Alex Neil's gonna run out onto the pitch, in a kilt and paisley bandana

drunk and s**tty on scotch and ribeye, giving the international signal of arms wide and hands gesturing "come on, FUCKING COME ON THEN" to Rafa, strutting around with half a mic stand, all up in his and his coaching staffs respective grill's. That fat bleeder will get all red faced and indignant, whimper-b***h-crying to the 4th official "sir, this...this conduct is unacceptable.." then Alex starts shadowboxing and doing crane kicks, whilst shouting motivational messages like peak Flavor Flav "YEAAAH BOYYYYYYYZ" high fives Dorrans before walking backwards to his seat, never breaking eye contact with Benitez.

Suitably rattled, Benitez plays Shelvey at sweeper and all his instructions are lost as Alex gets a military grade bullhorn and drowns him out with shouted destinations from the "Letter to America" coda.

This arrogance and bullishness transmits and transforms the Canary players, from meek little twits who s**t themselves at the prospect of playing the top 6-ers into battle hardened, confident, assassins who chop down the magpies and stamp their feathers into dust.

The Jedi ghost of Paul Lambert is visible over the hotel at final whistle. He does "jazz hands" to Jedi Mike Walker, who is dressed as a schoolboy and miming a guitar solo.

Axl Rose phones canary call and offers Rob Butler a fight on a North Sea oilrig helipad at midnight. Rob s**ts it and resigns on air.

YEAAAH BOYYYYS

Posted By: MIKEWALKER on February 14th 2017 at 10:04:12

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