Arsenal manager Arsene Wenger plans on finally releasing his long-awaited autobiography in late April, and the publisher of the book, J.T. Marlin, leaked a few choice passages to the press earlier this morning.
The topics are pretty interesting, and the stories even more. Needless to say, this will be on everyone's gift wishlist. Below are a few of the snippets.
"So I walk into the dressing room to say hello to the lads, and there's the captain, Tony Adams, naked, spanking Martin Keown with a ping-pong paddle as David Seaman is holding him against his will as Ray Parlour is photographing the events unfolding. Like, seriously, it looked like a crime was being committed. But Keown is laughing like a mad man! It turned out that Keown took the squad on a team building excursion at the pub and this was the trust exercise the barkeep taught them.
Ferguson invited me into his office before a match at Old Trafford this one time. He was jittery and barely speaking coherent English. As if he was trying to talk from the very back of his throat without moving his lips. His eyes were bloodshot. I asked him what was going on, and he said that he had an secret thing of his that he needed help with. Turns out the Scot had a thing for Posh Beckham!
He said that he logged into his AOL Instant Messenger account under the name "Gimpmask6971" and was stalking poor Posh every day after training in the hopes he'd be able to convince her to leave David for him. I smiled, patted him on the shoulder, and told him I'd help him out. He thanked me, and I walked out of his office. Did I tell anyone? No, but I finally figured out who was sending me the photoshopped photos of Georgie Thompson in very provocative situations.
Listen, it's not proximity between Arsenal and Chelsea, or the threat of our club back when he started the first time over there, or just Jose being Jose that fuels his hate towards me. It goes further back than that.
I was guest of his in his Porto home one summer back during his first couple years at the local club, and he was very welcoming. The best cheese, clams and port a guy could ask for was available for us to snack on as we discussed managerial philosophies. We laughed, we drank, we looked forward to where we saw ourselves in the future. And then the man committed the ultimate sin by subconsciously reaching his hand down his pants and giving himself a good scratch...and then using the same hand to paw the cheese like a blind man feeling out his surroundings!
I could not believe my eyes. He went to the kitchen to get more port, and I took it upon myself to rub my berries all over the cheese plate, all over the rim of his port glass, and I released a bit of personal fumes on the clam dish. Thing is, I was halfway through decorating the cheese when he walked back in. You should have seen the look on his face! He kicked me out at once, but not before I told him that if we ever cross paths again that he's getting an invite to my own cheese, clam and port dinner.
When he gave me that letter, I cocked my fist back and smoked him once in his eye and told him if he ever steps to me with that dumb noise again he's getting my foot up his ass. Needless to say, we didn't talk after that, and we eventually sold him to Gimpmask6971.
Sure, absolutely. The club is great. They've treated my family well, and they gave me a job in a country who didn't have an inkling of who I was at the time I was hired.
But other things I wouldn't do, if given a second chance, would be allowing Ashley Cole to convince me that the burning sensation was an internal contact dermatitis that only special, rich people get after smoking cigarettes with prostitutes. Another would be sneaking Tony Adams out of jail, behind the coppers' backs, disguised as a fellow inmate.
Maybe the last thing I wouldn't do if given a second chance would be tagging White Hart Lane with gang insignia. You wouldn't know it, but I got nicked for that offense and had to do community service at the Tottenham School of Unintelligent People Who Still Pee and Poop The Bed and Who Make Fun of Arsenal's Disabled Fans, the one that's located in Edmonton. It was difficult and hard to do, and I learned my lesson. Needless to say, every time I stood around the locals there while serving my time, they were always standing directly in my shadow, looking up at me and squinting.