Читать книгу: «The World’s Best Football Jokes»

COPYRIGHT

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

This edition published in 1993

First published in Great Britain by Fontana 1991

Copyright © Edward Phillips 1991

Cover by Tony Blundell

Illustrations © Graham Morris 1991

Edward Phillips asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

HarperCollinsPublishers has made every reasonable effort to ensure that any picture content and written content in this ebook has been included or removed in accordance with the contractual and technological constraints in operation at the time of publication.

Source ISBN: 9780006379621

Ebook Edition © JUNE 2016 ISBN: 9780008191986

Version: 2016-06-21

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Many people have assisted me with favourite football stories and anecdotes for this book and I should particularly like to thank the following:

Andrew Mitchell, Conservative MP for Gedling (Nottingham); Matthew Sturgis, football writer for the Independent; John Motson, BBC sports commentator; Des MacHale, Professor of Mathematics, University College, Cork; Ken Friar, Managing Director, Arsenal FC; John Howarth, Club Secretary, Blackburn Rovers FC; Brian Anderson, Club Secretary, Darlington FC; Bob Twyford, Club Secretary, Bristol Rovers FC; T. F. Newman, Club Secretary, Bradford City FC; Bill Kenyon, Club Secretary, Rochdale FC; George Binns, Club Secretary, and Ken O’Doherty, player, both of Huddersfield Town FC; J. T. Cale, Club Secretary, Oldham Athletic FC; Matthew Chiles, Administration Assistant, West Bromwich Albion FC; Brian Naysmith, Chief Executive, Fulham FC; John Adams, Vice-Chairman and Vic Jobson, Chairman, both of Southend United FC; R. Briggs of R. J. S. Programmes, Cleethorpes.

I am also grateful to Private Eye for giving me permission to use the extracts from the ‘Colemanballs’ series of commentators’ gaffes.

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Acknowledgements

The World’s Best Football Jokes

Keep Reading

Also in the Series

About the Publisher

THE WORLD’S BEST FOOTBALL JOKES

‘It’s a funny old game, football,’ as the captain said to the manager after his team had been trounced 6–0 in an important relegation match.

To which the manager replied grimly, ‘Yes – but it isn’t meant to be!’

What is football? It has been described as a game with twenty-two players, two linesmen and 20,000 referees.

One of the most famous footballers of all time is the legendary Stanley Matthews, who played for Blackpool and Stoke City at outside-right. It was said of him that he was so fast that when he went to bed at night, he could turn out the light at the bedroom door and be under the blankets before the room got dark.

A Scottish captain once lent the referee a coin for the toss and demanded his whistle as security.

Why do Pakistanis make very poor footballers? Every time you give them a corner they open a shop on it.

A desperate manager, whose team had lost fourteen consecutive games, rang a colleague for advice on training methods.

‘I’ll tell you what you should do,’ said his friend. ‘Take the team out on a six-mile run every day.’

‘What’s the point of that?’ asked the manager.

‘Today’s Monday,’ was the reply. ‘By Saturday, they’ll be thirty-six miles away and you can forget all about them!’

The manager of a club way down at the bottom of the Fourth Division placed eleven dustbins in formation on the pitch and had his team practise dribbling around them and passing between them before shooting for goal. After just one session he had to abandon this method of training for reasons of team morale: the dustbins won 6–0.

A match between two non-League teams took place last winter in the North of England. It had been raining heavily all week and the ground resembled a swamp. However, the referee ruled that play was possible and tossed the coin to determine ends. The visiting captain won the toss and, after a moment’s thought, said, ‘OK – we’ll take the shallow end!’

The following instruction recently appeared on the notice-board of a large car factory in Cowley: ALL APPLICATIONS FOR LEAVE OF ABSENCE FOR FAMILY BEREAVEMENTS, SICKNESS, JURY DUTY, ETC., MUST BE HANDED IN TO THE PERSONNEL MANAGER NO LATER THAN 6 P.M. ON THE DAY PRECEDING THE MATCH.

A goalkeeper had had a particularly bad season and announced that he was retiring from professional football. In a television interview he was asked his reasons for quitting the game. ‘Well, basically,’ he said, ‘it’s a question of illness and fatigue.’

‘Can you be more specific?’ asked the interviewer.

‘Well,’ said the player, ‘specifically the fans are sick and tired of me.’

Over breakfast one morning, a little boy kept staring intently at his grandfather. ‘Is anything the matter, son?’ the old man asked.

‘No, Gramps. I was just wondering what position you play in the football team.’

‘What are you talking about?’ laughed Gramps. ‘I’m far too old to play football.’

‘Oh,’ said the little boy. ‘It’s just that Dad said that when you kicked off, we’d be able to afford a new car.’

In a particularly rough tackle, a player was knocked unconscious. A first-aid man ran over and began to sprinkle water in his face and fan him with a towel. Slowly the player recovered consciousness and said groggily, ‘How the hell do they expect us to play in all this wind and rain?’

One Friday afternoon, late last season, a leading member of a big First Division club was tragically knocked down and killed by a hit-and-run driver. One of the reserves, seeing a chance to get a game at last, approached the coach and asked, ‘Do you think I could take his place, boss?’

That’s a good idea,’ replied the coach. ‘I’ll see if I can arrange it with the undertaker.’

A football widow decided to take an interest in the game in order to share her husband’s pastime. One Saturday afternoon she accompanied him to the local match. It was a good game: plenty of open play, good attacking movements and strong defence. She was enjoying the game when suddenly all the players except one froze and stood like statues. The active player grabbed the ball and shoved it up his jersey. Then he too remained motionless. The woman looked at the referee to see what action he was going to take, but he too was in a statue-like position.

‘Whatever are they doing?’ she asked.

‘Oh, they’re posing for the “Spot-the-Ball” competition,’ replied her husband.

An American visitor to England watched his very first football match and was struck by the differences between English and American football. After the match he fell into conversation with one of the English players and remarked, ‘You know, over in the States, our players wear thick protective clothing. You guys must be frozen stiff in those light clothes.’

‘It’s not so bad,’ said the Englishman. ‘Sometimes the ground is covered in snow.’

‘You don’t say!’ exclaimed the American. ‘What do you do about the balls? Paint them red?’

‘Oh, no,’ said the player. ‘We just wear an extra pair of shorts.’

A Fourth Division coach was addressing his team during a training session. ‘Now, lads,’ he said, ‘over the last few months, I’ve given you a lot of tips and advice on passing, dribbling, kicking and defensive play.’ The team nodded appreciately. ‘Well, you can forget it all,’ said the coach, ‘because we’ve just sold the bloody lot of you!’

A well-known footballer and his wife recently decided to take a holiday at a nudist camp. He was asked to referee the camp football match but, surprisingly, he declined the offer. ‘Why did you refuse to referee that match?’ asked his wife.

‘I wasn’t too happy about where I had to carry the spare whistle,’ replied the husband.

There was once a match in Liverpool between Anglican vicars and Roman Catholic priests. Early in the game the Catholics were awarded a penalty. Father Flanagan placed the ball carefully, took a long run at it, and kicked. The ball sailed high into the air and missed the goal by miles. Father Flanagan didn’t utter a word. He just stood there with a grim expression on his face. The team captain, Monsignor Ryan, came up behind him and said reprovingly, ‘Father, that is the most profane silence I have ever heard!’

It was the last game of the season. Mathieson had been with the team from the start but he was such a slow and clumsy player that never once had he actually been allowed to play, but had spent all his time on the substitute bench. At this last match, however, there were so many fouls and injuries that every substitute but him had been sent on. With ten minutes to go, yet another player was carried off the field and the coach looked at the substitute bench, his eye finally alighting on Mathieson. Mathieson’s face lit up. ‘Are you going to send me on, coach?’ he asked eagerly.

‘No!’ snapped the coach. ‘Just get out of the way. I’m going to send in the bench!’

The reigning Miss World – from Brazil – was invited to start a charity football match by performing the ceremonial kick-off. After an excellent game, which raised a great deal of money, a dinner was held. During the speeches which followed, Miss World made the evening for all present when, in broken English and with great charm, she said, ‘It eez great honour for me to kick off your ball; I will be pleased to come back any time to English football clubs and kick all your balls off.’

Did you hear about the England international player who had a date with a referee’s daughter? She penalised him three times – for handling, interference and trying to pull off a jersey.

Referees at Celtic Rangers matches always have a particularly hard time. One poor unfortunate, officiating at his first fixture, was checking in with the team managers before the kick-off. ‘Well, that seems to be about everything,’ said the Rangers boss. ‘Now, if you’d just like to give us the name and address of your next-of-kin, we can start the match.’

A player was being ticked off by the coach for missing a very easy goal-kick. ‘All right,’ said the player, ‘how should I have played the shot?’

‘Under an assumed name,’ snapped the coach.

The football club dance was in full swing when three strangers arrived and demanded admission. ‘May I see your tickets, please?’ said the club secretary at the door.

‘We haven’t got any tickets,’ said one of the men. ‘We’re friends of the referee.’

‘Get out of here!’ said the club secretary. ‘Whoever heard of a referee with three friends!’

‘When I started as a commentator,’ says John Motson, ‘I was bombarded by letters from an irate viewer in the north who resented my reference to the colour of shirts which teams were wearing. His point was that he came from a working-class family who could not afford colour television, and was fed up with being told who was in the red shirts or the green shirts, when he had no way of identifying them. Determined to do something to pacify him, I waited for a quiet moment in a match at Roker Park, and then came out with a remark I have never been allowed to forget! “For those watching in black-and-white,” I said, “Spurs are in the yellow shirts!”’

John once received a letter from the Race Relations Board when, after a particularly good goal by Watford, he said, There’s a case of Barnes doing the spade-work for Blissett!’ He adds that he didn’t intend this remark to come out the way it did – although nobody laughed louder than the black players themselves!

Another well-known television sports commentator, who shall be nameless, was talking to his friends in the pub one night. ‘It’s amazing,’ he said. ‘I’ve been in the business for twenty years and it just occurred to me today that I don’t know anything about the game at all!’

‘Well, why don’t you give it up then?’ asked a bystander.

‘I can’t,’ replied the commentator. ‘I’ve become a world authority!’

THE BEST OF ‘COLEMANBALLS’

Their manager, Terry Neil, isn’t here today, which suggests he is elsewhere.’ (Brian Moore)

‘With the very last kick of the game, Bobby McDonald scored with a header.’ (Alan Parry)

‘Well, it’s Ipswich nil, Liverpool two, and if that’s the way the score stays then you’ve got to fancy Liverpool to win.’ (Peter Jones)

‘Bolton are on the crest of a slump.’ (Anon)

‘You couldn’t have counted the number of moves Alan Ball made … I counted four and possibly five.’ (John Motson)

‘When one team scores early in the game, it often takes an early lead.’ (Pat Marsden)

‘And Meade had a hat-trick. He scored two goals.’ (Richard Whitmore)

‘I am a firm believer that if you score one goal, the other team have to score two to win.’ (Howard Wilkinson)

‘Ian Rush unleashed his left foot and it hit the back of the net.’ (Mike England)

‘It will be a shame if either side lose. And that applies to both sides.’ (Jock Brown)

‘It was a good match which could have gone either way and very nearly did.’ (Jim Sherwin)

‘He had an eternity to play that ball, but he took too long over it.’ (Martin Tyler)

‘Everything in our favour was against us.’ (Danny Blanch-flower)

‘Nearly all the Brazilian players are wearing yellow shirts. It’s a fabulous kaleidoscope of colour.’ (John Motson)

‘And so they have not been able to improve on their hundred percent record.’ (Sports Roundup)

The Oxford and Cambridge University student teams were due to play when one of the Oxford men had to drop out at short notice. ‘Why don’t we use Johnson, the head porter at Balliol?’ suggested the Oxford captain to the selection committee. ‘I’ve seen him play in a local amateur team and he’s a brilliant striker – absolutely unstoppable. We can get him a set of colours and as long as he doesn’t speak to anyone, we should be able to get away with it.’

The committee thought this might be a little unethical but in desperation they agreed to the plan. They rigged out the Balliol porter and put him on the left wing. He was, as the Oxford captain had said, unstoppable, and they beat Cambridge 9–1, Johnson having scored eight of the goals single-handed.

Afterwards in the bar, the Cambridge captain approached Johnson and said sportingly, ‘Well done, old boy! A magnificent effort! By the way, what are you studying at Balliol?’

The porter thought for a moment, then said brightly, ‘Sums!’

One of the lesser-known stories in Greek mythology tells of a classic football match on Mount Olympus between the Gods and the Mortals. The Gods trounced the Mortals 8–0 and attributed their victory to the brilliance of their new centaur-forward.

A First Division reserves team recently played against a side made up of long-term prisoners from Strangeways. (The Strangeways team were playing at home, of course!) The game had only been in progress for about ten minutes when the referee noticed that the prison team were fielding twelve men. Blowing his whistle angrily, he called the Strangeways captain over and said, ‘What the hell’s the idea of having twelve men on the field? Don’t you know that’s illegal?’

‘Well,’ said the captain, unabashed, ‘you know us – we cheat!’

A First Division player not noted for his modesty was regaling his friends in the local pub. ‘I came out of the ground after the match last Saturday and there were literally hundreds of fans outside waving autograph books at me!’ Noticing the sceptical looks on the faces of his listeners, he added, ‘It’s quite true! If you don’t believe me, ask Kenny Dalglish – he was standing right next to me!’

The rather unpopular secretary of a Fourth Division club was recently rushed to hospital with a suspected duodenal ulcer. The next day he received a get-well card from the club committee with the postscript: ‘The decision to send you this card was carried by six votes to four, with two abstentions.’

At a local derby between Arsenal and Spurs last season, a spectator suddenly found himself in the thick of dozens of flying bottles. ‘There’s nothing to worry about, lad,’ said the elderly chap standing next to him. ‘It’s like the bombs during the war. You won’t get hit unless the bottle’s got your name on it.’

‘That’s just what I’m worried about,’ said the fan. ‘My name’s Johnny Walker!’

In a crucial Cup semi-final a few years ago, the capacity crowd of 30,000 watched a rather diminutive striker get possession of the ball early in the second half. He was immediately tackled by three large defenders, and went down under a pile of thrashing arms and legs. Emerging dazed from the mêlée a few moments later, he looked round at the crowded stands and gasped, ‘How did they all get back in their seats so quickly?’