November 16 2006

008 himself

Jamesey reveals a fiendish plot hatched by Palace chairman, J.

A "safe" house in Whitehorse Lane

"Come in 008," called J.

An almost surreal orange/gold aura emanated from his eyes as he surveyed the muscular form of his top operative.

The smoke from his black Sobranie cigarette swirled upwards towards the ceiling fan as he walked towards the drinks cabinet.

"What's your poison, Dowie?"

"Bovril, please, J, stirred not shaken," said 008, his icy blue eyes fearlessly meeting the chairman's lazer-like gaze.

"Sit down. Dowie, and let's review the situation. I have to say that many of my more experienced advisers were against my giving you 00 "license to be relegated" status..."

"But..." came a strangulated gasp from the agent.

"Shut it," said the chairman, a discernible anger creeping into his formerly even tones.

"But then I told them you'd got us relegated so you could easily do it again at Charlton. As our double agent at The Valley, the intention was to do well at first and take them down at the end of the season.

"You did the job too well, too bloody early. Now with Les Reed at the helm they could come good again," snarled J.

"It wasn't my fault," blustered 008, "they actually asked the players what they thought of me and it stands to reason that crap players in a crap team will always blame the manager.

"Maybe they'll move for Peter Taylor?" said the agent unconvincingly.

The chairman permitted a hint of a smile to cross his golden visage.

"We can always hope," he replied.

There was a long silence as the two men faced each other like stags in the rutting season.

"When can I come out of the cold, sir," snivelled 008 suddenly.

"I just don't know," replied J. "It all cost so much thought and money to set up the whole thing. Our bad relationship, your family in the north-west, my court action against you, and all the rest of it. But it worked when Charlton took the bait.

"But to get yourself fired after 15 games. Damn, blast and damn," shouted the chairman, thumping his desk in uncontrollable rage.

"You're forgetting something, sir, said the agent with a smirk. "We still have another double agent over there who is more than capable of undermining the best efforts of the new manager. The man is Oddjob Harbin."

J was silent for a few seconds until a low rumble of laughter emerged up from under his Saville Row waistcoat.

"Perfect, perfect, 008," he smiled, and the house reverberated with the sound of mirth.

Email Jamesey with your comments to Jevans3704@aol.com

In Depth Jamesey's Veteran View Index