Sven Goran Eriksson

Blimey what a rammy about Sven giving it large to that bird from the FA. Can you Adam and Eve that they were going to sack him just for having a bit of extra time with a secretary? Bleedin crackers.

If they wanted to give him the boot because he couldn’t get his team to beat a bunch of waiters in the Euros then that would have been fair enough but not just for a bit of how’s your father. Look the bloke is Swedish, he can’t help himself. They are all it over there, nothing else to do is there? Blimey I’ve seen enough videos to know what they’re like.

If you’re brought up in the fjords, Abba records on all the time and nothing but porn on the telly then it’s hardly surprising that you are going to grow up and not be able to keep it in your trousers. The man’s only human.

England should be proud that they’ve got a manager who makes all that top totty want to get inside his tracksuit. For years there was blokes like Graham Taylor and Kevin Keegan who had all the sex appeal of a digestive biscuit. Saint Glen Hoddle was too busy raising the dead or what ever it was he did and El Tel always had his finger in pies but never cherry ones. As for poor old Sir Bobby Robson, by the time your average footballer-chasing slapper had strapped on the jump leads and waited for a bucket of Viagra to take effect he’d probably have wet himself twice. Blimey.

So let’s hear it for Sven. As a football coach he’s flippin rubbish — I give you two words, Emile Bleedin Heskey — but when it comes to pulling birds he’s a genius. He’s nearly bald, he’s got stupid teeth, he wears glasses and he always looks like he’s just sat on a hairbrush. Yet he pulls the toppest totty in totty town on totty day.

Okay Ulrikaka doesn’t really count because she’s had more footballers than Manchester United. If that woman isn’t a nymphocrazy then I’ve never added a little surcharge owing to the fact that I didn’t like someone. Blimey she’s looser than a van load of WD40.

But that Nancy Dell’Olliollio is a bit of all right. There’s something about Italian women that make you think of Spain, isn’t there? Ariba, ariba. That women could make a pan of pasta sauce boil over at ten paces. She’s a whole lot of woman but even that wasn’t enough for our Sven. He wanted amore.

I’m not sure about this secretary bird though. She looks dirty right enough but it seems like she’s done dictation for half the building. Would you really want seconds after the Greek bloke had dipped his taramasalata? Not bleedin likely.

Still, you’ve got to take your cap off to Sven. He might look like he should be lying on Tesco’s fish counter but he can pull birds like a man with a knife.

Just goes to show, never judge a book by its cover or a swede by its turnip. Even an apprentice who doesn’t know shit from chocolate knows that you can look at a cistern lid but you can never tell what’s inside. And if it’s true in plumbing then it’s true in life.

Don’t sack Sven, give him his head. Oo’er missus.

Plumb on.

Peter Plumb.

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