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The thoroughly depressing diary of Tony Mowbray, aged 46.


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My Diary by Tony Mowbray

Woke up this morning and gave a long, deep sigh...........* sigh *.

I sat up slowly and slouched forward, as I sat on my bed, I gave a low quiet whistle and Rex, my beloved pug dog came trudging in with my grey slippers in his mouth. I took the slippers slowly from him.......they were damp with his saliva.......I didn't mind though, Rex is a poor old thing. He is 20 human years old......he is completely deaf......he shits all over himself.......he is almost dead.........*sigh*.

I finally stand up after 2 minutes of building up my motivation, I put my right foot into my damp right slipper first, followed gingerly by my left foot into the left slipper.....which is also damp.....I slowly step over toward the window. I look out from behind the net curtain, there is a little bit of drizzle coming down, it looks like it will get heavier.......and the sky is grey. I go into the bathroom where I have a quick wash, the water is lukewarm, I dont like it too hot or too cold.....just plain, room temperature water will do me. I brush my teeth and follow this up with mouthwash......I then take a sip of Calfig and sit on the toilet waiting for the laxitive to take effect.....5 minutes, and then it does.

I slowly creep down the stairs, my wife leaves the room as I arrive, she tells me she has left me out my breakfast. There is cornflakes with pasteurised milk, 3 slices of toast smeared with low fat immitation butter ( Iceland's equivelant of I cant believe its not Butter.....its called " What!? Not Butter !?". ) I do not sprinkle sugar on my cereal, I have it plain, it's for eating....not enjoying. I take my immitation buttered toast and ponder momentarily with the idea of Marmalade, I decide against this after careful consideration, it's not Saturday yet ! I look around for the teapot but it seems Wifey has forgotten " Wife where is the......." * door slams* ".........tea...........*sigh*.

As I search the table with wild eyed gusto I have to remind myself to calm down......I take a deep breath and sigh......I notice an almost clean drinking glass sitting beside a scratched liquid jug ( scratched and battered by a million breakfast pourings ) it contains an enchantingly orange liquid. After calmly deducing it may indeed be orange juice.....I uncharacteristically decide to live wild, I decant some of the sweet smelling orange juice into my almost clean glass.

.....................................I sip slowly.

The taste is of sheer vomit and horror as the juice mixes with the taste of my toothpaste, Calfig and mouthwash, I half-jog to the sink and begin to spit out the foul potion that offended my mild and simple taste-buds. Will anything ever go right for me?............*sigh*. After sitting down to recover from the exhaustion of breakfast I get ready for work.........*sigh*.

I iron my shirt, sleeves first, then back and then front unbuttoned, followed by pressing my trousers in my Remington trouser press that Wifey got from Index after Argos had sold out of my first choice model. I shine my shoes slowly with intent.........

Rex limps in and slabbers all over my freshly polished shoes.....poor mutt......he cant do anything right.......for reasons unknown I feel empathetic to Rex's plight. After re-shining my shoes and a quick read at the obituary section in the Catholic Herald I head out to my trusty car......a grey Volvo Estate. I drive on the road never topping 30 miles per hour just to be safe. Depression fills me as I near Lennoxtown. Like I said on my first week in the job , these are terrible players who will never win anything. Tensions have been up since the players demanded a meeting with me, they told me they had won 3 titles and made the last sixteen of the Champions League.......I simply said in a quiet voice....."that's not the Celtic way, Gary." . Sometimes.....I think these players care more about winning than drawing, it is strange.

Back when I was a player we had to compete with masonic referees and every non celtic fan and player in Scotland being a third degree scottish rite free mason and/or orangeman, our failures were APPLAUDED such was the depth of masonry, orangeness and hunnery at every level of every walk of life in Scotland. In all my time at Celtic, we never once lost a game fairly ! These current players play as if there is no masonic conspiracy? I dont understand this attitude.

I arrive at Lennoxtown as Scott rifles in a beautiful scissor kick which was set up by an overhead kicked cross by Zheng Zhi...........it is an odious sign. Scott looks at me like a child looking for daddies praise........I shake my head.....look down.........and sigh. Scott shakes his head and turns his back to me, he must learn not to be too confident though, it's for his own good. Gary comes to me after a thoroughly depressing training session under a grey drizzly sky and tells me the players feel there is a cloud of depression over the club.....I assure him....."get used to it Gary, you'll be gone before it goes.". We arrange to meet back at the stadium for tonights Europa League defeat. Training is over and I drive into Glasgow City Centre.

I stop off at Queen Street station to utilise their WH Smith facilities where I purchase a new puzzle book, three sachets of instant Chicken Cup-a-Soup and a Ham and Cheese sandwhich. I have to do my own dinner tonight as Wifey is helping her Yoga instructor Pablo with his English. Pablo is 6 feet tall with long flowing blonde hair, he is always smiling and excited.......I find him too much. My wife has built quite a friendship with him though. Maybe we should offer him Rex's room once he dies........

As I exit the station I am approached by what appear to be Down's Syndrome lads, they are wearing Celtic tops. One froths at me something about being Rangers' only and best signing of the summer while the other one keeps saying something about Chucky or something.....maybe he was asking if I'd seen the horror films with that scary doll. I dont watch horror films anyway, they disrupt my sleepy time. After the two spaztics got onto the special bus which had several other mentals on it ( must have been a charity or something, it had "Coatbridge CSC" on it or something ) I decided to head to the stadium.

After the game ( we lost ) I went home quite happy. Walter phoned me and told me he knew how it felt to lose at home, I assured him I was fine, he then offered me some advice....." Tony, please, PLEASE, PLEASE,PLEASE, keep doing EXACTLY what your doing now! Dont change for anyone ! " , I thanked Walter for his suprising support , anyone would think I was keeping HIM in a job ! ha !

Wifey was not back yet which was strange at 11pm.........

I had a nice sugar free cup of Hot Chocolate and watched the Sky Plus'd Corrie I missed from earlier tonight, I almost feel good when I watch Corrie........Norris and Rita had a falling out though. I felt better after I had attained half a semi erection to Rosie Websters shakey watery tits.

I then curled up in bed with Rex and went to sleep. What a mild day.

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bookmarked it... fuck that at this hour ahaha


Tragedy is the word that shoots into my mind whenever I look at Tonail Mopery. I hope to be seeing him for a long long time :P . what an awful manager he is :):P ! Makes Walter look like Pep Guardiola !!

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