OK this is how I see it panning out.
Tuesday pm
Deano and Richard O'Kelly have left the Cheltenham match in the hands of Thomas Franck (so what else is new some may ask). They sit together on the sofa in Smith's darkened front room re-watching the first 2 episodes of BBC's sensational hit series: "Bodyguard". It's brilliant! Sergeant Budd's ice cold, robotic military efficiency under stress is frighteningly effective. As he calmly reverses the Minister's BMW at break-neck speed through the London streets, Dean sees all too clearly the achingly wide chasm in self-control under pressure between these highly trained guardians of our democracy and our own panicky dim-wits. After the credits have rolled he reviews the goals we have so far let in. The schoolboy error against Stoke, that nonsense against Villa, on moments such as these do seasons succeed or fail. There again, there's the impetuous Neal Maupay, this kid has been an accident waiting to happen, that suspension had been coming for a long time. This stuff is costing us points, and just as beanz meanz Heinz, points mean prizes.
Dean turns to O'Kelly: "Bliomee Deek, this is wot we need innit? A bit o' this militry lark, our lads need to be more loike soljers and less loike a fookin' boonch of tarts. Ow d'we learn 'em to stye carm'n fowcosed an tha' thow? ". (O'Kelly does'nt reply, it's a rhetorical question)
They go online and google: "Combat and Survival Techniques". Two hours later, their minds are made up and after a couple of phone calls it's all sorted...
Wednesday am
Following the debriefing after the Cheltenham game, all the first team squad get herded into the Bees Bus, Buzz-Bee climbs aboard and heads off to a secret location "Somewhere in the middle of Salisbury Plain". On arrival, all internet capable equipment is confiscated and a media blackout is imposed. An ex-SAS sergeant major hands each of our boys a 15 kilo rucksack then leads them through the drizzle into the middle of fck knows where.
Friday lunchtime
For 48 hours there is neither hide nor hair of them. Then, as Buzz-Bee and Betinho wait by the bus playing stone paper scissors, they reappear out of the out of the mist. The difference is obvious, even Betty's meaty cerebral cortex can comprehend the metamorphosis. They sauntered off as boys, they march back as ram-rod backed MEN. Their jawlines a set in silent determination, their gimlet unblinking stares search ceaselessly for impending threats, their steady hands hover above their automatic weapons. OMG, focused isn't the word, these guys are well scary. They line up, salute the S-M then fall out and re-enter the bus.
Back at Jersey rd., Deano, O'Kelly and TF are well pleased with the results of the course and
after a light training session the lads warm down with a bit of one to one "Krav Maga", or "Kosher Kun-Fu" as it's known in the Israeli Airborne Commando Regiment (and who's going to argue with them - not me for one). A little bit of Dean wonders whether he may have taken things a bit too far.
Saturday 2.45 pm
The platoon march out in double time in the red and white shirts (tucked in) we love so much. We go again with a selection unchanged from last week's defeat. But with their new focus and determination, Dean walks towards the Andy Scott Memorial Dug-Outs in confident expectation. Forest run out in their lovely, limited edition, third strip of sludge yellow and washed out navy blue (and we think our away strip is sh*t!).
Our new self discipline is immediately evident; each time the ref whistles up we stop and stand to attention and every time he speaks to them, they address him as "Sir". In contrast one narrow eyed look from Canos or Watkins and the burly Forest defenders run away crying. The boys are also following the pre-match orders to the letter, and this results in perfectly executed set-pieces and faultless defensive teamwork. Forss scores two from immaculate passing moves. No celebrations from the lads, they're just doing their duty.
Ealing Road goes nuts.
HT
Us: 2 - Them: 0
Second half we’re even better, gone are the misplaced passes, gone is the hesitance and uncertainty. Sawyers scores one for himself while the forest back four whimper and huddle together in fear. As we move into the final 5 minutes there is no loss of concentration or focus. It's fabulous stuff. At the final whistle, the Forest players all wave white hankies as our boys all fall-in in the centre circle, line up, salute each side of GP and whistle "Colonel Bogey" as they march smartly off.
Mission accomplished.
FT
Us: 3 - them: 0
Later, in the Officers' Mess ie director's suite, MB, RA etc dress up like ponces and drink port and brandy. Downstairs in the NCOs' Mess, ie The Dressing Rooms, now off duty the lads relax and following a couple of beers, a right barney kicks off, our squad beat the sh*t out the Forest boys and then out of each other. Then they all go out together and get the regimental tattoo. It's a man's world.
Good Times!