I'm Bert Tiddle and you've never heard of me. In 1985 I organized a party at the zoo for my teammates at Ipswich Town. None of them showed up because John Wark invited everyone to his house the same night, but who cares. It was more absinthe for me and the goats. Several of them died from drinking too much. I blame that on John Wark. John Wark is a numpty.
I was trying to eat a pie without using my hands while Accident, one of my 18 kids, timed me when I saw something that literally made me sick. Accident asked me if it was the pie. Of course it wasn't the pie, I made the pie myself using a recipe off a prison website. I spit the bits that were still in my mouth at him and he said, "Pop, stop spitting pie at me!" but I didn't. Anyway, what made me sick enough to spit pie at one of my 18 kids was the news that Kenny Dalglish and Anson Carroll were spotted at a Boyzone concert. Just writing that made me spit up pie again and I haven't even eaten any in the last few hours.
Now, I have no idea what a Boyzone is, but I'm assuming it's something the devil uses take advantage of middle-aged women. So for Dalglish and Carroll to be letting this perversity ooze down upon them on a night out when they should be doing unspeakable things in nightclub cellars is inexcusable. It shows just how soft football has come. When I was still playing, I used to invite Dalglish to get drugged up with me and go to the underground baby fights every week and he would always say, "No, Bert. It ain't twisted enough for me." At least, that's probably what he would have said if his missus ever handed the phone over to him when I would ring. Only reason I never played for Liverpool.
A mere 20 years later, he's taking his players to Boyzone and probably hasn't told a single one of them to send LSD pizzas to Wade Rooney's house. Disgusting. I'm going to take eight of my kids to ballet practice.
Anna Friel Monica Bellucci Minki van der Westhuizen Katharine Towne Malia Jones
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