If you’re into football, then you’re almost certainly into the Premier League and you’ll have some kind of an opinion on each of the managers competing in it, but I doubt you’ve ever wondered what it would be like to go out on the sesh with any of them, have you?
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Fortunately Twitter user Scott Oliver has decided to imagine getting on it with each and every one of them and the results are absolutely perfect. Take a look:
CIA-grade acid in Pep’s mountain poetry retreat. Everything groovy. 20 minutes in he’s in your personal space, asking “How is it?! It’s good? What you see?” You start explaining and melting at the same time. He dances around you. You go into the woods, and start running. Forever. pic.twitter.com/EGxJSaMBZl
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
His gaff, bottomless ashtrays of primo-grade coke (he shops at Waitrose). Jose holds court. Six lines in, it’s a stream of world-class anecdotes. Six hours in, you’re bored of his voice. But you can’t abandon the free coke. So you stay. And you hate yourself. Which he likes. pic.twitter.com/2WfZjDvqA4
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
Late-afternoon ciders at Roy’s local village cricket club. “I’ve been saving a special Highland malt if you’d like to come back”. You do. For Jazz, lasagna and single malt. You want to go larger. “I’m afraid my drug is football, but you please yourself”. “Know anyone?” “Sorry”. pic.twitter.com/CdZVOCqRu2
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
Beers and pizza at the bowling alley. He bumps into an old pal and buys 6g of speed. Next thing you know you’re three pills deep at a happy hardcore rave in Peterborough, Brendan’s flushed, manically gurning face covered in fluorescent glitter. 38 hours later, you’re still on it. pic.twitter.com/fAfwn7uwS8
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
Selection of craft IPAs get things rolling. Brucey then brings out ‘Meet the Fockers’ boxset and drops a stash of nitrous cannisters on the table. Later, you play the ‘Who am I?’ Post-it note game. Brucey guesses himself in two questions, sustaining a week of Whatsapp bantz. pic.twitter.com/ckKoDPe9tt
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
Sedate evening of poker on his back patio until, smiling like an apologetic yet kindly hedgehog, he opens an ornamental claret-and-blue box inside which are a dozen Quaaludes, which you neck. Several hours later, you’re lying in a bunker on an unknown golf course, wearing skirts. pic.twitter.com/aZYKOEjm92
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
“Meet at mine,” he says, no intention of going out. Plies you with booze. Controls the stereo religiously: Weller, Oasis. “Lads, shall we get some sniff?” It’s been six years. Sketchy contacts. You buy 2g of pub dust. Everyone pretends they’re off their tits. pic.twitter.com/QY3ibUvd6Z
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
A three-day trek chewing coca leaves to the hills above Cuzco, then an intensive 30-hour ayahuasca trip, Nuno acting as benign shaman, encouraging you to process, then purge all the negative feelings from the past, like the time you didn’t track back against Spurs. Transcendence. pic.twitter.com/TMrIBIv1Kl
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
Start with hash cookies then on to bongs and a 4-hour game of Risk in a lodge overlooking the fjords. The giggling fades. You want to leave; a dilemma, with him growing morose. His parents come home. You hide the stash. He says he has some crack if you fancy it. You do. pic.twitter.com/odJKmfFB2P
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
Catch Estonian speed-metal auteurs Glitch in Rijeka, sipping absinthe from hip flask, then whizzed to Split for anarchist squat party, Bilic scoring ketamine, racking up lines the size of pencils, then futilely attempting to conduct a debate on the politics of 3-5-2. Confusing. pic.twitter.com/7LYBfLik6G
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
Issues strict instructions to avoid booze, then ferries you to a medieval palace where, over 15 hours, he carefully administers pure opium in a 12th century ornamental pipe, taking you to ever higher plateaus of cosmic insight and tactical epiphanies. Exhausting. pic.twitter.com/rlncuLqY02
— Scott Oliver (@reverse_sweeper) November 8, 2020
Wow. The guy starts off well and really does not let up throughout the whole thread, pretty much accurately describing each manager’s personality and applying it to a major night out and doing so in around 50 words. A true talent.
Think my favourite one/most fitting was either Sean Dyche or Graham Potter as I think most of us would have found ourselves in situations with similar awful characters. Can’t really relate to some of the more extravagant ones, although the bleakness of David Moyes’ situation seems to aptly match his career as well. Scott Parker had a lot of energy too. Really great thread.
For more of the same, check out this thread of Steve Bruce hanging out at weddings. Something special as well.
