An Inspired Talk
Every weekend I help out with a disabled sports team. One such weekend we were playing a pre season friendly. We got to half time losing 18-0. I felt this was the time for me to make my talk. A talk which would rally my troops, make them stand up and be counted, a talk which would inspire them towards the greatest comeback of all time. I gave the best bloody talk of my life, and led my lads back out for the 2nd half.

The whistle went and straight away the ball seemed to arrive at the feet of one of my boys. Spastic Steve picked the ball up into his hands. I could see that look in his eyes, the look where you wonder if he's all there or wether he's shit his pants.

Carrying the ball, he dodged one, dodged two, dodged three. The line approached faster and I could sense this was to be it. The start of the greatest comeback since Take That's reunion tour. Steve slipped tacklers like they weren't even there, I was now grateful he'd spent the entire warmup smearing butter over his nipples.

Just 30 seconds into the 2nd half and he'd done it. He ran towards the line, took a giant leap and touched the ball down between the posts. Steve ran away to the corner flag and started trying to chat it up. This is when the referee stepped in and booked him. I ran across to the celebrations to sort things out. "We're a fucking football team you spastic twat Steve, not fucking rugby players" I told him.

Steve, along with the rest of my team spent the rest of the match slapping themselves on the back of the head and taking it in turns to see who could shout 'Dime Bar' the loudest. It seemed my talk was a waste of bloody time.
(Fatima Whitbread's hardon drugs and the causes of drugs, Tue 24 Apr 2007, 7:24, Reply)