As the big kick off draws ever nearer the palpable nervousness in the air around Plainmoor can be cut with a machete ( not a knife as i'm trying to convey the thickness of the nervy air
), a huddle of fans buzz around outside chatting to each other in that strange accent of theirs, the one that indicates that they could either be a farmer or a fisherman but in all probability one will one will be a bus driver for First Torbay, my perfect job. Drive around all day pulling out on people who have no choice but to stop and let you out as you're in such a big vehicle, sit on my arse all day, be a right mardy tw*t, eat pasties and then pick n mix once the pasties have gone, turn young kids away at 11 o'clock at night just because they are 2p short on the fare and get paid! Hallelujah! 
One worker will be a menial unskilled skivvy at KFC and one will be unemployed. I know which one i wouldn't want to be, never liked chicken anyway. 
The door to Boots & Laces opens and closes with more regularity than a Gulls defeat, it's heaving inn there (inn, geddit
), heaving more than Jordans funbags but without the nipples whilst inside the p*ssheads like Dave, Alex, Trojan and the rest prop up the bar trying to get some Dutch courage from hops and barley and chewing the cud. Told you they're all heavily involved in agriculture!! Oh i said there were no nipples inside, i was wrong. :na: The ticket office was doing a roaring trade, a stream of 6 people were in the queue to grab their piece of the action as the suggested ticket price slashing for this game didn't materialise, it matters not. Those hardy 6 will be the ones glad they bothered whilst the stay aways will be glad they bothered not to bother regardless. The club shop had a limited number of specially printed t-shirts for this one which had all sold out within an hour of going on sale. One was 'TO BEE OR NOT TO BEE' which ironically went down well with both sets of supporters. One had printed on it, 'WE'RE SH*T AND WE KNOW WE ARE (BUT WE'RE STAYING UP SO F*CK OFF!)' on it and my favourite one which was, 'I WAS THERE WHEN BILLY SCORED' which were removed from sale as the catering lady had run out of teatowels, needed urgent replacements and had argued that she may as well have them as Billy never scores so ultimately they won't shift. Clever lady that one, although she spends her saturday afternoons cooking congealed innards in gravy and making walrus urine flavoured tea and coffee, nothing much gets past her. She's a bit like Pokey.
Back in the dressing room the players file through in jovial mood, Manse and Nico tapping some of the players on the shoulders and looking around, Joey breaking wind and guffawing like a schoolkid, Howe chillin' to some God awful music on the ipod, a day like today calls for some real loud pumping beastliness to get veins throbbing and adrenaline flowing and he's got f*cking Chaka Demus and Pliers on!! Mental! What he should have on IMO is 'MEIN HERZ BRENNT' by Rammstein at f*cking top notch and turn the dressing room into a football based mosh pit. Get that banged on and bingo, they'll want to injure people never mind play football against them! Barnet will only have 7 players left at the end and they will have a varied array of minor abrasions even then.
Suddenly Knill belied his mild mannered persona and forgot the 'life is cool, be calm' message that the squished squirrel revealed to him on that fateful cycle ride. He quivered and trembled and Chris Brass knew some sh*t was about to happen, and it wasn't Billy Bodin about to be introduced as a sub. :~D Knill was vexed and about to explode. The players just kept on messing about and Knill was in schoolteacher mode, Downes sat down and got out a copy of Big Boobs Bonanza and began perusing the hi def pictures of enlarged glands, actually i've had some of those since January but obviously they were in my neck as i've had glandular fever. To be honest though i've got t*ts as well if we're being straight down the line, i probably could be photographed for that mag but i'd probably be too hairy. I'm like Chewbacca! AND i'm a yorkshireman too so we'd be able to communicate with each other no doubt. We both release a series of audible but undecipherable grunts and noises which pass as conversation but what nobody else has a prayer of understanding. :-o
Anyway, the jugs came out and some of the other lads gathered round to take in this visual knocker fest, it beats looking at Ian Morris in the centre pages of the matchday programme i suppose. Just as the players were becoming aroused at this Knill let out an almighty outburst,
"Put that filth away Aaron!! We've got the most important match of the season just minutes away and you're sat their looking at some mammaries! It's a f*cking joke and those women are overweight anyway, that's why their boobydoobies are so big! They can't stop eating!"
"They are supposed to be overweight Alan, it's a plumpers mag" replied Downes. :no:
"Friggin' plumpers! What are they? Fans of Plumpton Athletic in the East Sussex amateur football league?! Never heard nothing so ridiculous, they're obese blubberdolls who can't find work and are so idle that all they need to is get them out and open their legs and it's free money!" shouted Knill slowly edging forward to catch a glimpse of the offending magazine.
"She's alright that one there with the brown hair" said an interested Alan.
Two rabbits, diddle ee did did ee. 
