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Predicting The Next Premier League Managers To Be Exposed

Predicting The Next Premier League Managers To Be Exposed

Dodgy DNS codes and wedding buffet raids are on the cards

Joe Baiamonte

Joe Baiamonte

That English football is rife with corruption has come as no surprise to anyone, in the wake of The Telegraph's revelations about illicit payments and ways in which to circumvent illegal third party ownerships. No shit there's some dodgy bastards snidely pocketing a fortune to fund a new wing on their villa in Marbella for them to fill with mistresses, champagne and poppers. You don't fucking say.

OK, the premiere exposé may have cost Sam Allardyce his job as England manager, but since then the news that has filtered through has been almost as underwhelming as a motivational speech from Roy Hodgson. Pino Pagliara, an Italian agent who received a five year ban from all football related activities in 2005, has been caught, in hidden camera footage that would be more at home on 'Cowboy Builders', confirming that the English game is riddled with cash-in-hand merchants. It's barely enough to warrant a raise of the eyebrows.

Several other agents and various Championship managers have been caught out, with Harry Redknapp surprising absolutely fucking no one when he's filmed regaling undercover reporters with tales of the spread bets his players have placed on their own matches. The Telegraph may be saving the best (or worst, depending on how partial you are to a bit of drama) 'til last, with eight current and ex-Premier League bosses set to be exposed for Christ knows what, but until then, here's how we see future revelations developing.

ALAN CURBISHLEY IN 'DODGY DNS CODE' US NETFLIX SCANDAL

Curbishley
Curbishley

Image credit: PA Images

After years of unsuccessfully linking himself to every managerial vacancy going and with Sky Sports News presenters complaining about him turning up uninvited to their studios every other day, the former West Ham and Charlton boss resigns himself to a life away from the beautiful game. With nothing but time on his hands, Curbs decides to get stuck into the Netflix phenomenon he has ignored for so long.

Within the first month of his new life as a box set addict, Curbishley polishes off Narcos, House Of Cards, Breaking Bad, Jessica Jones and, oddly enough, The Adventures Of Puss In Boots. A slew of empty Fray Bentos and DairyLea Lunchable trays litter the settee where he indulges in his new vice, with Chilli Heatwave Dorito crumbs dropping from his mouth, open aghast as Steven Avery is sentenced to life in prison for the murder of Teresa Halbach. Neighbours complain about the noise, with an enraged Curbishley bellowing "FUCK YOU MANTIWOC COUNTY, YOU CROOKED SLAGS!" around his living room, before volleying a novelty toby jug clean through the front window.

It's not long before Curbishley tires of the paltry offerings on the UK version of the popular streaming service and slowly but surely, the former Fulham technical director begins to hear whispers of ways in which to trick his Playstation 3 into offering him the US equivalent's much vaster content library. A covert meeting at a popular Mayfair bistro proves to be Curbishley's undoing, with an undercover reporter, posing as an online American sitcom enthusiast sliding the 58-year-old a list of Primary and Secondary DNS codes underneath a napkin, with Curbishley triumphantly glugging half a bottle of Blue Nun in celebration as he realises he now has unadulterated access to every season of Frasier.

Little did the former Addicks boss realise that, as he banged out a tone deaf rendition of 'Toss Salad And Scrambled Eggs', that the man he believed to be his accomplice was emailing the footage to Netflix customer services, who promptly shut down Curbishley's accounts and notified the national press, ruining what was left of the First Division play-off winner's reputation.

STEVE BRUCE: "MY WEDDING BUFFET SHAME"

Following his departure from Hull City before the commencement of the current Premier League season, Steve Bruce became disillusioned with the modern game, realising that more and more clubs were becoming burdened with unfit owners. The former Manchester United captain decided that, much like his continental equivalent Pep Guardiola, to take a year long sabbatical before taking his pick of the vacant managerial roles across Europe in the Summer of 2017.

Steve Bruce
Steve Bruce

Image credit: PA Images

However, that 12 months was a void that needed filling, and after being astounded by the quality of the catering at the evening do of a friend's wedding, Bruce decided the void could be filled with vol-au-vents, snack sized scotch eggs, tempura prawns and egg and cress sandwiches cut into triangles.

As the three time Premier League champion perused his calendar, he realised he didn't actually have any weddings to attend over the next year and decided to take drastic measures - he would crash evening do's, armed with a Tesco Bag For Life in which to conceal anything he couldn't finish before the DJ dropped the Grease MegaMix.

Soon, Bruce was venturing the length and breadth of the UK in his trusty Sierra estate, crashing weddings left, right and centre, laughing his head off as he stumbled out of function after function, tie round his head, high on life and a heady brew of complimentary fizz and mini Cornish pasties. However, in the early hours of a Sunday morning in August, Bruce found himself staring into his rear view mirror, as he gorged on a stash of lukewarm duck spring rolls and chicken satay skewers in the car park of Knutsford Services. The buffet crasher life had consumed him, and now he wanted more. Not content with ten-a-penny spreads, the former Sunderland boss targeted European domination, muttering to himself "If the pickings are this good in England, imagine all how much fucking free pizza, spaghetti and patatas bravas I can bag myself on the continent?"

Steve Bruce
Steve Bruce

Image credit: PA Images

A week later and Bruce, adorned in an old, now ill fitting official Wigan Athletic sweater emblazoned with his initials, awaited an unnamed assailant who would deliver the tickets that would enable him to interail through Europe, along with a folder containing a series of elaborate backstories that would earn him access to each wedding without arousing suspicion. Bruce was armed with a brown envelope containing a cool £250,000. However, when the transaction transpired, the former Hull boss' hook up was secretly filming the entire time, catching Bruce in the act before alerting interpol to the 55-year-old's impending, nefarious gourmet based crimes.

Bruce's face would be splashed across the Brtish press, sausage roll pastry decorating his chin and cheeks as a series of his former players offered to perform an intervention for him, as the FA issued the disgraced ex-Premier League manager with a two year ban from all catered Football Association Events.

ALAN PARDEW EMBROILED IN PAN-CONTINENTAL COSMETICS SMUGGLING RING

It's no secret that if Alan Pardew was made of ice cream, he'd lick himself. So when news broke of the Crystal Palace manager being caught red handed accepting a shipment of stolen, high end male grooming products at London Docklands, many fans were completely non plussed.

Between posing in a pair of hipster frames among a clad of attractive young girls in a Spanish nightclub and jiving into the nearest camera like a pissed uncle at a wedding, after Jason Puncheon opened the scoring during the FA Cup final, 'Pards' had earned a reputation among fans and fellow pros alike as being a self indulged whopper of the highest order. Whispers emerged from Palace's dressing room that the manager had even begun referring to himself in the third person and that he often gave teamtalks while staring longingly into a mirror instead of addressing the team to their faces.

Pards
Pards

Week after week, Pardew's ego spiralled out of control until one day he overhead a member of the Palace catering staff mention how young Eddie Howe looked during an interview the Bournemouth manager was conducting on Sky Sports News. Pardew was incensed. He drove straight home, ignored his wife's friendly greeting as he slammed the door shut behind him and locked himself in the master bedroom for five hours. Initially, Mrs. Pardew believed her husband to be enjoying one of his prolonged 'noisy periods of reflection' but as it happened, 'Gorgeous Pards' as he'd now started calling himself, was counting his crows feet and wrinkles in his monogrammed dressing table mirror.

Pardew
Pardew

Seething with a jealousy he hadn't experienced since coming into contact with Phil Brown's tan, the former Newcastle boss became immersed in the murky underworld of the East London black market, desperate to find a way in which to procure the finest grooming products from around the world, in bulk.

As word of Pardew's desperation spread throughout the capital, some eagle eyed undercover journalists picked up on the scent of a sensational scoop and, disguised as sophisticated cosmetics smugglers, arranged a meeting with Pardew at fellow narcissist Gordon Ramsay's restaurant, Claridge's. Over roast pheasant stuffed with pureed magpie, Pardew arranged the delivery of over £300,000 worth of 'hooky' moisturisers, anti-ageing creams, DIY botox packs and male lip plumpers. However, as the Palace manager awaited his shipment, half of Scotland Yard descended on him, with the one time favourite to become England manager bundled into the back of a squad car, on his way to a six month stretch in Wormwood Scrubs.

In the meantime, until these predictions prove themselves to be 100% accurate, all we can do is wait. But when Pards, Corbs and Brucey are splashed across every paper in the UK over the next couple of weeks, don't say we didn't tell you so.

WORDS BY JOE BAIAMONTE

Featured Image Credit:

Topics: Steve Bruce, Football