In a mysterious occurrence, far too complicated to explain to anyone lacking a degree in quantum physics, Watford’s tenacious midfield lion, Roger Joslyn, has been transported from 1978 to today’s first-team squad. Caught in a maelstrom of conflicting ideologies, Jaws is forced to adapt to modern life. Colin Payne finds out more...
Following another particularly gruelling training session, after which Roger acquired frostbite after adding liquid nitrogen to his ice bath because it was too warm, the manly midfield marauder is not in the best of moods. Prostrate upon the table in the London Colney medical room, with a silver foil blanket attached to electric heating filaments wrapped around him, the rest of his colleagues know better than to interrupt him, even though he has only been in their time dimension a few days.
Hesitant club captain, the ever-affable Tom Cleverly, approaches, the usual smile replaced with a sombre look upon his boyish face.
Tom: “Bad news Roger, the gaffer’s been sacked.”
Roger: “Shame, he seemed a nice bloke. Why did he go?”
Tom: “It’s how it is around here, Mr Pozzo ain’t the most patient bloke. You’ll get used to it.”
Roger: “How long was he here for? I never really got to know him.”
Tom: “Only eleven, hardly given a chance.”
Roger: “Eleven? I’ve worked with gaffers that haven’t seen out five years, poor old Mike Keen, lovely bloke God bless him, didn’t even make that. Eleven ain’t too bad at all.”
Tom: “No Roger, eleven games.”
Roger: “Whaaaat!”
Tom: “Eleven games.”
Roger: “Sod this. Get me back to 1978!”