London police have seized half a tonne of footballing equipment in buildings that they say were being used as a base by the terrorist football separatist group “KGB Fulham”
The discovery of the dump, which included shirts, boots, and grass cutting equipment, was made in the early hours of saturday morning.
Fake driving licences, cars capable of doing 200mph and imitation plastic lawyers were also found, along with the private addresses of 23 ladies who were said to be the lovers of members of the KGB “football” team, and 2874 private passes to the training ground, the police said. 143 underworld characters disguised as either journalists or crabs (it was hard to tell which according to the report) were noticed scuttling from the scene as the police arrived. Later they also recovered 37 blank player transfer contract forms in an envelope marked, “Use these next time we get done for child trafficking”
A militant group who have been active in the area for over 100 years fighting for an independent Russian state within the Knightsbridge area of London have been blamed.
I caught up with Chief Inspector Billy “The Dog” McGraw at the Strumpets Rest, a public house just off White Hart Lane, next door to the Cavity Wall Brothel, and he gave me the low-down.
“The Met has had its eye on the West London KGB for some time,” he told me. “Fortunately the modern day London police force has long since left behind the old ‘bobby on the beat’ approach and we use contemporary intelligence gathering to do our job, ‘ello ‘ello whats all this here then?”
“Can you give me an example?” I asked, offering the Chief another pint of rum.
“The Met has been watching the so-called ‘football club’ since 1905 when it took over a coal yard called ‘The Stamford Bridge’ and claimed it was a football ground,” he told me. “Of course we knew they were up to no good then when they bribed their way into the League without having a team or any history of playing football.”
“I know this,” I said, “There was an article on ‘Making the Arsenal’ about it the other day.”
“Indeed you’ll know this, because of that article in Making the Arsenal,” said the Chief Inspector, “but I was just adding verisimilitude for any reader who missed that deep and informative piece of impassioned research and deviant incisiveness.
“The big tip off came when that Ashley Cole manifestation was caught exceeding the speed of light in Chiswick High Street, claiming he thought he was only doing Mac 4. We knew he was up to no good when his solicitor demanded 21 days to pay the fine of 55p.”
“So you think Cole is broke?” I said.
“More than that,” said Billy. “He’s sold his soul to the KGB. As a result he prowls the streets at night biting the heads off innocent tulips and quoting Lewis Carol. So naturally we had to raid the KGB headquaters pretty damn quick, or ‘PDQ’ as we say down the Yard, now then now then. Stealing the souls of footballers is a crime that has been growing of late, and we need to stamp it out before the Second Coming, otherwise people like the Cole being will be damned to eternal torment.”
“Are you saying Ashley Cole works for the KGB? or are you saying he is the agent of Satan?” I said.
“Both,” said Billy. “I thought everyone knew that. You should stop writing all these bloggy-woggy things and get out more. Get some fresh air in your lungs. Would you care for a trip around the training ground? I’ve got an insider who can fix you up with a tour. £20,000 for the two hour trip.”
“I went to Enfield last week,” I protested, as I declined the offer, and changing the subject asked Billy to tell me about the team for the match.
“Arsenal are going to make radical changes,” he told me. He took a greasy piece of paper from his pocket and laid it on the table as the barmaid offered us, and we said no.
Robert Johnson, Bob Dylan, Seasick Steve, Skip James
WC Handy (captain) , Diddley Bow, Lafayette Ron Hubbard,
Andre Arshavin, Lemon Jefferson, Lonnie Johnson.
“I’m a bit worried about the midfield,” I said.
Billy agreed, it was troublesome. “However I have my best man Inspector Ivor Taser standing by and he should be able to sort anything out. Anyway you have to spot the odd ones out and win a prize.”
“Apparently Arsenal have no fans left, so I’ll be the only one entering,” I told him. “Everyone has resigned their membership, and the club is liable to be relegated to the Conference after this match, according to the Norwegian Supporters Club. There was a letter earlier that announced that.”
Billy disagreed. “I think the Conference believe that the club’s finances are so out of alignment from everyone else’s they want Arsenal to go into the Southern League first, so they can regain the art of borrowing endless amounts of money that they can’t pay back.”
“Is that what lower level clubs do?” I asked.
“It worked for Weymouth,” he said.
“What about tax?”
“Owing billions to the Revenue is very important – otherwise the club is liable to lose its licence to play football. Revenue and Customs already think Arsenal are a front organisation for biscuit smuggling enterprise based in Seattle, and to counter this Arsenal are planning to have a whip round of supporters, raise half a million pounds, and then confess that we can’t spend it on players but have to give it to the Prince Charles.”
“I think Cardiff have already done that,” I said, “we really ought to be innovative.”
“So what do you suggest?” asked Billy, ordering another pint of rum plus a glass of mineral water for me.
“It’s quite hard,” I told him. “Almost all the clubs are owned by crooks and they have pulled off every scam imaginable. In fact at the last Chester City game there was a crowd of 3,250 of whom 3,247 were owners of other clubs signing up to the local “How to Screw Money Out of Your Local Football Club” course that they run each week in Liverpool. Get quite a few people in from Manchester, I’m told. We need a new blog where regular supporters can feel connected to their clubs by sending in new scams that haven’t been tried yet.”
“Some clubs get through,” said Billy. “Derby did – the crooks are in jail and the club is slowly rebuilding. They’ve got that manager – what’s his name…”
“Our number 9,” I said.
“Funny name for a manager,” he said.
“His father Christened him that,” I replied. “But you are right. Derby did it, and that is great. I like Derby – nice ground, regular supporters who stay with the club no matter what.”
Another waitress approached but Billy brushed her away brusquely. “You’re writing another book,” he said. “I can tell.”
I admitted the idea had crossed my mind and he demanded the title.
“Corrupting Football,” I told him. “Set in the present day.”
“Is it funny?” he asked.
“It’s got Tottenham in it,” I said.
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Ashley Cole dolls complete with pins to stick in are available from The Voodoo Doll Shop, 221b Kensington High Street, London.
Note to legal teams: This article is classified as post-modernist irony with occasional bouts of surrealism under the Public Health Act 1917.
(c) Tony Attwood 2010, Omega Street, Enfield-on-Sea.
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