MOSS SIDE BARROW BOY PART FIVE

Without further ado, I spent the month before season's start rejigging my side with the sort of speed that even Joe Stalin in full-on purge acceleration would have applauded. First to go were the youth teamers who acted like they couldn't have cared less what happened to the team, which in fairness was most of them. My Assistant Manager, Willie Donachie helped me to sift through the Academy, though I noted that the veteran coach hardly looked too bothered himself. I could see this because whenever I asked him about a player, he would answer with a shrug and the sort of non-committal response that suggested he hardly knew much about them himself.

"What should we do with Leon Mike then, Willie?" I would say.

"Dunno really, keep him I suppose," came the response.

"And what about Stephen Cartwright? He doesn't look that good but he is only 14. Do you think he has what it takes?"

"I suppose so, haven't had much of a chance to catch up with him."

Donachie's utter boredom at what he was doing - coupled with the fact that he was clearly very cosy here - had me looking around for a replacement. Garry Pendrey, the onetime Birmingham manager was available, so I started to make tentative enquiries about recruiting him.

"Willie, I'm considering replacing you with Pendrey," I told Donachie later, in an effort to get through to my Number Two.

"Fair enough Tel," he replied, sketching a face on his notepad and blowing impressively sized bubbles with his gum. "Can't say I blame you really."

"Are you not concerned about losing your job?" I asked.

"Don't know," he said. "Can I go home now please?"

That was Donachie sorted out, and I also considered hanging Asa Hartford out to dry. For me, Asa had been with the club perhaps too long, always a danger when a new regime comes in. He'd even been temporarily installed as manager once, in between the disastrous Stevie Coppell appointment and the only slightly safer Frank Clark, but that wasn't enough to save him now. I saw that Vinny Jones was in between film projects and looking for work, and felt that the Wimbledon nutcase might provide a useful counterpoint to my Cock-erney matiness and Pendrey's reputation for fatherly understanding.

Along with the outgoing kids, I started to trim the professional squad in anticipation for my new arrivals. First to go was midfielder Jeff Whitley, who despite being a longstanding City player was in fact only 22. The Northern Ireland international (doesn't this say it all?) went to Sunderland for £1m. The swiftness that Peter Reid showed in getting his man (he'd only been on the list for three days) worried me a little, but I comforted myself with the knowledge that the primate had previously scored transfer coups with Jason McAteer and Lilian Laslandes. Besides which, if there was one thing this club had enough of it was defensive midfielders. Whitley was third in line behind Alf Inge Haaland and Kevin Horlock, so first team chances would be few and far between. On the same day, bobbins New Zealand striker, Chris Killen, joined Cardiff for £200k and we said a fine ta-ta to Paul Dickov. The Scottish headless chicken was snapped up by Stoke for a plum £750k. Clearly, they needed people who would run about ineffectually all day. Walsall wanted a rubbish right back, so they quickly forwarded the £300k required for Richard Edgehill's signature. That was a good bit of business for a player about whom I'd written mainly curses in my player assessment.

I'd been keeping my eyes out for goalkeepers for some time, and was delighted to find a mere £10k was enough to entice 20-year old Portuguese shot-stopper, Hugo Pinheiro, to Manchester. Mick the Lips urged me to make AIK's veteran goalkeeper Daniel Andersson (known to Stockholm fans as 'Hands') my starter for the new season, and £475k was the trifling amount required to make him mine. With this position now well filled, I felt able to get shot of blubbery Nicky Weaver, and was stunned to see Newcastle waste £675k on him. Maybe Bobby Robson wasn't the eagle-eyed pundit I'd always taken him for. Then again, Steve Hodge had been a regular in his England team.

Defensively, we were well sorted. As we would be playing three at the back, places would be fought over fiercely, and I made only one major enquiry, which would see Egyptian centre-back, Ibrahim Said make his move to the chilly north. £900k was a lot to pay for him, but I had a feeling he'd be worth it. A scan of the free transfer market revealed that Portuguese youngster, Espin was out of work, and so signed him as back up to Psycho. Former Leeds craphouse, Danny gu-gu-Granville was allowed to join Preston North End for £1m, a princely sum for a less than royal player.

My Swedish connections paid off with the capture of Norrkopping's left-winger, Kristian Bergstrom. I actually wanted Matt Etherington from Spurs, but Glenn Hoddle kept bleating on about how he was one for the future, and besides he seemed to have bought into Hod's nonsense about faith healing.

"Every day in every way, I'm getting better and better," Etherington warned me with a look of blank-eyed sincerity that suggested Eileen Drewery was producing daleks rather than footballers. Still, I wasn't disappointed to get a player at his peak like Bergstrom, and the £625k price tag was a further pleasure. Just in case he didn't work out though, I negotiated with AIK to have Daniel Tjernstrom brought to England on a free in November. And surprise surprise! My mate Satan turned out to be quite right about Stefan Selakovic. He came at a right old cost (£1.3m to Halmstad, £23k per week for him) but I knew we had a right-sided star on our hands. In celebration, I persuaded Jim Smith at Derby to let us have young attacking midfielder, Tonton Zola Moukoko, for £250k. Stupid, stupid name, I know, but the boy looked like his right foot had a blessing on it, and anyone who could challenge Eyal Berkovic's starting spot was all right by me.

Just as I had whittled down our striking force, it was time to bring in new blood. AIK was once again my destination, and a lucrative £650k for the ex-Newcastle forward, Andreas Andersson. I liked Andreas, and was sure that his nightmare under Kenny Dalglish was nothing more than a blip. I mean, look at Jon Dahl Tomasson for your proof. At some point or other, the Devil appeared to me in a dream, I think, and said he had created a player for my team. His name was To Madeira, and he suggested that the Portuguese boy would become a God if I got him. Nice one Satan. He hadn't let me down on his recommendations in the past, so a generous offer of £250k was quickly faxed off to Gouveia. To would not start at first, with Andersson and Paulo Wanchope sealing down those roles, but he was certainly one to come off the bench. It always helped to have the Lord of Flies as a scout, in my book.

Go here for Part Six (officially the most boring of the chapters, in my opinion, very little happens...)