MOSS SIDE BARROW BOY PART THREE

Now in all honesty, it wasn't that bad. There were gems there if I looked hard enough; it was just a case of what I had to wade through before discovering the diamonds at my disposal. I thought that Israeli forward, Eyal Berkovic, looked half decent, and I made a mental note to make sure I didn't make tentative enquiries about John Hartson. Irish right-back, Richard Dunne also seemed a good squad man, so he was in. These two were joined by Alf Inge Haaland, Steve Howey, Carlo Nash, Paulo Wanchope, Shaun Wright-Phillips, and Paul Ritchie, unless the latter turned out to be a relation of the dread Shane. Then there was the infamous Shaun Goater, who I kept a close eye on. In Bermuda, his home country, they now celebrated a Shaun Goater Day, I heard, and it was easy to see why. The man looked clueless, lumbering around like a cut-price Hamilton Ricard, but he had the touch in front of goal. He was an easy contrast with Paul Dickov, who could have ran for Scotland; I rather hoped he would run all the way back there, the useless headless chicken. Lastly, I caught up with my old mate, Stuart Pearce. 'Psycho' was now a City coach as well as being the side's left-back, and he was still as fit and up for it as ever.

"Morning boss!" Stuart screeched as he shook my hand.

"No need for bellowing, son," I said, wiping the spittle from my face. I was glad he was on my side. His eyes burned with all the rage of someone who has just missed a penalty in a World Cup shootout, but I wasn't about to tell him that.

As for the rest of them, I was going to have to get tough. To begin with, I found it almost impossible to believe that Nicky Weaver was considered a potential England star of the future. Overweight and apparently with a taste for the bottle, he was effortlessly second to Nash in the line-up, and that was if I didn't find someone better first. Defender Andy Morrisson was one of those weird blokes who managed to look as wide as he was tall, and had this permanent red hue due to almost constant rage. He was a bit like the Incredible Hulk, if you took out the 'incredible' part. Another I had serious reservations over was the Australian Simon Colosimo, with whom I'd been involved back in my days as coach of the Socceroos. Essentially, he looked fine against a Tonga XI, but in the First Division I doubted he had any mental toughness. Danny gu-gu-Granville, the former Leeds man, was also on his way if I had anything to do with it, and I couldn't even look at Richard Edgehill…

I intended to shave the number of midfield personnel down quickly. What was Terry Cooke still doing here? And come to that, who was the bright spark who thought that re-signing Nicky Summerbee was a good idea? I didn't like the look of Algerian attacking midfielder, Ali Bernarbia, nor the exuberant (kind word for thuggish) Danny Tiatto. Kevin Horlock was a veteran from the Frank Clark days, and to be fair looked a decent bread and butter holding player. So I told him to hold my bags.

Of the forwards, I could see why Darren Huckerby had never made it at Leeds. I suspected he would be fairly okay at handling things in Division One, but was never going to be a genuine star forward. I'd never heard of Alioune Toure, and on the evidence of his training pitch performance, I could see why.

"Get me Swedes, Mickey," I pleaded down the phone, "and make it quick."

"Is it okay if I slip something inside them for safe-keeping for a little while. Just some goods I need to have hidden," he said.

"Not that sort of swede, you turnip."

"I knew what you meant, Tel," he said, and hung up.

Why did I call this chipstick, anyway? Why didn't I just use scouts like any normal boss? Was it because they didn't sort out those briefcase-exchanging meetings at motorway cafes that Mick was so helpful and understanding with?

Click here for Part Four.