Football Crazy by Terry Ravenscroft, Ravenscroft Page A

the door but Donny jumped in. “Mr Price! Glad you popped back. About the haircuts; I'm afraid the lads just will not go along with it.”
    “ Sack t' lot of 'em.”
    Donny turned to the players. “You're all sacked.”
    “ You can't sack us for refusing to have our hair cut!' protested Barrel.
    “ He can do anything as he's a mind to,” said Price. “And if he can't, I can.” He looked the players up and down. “So, who's for a haircut, and who's for t' dole queue?”
    A few seconds went by. A few of the players looked at each other seeking support but most of them had suddenly found their feet very interesting. Parks exchanged worried glances with his reflection in the mirror. Price waited for them. “Well?” he said impatiently.
    “ Well....Well I were thinking of trying a new hairstyle, anyway,” said Moggs.
    “ Me too, Mr Proice, said Stock. “Oi mean speaking for moiself oi think it looks quoite attractive.”
    “ Especially with the moustache,” added Jacks.
    “ Aye, so do I,” agreed Cragg. “Youse can pit me down for one of they haircuts too, Mr Price.”

CHAPTER FIVE

    “ Sinclair is to his left and he also has options on his right” - Barry Davis
    “ I wasn't on his right at all, I was behind him - Gary Options”

    “ I gather that in previous seasons the police presence at your home games has been of a somewhat sketchy nature,” said Superintendent Screwer, making no attempt to keep out of his voice his disapproval of the previous laxness of the football club with regard to crowd control.
    “ Well we have the stewards, of course,” George pointed out.
    The Frogley Town secretary had agreed to meet the new chief of the Frogley police force to discuss, in Screwer's words, 'Some pressing matters of vital importance, quite possibly to life and limb', and Screwer's comment about how things had been run in the past had been his opening salvo.
    The police chief continued, the disapproval in his voice now replaced with disdain following George’s comment. “Professional persons are they, these stewards?”
    “ Well we pay them,” said George. “Ten pounds per game facing the pitch, fifteen pounds facing away from the pitch.” Then he added, smiling at the joke, “Although there are some who say it should be the other way round.”
    “ I think you'll find that those facing away from the pitch will spend half their time doing what they should be doing, half their time sneaking looks over their shoulders to catch covert glimpses of the game, and half the time picking their noses and scratching their arses,” said Screwer, in his voice of experience voice.
    George considered for a moment whether it would be worthwhile telling Screwer that he'd used three halves and that football was a game of two halves, as most football managers were wont to remind everyone on a regular basis, but as he didn't want to prolong the interview any longer than necessary he thought better of it; it would be going on for quite long enough judging by the length of the list of items to be discussed which the chief of police was now consulting.
    His opinions on the value or otherwise of stewards having been aired, Screwer continued to work his way down the list. “How many surveillance cameras have you got?”
    “ Surveillance cameras? Well we don't have any.”
    Screwer's head jolted back as though he had just received one of Mike Tyson's best right uppercuts. Almost choking he said, “No surveillance cameras! Why not for Christ’s sake?”
    “ We don't need them,” said George, matter-of-fact.
    Screwer's head shot back again. Not as far this time, because as it was already back from the previous occasion it didn't have very much farther to go before it collided with the wall behind him, which it did with a sickening thud.
    “ Shit!”
    George commiserated with the police chief. “Sorry, we're a bit cramped for office space; as you can see.”
    Screwer straightened his cap then glared at George. “What do