Later today, Tottenham Hotspur will play Fulham Football Club. This past weekend, Fulham fired Martin Jol, meaning that they'll be playing their first game under a new manager against us. We all know what this means: Fulham are going to beat us and Neil Ashton will have to call a doctor because his erection will last for more than four hours. This loss will undoubtedly make the dreams of the English media come true and end the villainous reign of Andre Villas-Boas.
Preparing for inevitable disappointment is what we do as Spurs fans, so Cartilage Free Captain decided to take a look into the future and get an idea of what some of AVB's most logical replacements might sound like as managers of the Lilywhites.
"Where did I get the idea for the 3-5-2? Well I've been thinking about it for a long time, probably since I first discussed it with Ramses II alongside the River Nile. As for why Erik didn't start, I think the decision was obvious. In a previous life, he was a dock worker in Poland who gave up his Jewish neighbors to the Nazis. Today he is finally paying the price. Next question?"
"It is not arrogant of me to say that the club would be nothing without me. Please show me the respect I am due. I am a European champion. I have managed the biggest clubs in the world. I have brought together multiple players of different languages and cultures together to become champions. I have taught Nelson Mandela the precepts of non violent resistance. I have performed open heart surgery on top of Mount Everest using only a toothpick and half a bag of Cheetos. Please show me the respect that these prestigious accomplishments deserve."
Stone Cold Steve Austin
"Well damn son, you better get your head on straight, because we got Sunderland in three days and I'm fixing to give them an ass whoopin' like they wouldn't believe. They're about the biggest piece of trash this side of the Thames. They run their mouth and talk their talk, but all they've done is earn a visit from the N316. This weekend, we're gonna saddle up in our trucks, roll down Wearside, take the field at the Stadium of Light, wait till the clock hits 3:16 and BURN THAT SON OF A BITCH TO THE GROUND!"
"11 goals from 13 games? E-fucking-nough. What the fuck is this? Blindfolded subbuteo? You need to learn to put the ball in the back of the fucking net. Today. If you do not score you will hear the sounds of the announcers marveling at your howlers for the rest of your miserable lives. From ring tones to fucking dance mixes on youtube. I will marshal all the media forces of darkness to hound you to an assisted suicide. Now get out of my fucking sight you massive, gaping, fucking wastes of carbon."
"Alright lads, gather round. This isn't hard. When you're on the field today I want you to imagine that you're a lad out on the town. And the goal is proper fit bird with a dress that is just --- fired? What do you mean I'm fired?"
"YEEEEEEEEEEEAH. YEAH. OH YEAH. WHO'S GOT NEXT? LET'S HURRY THIS SHIT UP. I GOT A BUCKET OF POUTINE AND A COUPLE OF LEAFS TICKETS BURNING A HOLE IN MY POCKET. WOOOO!"
The Aging Shadow of the Decaying Eldritch Gods Slumbering in the Long Ago
"This is a team of a fantastic dimension."