? Did Hannibal trek through the Alps without stopping to pinch one off on a vinegary rock? The Kenna committee is making crucial decisions with far-reaching consequences every single day. You expect us to consider these matters reasonably and equably without serenity to which to retreat when it’s touch and go?”
“Kenna HQ will only be running essential functions during the period of renovation,”he said, returning from the garden while doing up his fly.
The building work may have interrupted normal operations, but is has led to some hilarious moments for followers of the chairman on social media networking site Twitter*.
At the top you’ll find each manager, their available funds and the positions in their teams they need to fill.
Players are grouped into position and ranked by points scored this season. Those in black are unavailable unless a manager decides to make his one surprise release of the evening.
The blue circles are a hangover from the cut-and-shut format job of Kenna HQ weevils. Click the circle to open up the player’s individual stats page on the [national newspaper] site.
Players without a circle are either listed as injured or suspended. Don’t ask why they haven’t got the orange circle. There’s been enough swearing about the blue and orange circles this week to rebuild Billingsgate Market.
The Pirates manager was not going to attend the window because he’s taken up ‘Stop-tober’ or ‘Oct-sober’ or some other w@nky agency-inspired charity name. Now he has to spend four hours in a pub buying three average players. How long until he cracks, Brambles himself and resigns?
The St Reatham FC manager emailed early this morning to say ‘I’ve been in San Francisco and not had a chance to email earlier’. Really? San Francisco? The home of Silicon Valley? He then tried to release a player he didn’t even have.
These are the kind of madcap antics that curry favour with the chairman, but be warned: the next window deadline is Wednesday 4 February. Miss that and there’s no respite and no bonus.
THE St Reatham FC manager has been exposed in a grooming ring which targets female sports presenters just days ahead of the Kenna League season’s crucial first transfer window.
Using a sick alias on social media networking site LinkedIn, the manager was discovered luring unsuspecting Sky Sports broadcaster Bianca Westwood to the page.
In a leaked email the St Reatham boss bragged the journalist’s name was Bianca ‘Betshewood’ and made lewd remarks, calling her ‘little treacle’.
A regular feature on Gillete Soccer Saturday, Westwood complained to authorities but her inane babble was too steeped in popular culture and pseudo-gangsta slang for them to understand.
The St Reatham manager runs the sinister grooming ring from his hideout in Switzerland. He has been on Surrey Constabulary’s top 10 most wanted list since last April, when the battered corpse of Sky Sports News presenter Natalie Sawyer was found on Chobham Common.
It is widely thought the manager is also behind the grimey @SkySportsWomen Twitter account.
The revelations threaten to disrupt St Reatham FC preparations for Friday’s transfer night at the Artillery Arms on Bunhill Row. Injury to defender Geoff Cameron and the form of ‘luxury man’ Hatem Ben Arfa are of considerable concern to a manager still chasing his first piece of Kenna silverware. The side are fifth in the table.
The Kenna HQ doormat has been troubled by letters from four managers ahead of the submission deadline tomorrow (15 October), with a total of 10 players released by clubs through the post. Each manager will attract the £10m bonus kitty.
A further four players were released by an email from the Cowley Casuals manager reading: “Greetings from Beirut – scene of the Casuals’ international break training camp. Unfortunately, I do not have faith enough in the Lebanese postal service to deliver my transfers to Kenna HQ before the deadline. Therefore, here they are in an old fashioned email.”
The limp effort sees the Cowley Casuals manager the minimum £5m bonus.
“So in conclusion, the Islamic State’s decision to promote the beheading of Westerners on the internet has led to better engagement with potential recruits, more exposure in the media and increased intimidation of infidels. As a social media campaign it’s quite brilliant.”
Delivering this last line he bristled with pride at his succinct summary. He was enjoying every moment of getting one up on his peers around the table. As the organisation’s head of online terror, it was important he could show he had his finger on the pulse.
The other department heads around the table had struggled to impress, particularly the head of pirate relations. The gradual loss of coastline over the last six months, or more precisely the stress of it, was believed to be the root cause of his continued adoption of that ridiculous English West country accent when talking to the committee. He would be one of the first to go when the purges began.
The head of online terror was way ahead on that front. An unplanned change of leadership meant organisational upheaval was inevitable. The former head man had suffered an ailment all too common to African extremists, he had walked into an American sniper’s bullet. Internal promotions were there for the taking for those who made the right allies.
The intelligence committee chair sat motionless for a few seconds at the end of the talk and looked impassive before speaking to the whole group.
“We must congratulate our colleague on his extensively-researched and well-presented talk.”
The head of online terror beamed. The chair continued: “I think we can all agree that our colleague’s presentation demonstrates incredibly well…where our movement is failing miserably.”
The head of online terror’s face dropped for the audience, but he was ready for this comeback. He would allow the chair build up a head of steam before delivering the master plan.
“Our recruitment levels are dropping,” said the chair, “Our popularity in our own country is dwindling. We have no significant networks outside of the Horn of Africa. And the Islamic State is grabbing every newspaper front page in the world with an internet meme!” he thundered as the rest of the committee avoided eye contact.
He had become increasingly short-tempered since the change of leadership. No one said it but everyone knew purges were on the horizon, and those who couldn’t prove their worth would find themselves waking up before morning prayers with the muzzle of a Kalashnikov thrust in their face. The intelligence committee chair needed results fast.
Still standing after his presentation, the head of online terror treated the chair’s outburst as a Q&A session. He said: “But sir, the Westgate shopping mall attack was shown throughout the globe. Our social media evaluation showed record levels of fear in its wake.”
“I should remind you,” replied the chair in a quiet tone that still betrayed his anger bubbling beneath the surface, “that Westgate was over a year ago and authorised by the previous command. The new leadership want to move on. They want us to continue the spread of terror going into the future. We need recruits. We need terror cells on foreign soil. We need to show that we’re still in the game.”
Everyone stared down at the table in front of them. The head of online terror waited a few moments before striking: “I have an agent in London, sir.”
Usually heavy with mint tea preparation and the mastication of khat, the room went deathly silent. The chair said: “Surely all our British networks are blown.”
“That’s correct, sir, but I’ve been running this agent as a sleeper. He’s under deep cover. He’s nearly ready to strike right at the centre of the infidels’ belief system.”
“And what exactly is he doing?” asked the chair, still visibly reeling from this knock out news.
“He’s infiltrated a fantasy football league, sir.”
“A what?” boomed the chair. He despised infidel culture and learned as little of it as possible. It was probably the reason his career was hanging by a thread. Now, even the head of pirate relations could have smelt his desperation.
The head of online terror was implacable: “Well, sir, you may have heard of the Premier League. It’s a typical example of Western decadence. Athletes are paid vast sums of money to play association football. The matches are televised throughout the world and the best players become infidel household names.”
Some of the committee were pretending to be as ignorant of this subject as the chair, but they had illegally watched televised games on the internet.
“So is our man one of these footballers collecting funds to further our cause?” said the chair, trying to appear knowledgeable.
“Not quite, sir, but an admirable suggestion” snaked the head of online terror. “Allow me to explain a little further. It’s become very popular among infidels to operate an elaborate form of gambling where an individual will pick eleven footballers from the Premier League to make their own team. That team will then score points depending on the performances of those players. Whichever team has the most points at the end of the football season wins.”
“Ridiculous pastime,” dismissed the chair. “It’s no wonder these Godless morons will never get to Paradise. They must have the souls of Kenyan goatherds.”
There was a ripple of tittering around the table. It was accepted practice to find the chair’s witticisms funny, no matter how awful they were.
“Be that as it may,” replied the head of online terror. “Our man assures us that the winner of the particular competition he has entered wields considerable influence. It is by all accounts London’s leading pub-based fantasy football contest.”
“Stop right there! Pub-based? Is our man frequenting houses of vice?” the chair was alarmed.
“As I said, sir, he’s deep undercover. Meetings are only held in London pubs, in particular the pre-season auction in early August. Our man must not arouse suspicion, although in all his reports I have not found a single incident of him breaking fast Ramadan.”
“So how’s he getting on?” said the chair begrudgingly, not quite satisfied.
“In the first couple of seasons he was getting himself acquainted with the league and results on the pitch were not positive,” said the head of online terror. “Then last year he went on an incredible cup run and won the Canesten Combi Cup.”
The committee were nonplussed.
“I won’t go into detail here,” said the head of head terror, “but suffice to say that represented a considerable coup for our agent.”
“What about this season? How did he get on in the pre-season auction?” asked the chair, picking up the gist of this operation quickly.
“Ah, well sir, there were some complications. In short, he didn’t attend the pre-season,” shrugged the head of online terror.
“How is he supposed to build a decent team?” the chair was indignant.
“The team was picked automatically using a computer from the remaining players after the auction,” said the head of online terror.
“That doesn’t sound like a successful strategy to me,” frowned the chair. “Imagine we did the same with suicide bombers? It literally would blow up in your face. What was the outcome of this so-called automatic selection?”
“Actually quite positive, sir. He’s got Frank Lampard in midfield.”
There was a low groan around the room. The chair looked astonished at the rest of the committee, like he’d never seen them before.
“What’s wrong with this Crank Shampard character?” said the chair slowly.
The head of online terror talked over the stifled smirks: “There is an opinion that Frank Lampard, sir, will not perform as well now he has left Chelsea, but evidence shows that he is already a promising asset for our man at Manchester City.”
The chair stared blankly at the head of online terror. After a few moments he said: “So where do we go from here?”
“Well, sir, next Friday is the first transfer window. It represents an excellent opportunity for our man to strengthen his side in a bid to win the league,” said the head of online terror in a businesslike manner. “Once he wins the league he will be in a position to exert powerful authority over the infidels.”
“And this agent is of good temperament? He’s not likely to lose his head?” said the chair.
“Oh absolutely not, sir,” said the head of online terror. “He assures us that throughout all his dealings with the fantasy football league, and despite the temptations of alcohol and pork scratchings, he never loses focus or composure even for a second.”
“Excellent,” said the chair, placated. He looked forward to having this little gem of an operation up his sleeve at his next meeting with the new leader. “What can we do to support our agent?”
The head of online terror suppressed a Cheshire Cat grin and pushed a form towards the chair: “Our man says the operation is very resource heavy. If you would just sign this expenses chit please, sir.”