I’m awoken by the sound of my mobile ringing on my bedside table. In my half asleep state I fling out an arm to reach it, but with the zero coordination I possess in the moment, my poor hand smacks straight into the side of the table. Cursing loudly, I swing my legs out of the bed and sit up, grabbing the phone violently like it’d just personally inflicted my injury. I look at the phone to see that the call is coming from a withheld number. The time is 1:34am.
“Hello?” I snap irritatedly.
“Och Aye”, chirps the ambiguously accented voice on the other end of the phone, “It’s Sir Alex Fergietime, I just wanted to tell you how much I look up to and admire you as a Manager” the voice says, seemingly through a fit of giggles.
“Who is this?” I bark. The line goes dead.
Annoyed, I settle back down in bed, and after a few minutes I start to doze. Shortly afterwards though, my phone rings again. This time I leap out of bed and grab it instantly. Seeing that the number is blocked again, I answer aggressively.
“What?” I shout.
“DILLY DING DILLY DONG” Squeals the equally unrecognisably accented voice in reply. “It’s me, Sir Claudio Ranieri. I want you to take over Chelsea when I leave because I respect you so, so much” The layers of sarcasm coming through the phone are so thick that I’m afraid they’ll drip out onto the floor.
“How long has it been since you’ve followed football?” I ask with a sigh. The giggles on the other end are very clearly audible. “And Ranieri’s not even a…”
“Hey it’s me, Fat Sam”, says the suddenly incredibly gruff attempt at a Northern English accent.
“Fat Sam yeah?” I ask flatly. The voice goes quiet. “It’s Big Sam, and you sound like Bollo, you dick.”
“Who?” Replies the voice. I’m taken aback. There’s a familiarity to the accent now. I don’t think this one’s put on. It’s the kind of voice that makes you want to start kicking water bottles and flipping tables, so that the connect 4 sets that sat on top of them go hurtling towards the ground.
The line goes dead.
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