excerpted ManUscript: A Knight, Stale

Somewhere deep in Old Trafford's vitals. A trio of smart-suited suits wait in an office. A desk sitting near-dormant precedes a chair sitting well-vacant, all preceding a season now sitting all-too tenuous.

The office door opens. The ass to whom the chair's groove belongs enters. Cue: The Tipping Point.

Sralex: Well, boys, Little Carlos has officially wandered into the City, sounds like our summer dealings are all about dealt with. Break out the Bud Light Limes!

Boardroommate #2: But Alex, we've--

S: Alex? Who the hell is Alex? I all of a sudden knelt before the god damn Queen for no reason at all, for shits n' giggles or something?

B2: (sighs)...Sir, we've lost two extremely vital offensive weapons, and still have most of the Ronaldo money left to spend on replacements.

S: What're you talking about, replacements? I already dealt with replacing those two little ungrateful shits while on the Tyne -- that's what the trip up north was for, or we don't remember that one, fellas?

Boardroommate #1: You came back with Michael Owen.

S: Did you or did you not see the brochure? Did you or did you not see the fifth page? Is he or is he not a Manchester United player in that picture? Answer all of those, right now, in order.

B1: (sighs)...yes, I did; yes, I did, and yeah, he kinda does. But those alone aren't really enough to take on Michael Owen at this stage, are they?

S: It looks like for free they most definitely were, sunshine. Am I right or am I right, guys? SUH-MER!

B2: But we don't need free. Like I said, most of the Ronaldo fee is still available to us. Atlético has called numerous times about their fee for Agüero. They're calling us, Alex.

S: ....

B2: ....

S: .......

B2: (exaggerated sigh)...I mean, Sir.

S: Look, we still have Wayne and Baby Berbz, so just think of Mike as not the new Tevez, but as the new Louis Saha, alright? That should cool your nerves, babe.

B2: It doesn't, really.

B1: Nor mine either.

S: And what about you, Doug Mutie? Got anything to say for yourself while we're here?


Boardroomate #3: ...uhhhh, well, for one, your other two buys were on recommendation from rival Premier League managers.

S: Well, it's not my fault that Brucie got the Black Cats job while I was up north, now is it? Look, I only called him to congratulate him on his new post, see if he wanted to meet up for eighteen holes and a mojito since I was up there, naturally. Totally harmless. So when he answers, of course he's in Honduras scouting, only he says he's stuck on account of some military haiku, or something? Didn't understand it then, still really don't. So anyway, we got to talking, and eventually we got around to Bitchiano leaving and he mentioned that he had had a winger at Wigan that looked like the lovechild of Ronaldo and Nani, but wasn't Portuguese and thus wasn't a whiny dive turkey. So I obviously had myself a gander, and he looked innocuous enough, so Bam! 16 mil, out the door. Seeing no problem with that, hoss.

B3: ...well...uh...alright whatever, what about the French kid, then? You didn't consult Arsène at all about him?

S: I mean, it's not like he told me, "Hey, Sir Alex, there's this kid on Bordeaux, plays on the flanks, shocks of talent; you should look into him." If anything, he mentioned him in passing.

B1: But Sir, if you don't mind me saying, THEY'RE YOUR COM-PE-TI-TION! As in those standing between us and our fourth straight title?

S: Who, Arsène? Are you high? He's waaay too busy listening to Melody Nelson on repeat to challenge this year, please. And are you including Sunderland, too? Honestly, what the fuck? Who thinks Sunderland is contending anytime soon?


B1: Well, no, obviously they aren't, but--

S: Look, I've gotta jet now if I wanna make this noon tee time.

B1,B2: Tee time?

S: (heading towards door) With Tiger at Turnberry, gentlemen. Gotta love those Nike connections, right? Heh-ha! What's up, summer!?

B2: But Sir Alex, the Ronaldo money -- the board would really rather see it not collect dust, and not just sit there.

S: (everything but one foot out the door) Sit there? Nah, boys, that money's marinating! Go ahead and look at a calendar for me, read back to me that it's 2009, otherwise known as the year preceding 2010.

All: 2010???

S: (from elevator) What are ya'll, thick? We're bidding for LeBron, bitches! WIT-NESS!!!