criticism of the Drinking Game's inventors, referring to them as ‘a lightweight bunch of girls who, if they ever bothered to take part, would probably be hospitalized’. It's all pretty scary stuff.
When trawling the internet, however, this behaviour is really just the tip of the iceberg. The aforementioned Jeff Stelling Fanclub (www.jeffstellingfanclub.com), to whom I'm eternally grateful for their support (please don't come to my house), hold an AGM in my honour every year. God knows what the minutes must involve, but a group of grown adults who should know better have held meetings in places such as Lancaster where, according to their slightly unnerving blog, members ‘went to the Walkabout bar to watch the [FA Cup Final] and they had terraces and chicken in a basket. The clumsiest man in the world threw beer over everyone, Chelsea won the cup in extra time and afterwards everyone said the game was really boring but we really enjoyed it! In the evening we danced to 80s music and went to a gay bar. A very confused-looking man pulled Barrow-in-Furness out of the hat for next year's AGM.’
But that's not all. Follow the relevant links from the website of the JSFC (as I like to call them) and you'll discover that a poet named P. Maguire has even posted a rambling whimsy in tribute to the show. According to experts it is ‘a bit crap’, but make up your own mind:
‘The Name's Stelling, Jeff Stelling!’
Jeff Stelling, Jeff Stelling
Is really compelling, Like James Bond, As slick and as smooth. Kamara has passion, McQueen now in fashion, And Thommo is biased, it's true!
Jeff Stelling, Jeff Stelling,
His name I love spelling, Like James Bond, As smart and as cool. Charlie Nicholas is charming, Le Tiss is disarming, But Cottee is not quite as cute!
Jeff Stelling, Jeff Stelling,
This love never quelling. Like yours for your Dear Hartlepool. The goals you announce As like leopards we pounce, 'Cos you never say where or for who!
Elsewhere, another internet site called www.dangerhere.com – how very apt – has devised a series of spoofed James Bond movie posters, with the finely-chiselled mugs of Roger Moore, Sean Connery, Pierce Brosnan, Timothy Dalton and Daniel Craig replaced by mine. They've even devised movie plots for each imaginary flick:
Dyer Another Day: On his own initiative, 007 (Stelling, Jeff Stelling) makes the long trip from Hartlepool to Newcastle to have a word with wayward Mag Kieron Dyer, whose camcorder constantly gets him into hot water. To spare the blushes of Dyer's latest dolly bird, 007 finds himself regretfully having to use lethal force against said electronic device. Thankfully, his handsome Sky salary means he can comfortably afford to pay the bill subsequently forwarded to him by Dyer's solicitor.
[Note to readers: after this top secret mission, Kieron Dyer was ‘relocated’ to West Ham. Maybe something to do with the Witness Protection Plan, who knows?]
For Your Eyes Rodney: After plans for a new digital football highlights service are lost at a motorway service station, BSkyB begin a feverish search for them. As Bond (Stelling, Jeff Stelling) joins the search, he suspects Rodney Marsh of involvement in the affair. Bond finds an ally in the beautiful Kirsty Gallagher, a 12-foot-tall ex-supermodel-turned-secret agent, who blames Marsh for the troubled history of the Tampa Bay Rowdies. The plot thickens when Marsh takes a shine to Bond's bird, leading to Bond's abandonment of his original mission in favour of a bid to assassinate Marsh at the earliest opportunity.
In Her Majesty's Secret Service Station: Sky Sports Boss ‘M’ (Rupert Murdoch) assigns 007 (Stelling, Jeff Stelling) with the task of formulating a plan to foil the ambitions of BBC One's Football Latest programme, hated rival of Gillette Soccer Saturday. 007 repairs to his habitual haunt, Winchester Services on the M3, and enjoys his favourite, a pint of extrastrong coffee and a scone with butter.
Like I say, the internet is a scary place. But, if you ever feel bored one Saturday afternoon, if you're desperately single, or if you want to know what it must have been like to have been a footballer from the 1970s, why not play the official Soccer Saturday Drinking Game? If you're brave enough, the rules are as follows:
Necessary equipment:
Lager
A bottle of Jägermeister
A bottle of whisky
Red Bull
A sick bag
Current Rules:
1 Every time a goal is scored: one shot of beer must be drunk.
2 Every sending-off: one shot of Jägermeister (or substitute) must be downed.
3 Half-time: absolutely no alcoholic beverages may be imbibed during this period.
4 Whenever Chris Kamara is talking: you must be drinking continually.
5 Whenever Paul Merson uses stupid rhyming slang (i.e. ‘He's hit the beans on toast!’): one shot of Jägermeister must be drunk.
6 In the second half, competitors can only refer to teams by their nicknames: failure to do so results in a three-beer-shot penalty.
7 Whenever Swindon Town appear on the videprinter: last person to shout out, ‘Mackerel!’ takes shot of Jägermeister.
8 Whenever Dundee appear on the videprinter: last person to shout out, ‘Football’ takes shot of Jägermeister.
9 Every time Phil Thompson says, ‘Stevie Gerrard’: three shots of beer must be drunk.
10 Every time Jeff makes an ‘A. Trialist’ joke: three shots of beer must be drunk.
11 Each time your team scores: two extra shots of beer must be drunk.
12 Every time Matty Taylor and ‘goal of the season’ are mentioned in the same sentence: drink one shot of Jägermeister.
13 Every time Jeff calls Kenny Deucher ‘The Good Doctor’: one shot of whisky must be drunk. Note: Given that Deucher now rubs shoulders with the likes of David Beckham in the MLS, this rule is now defunct.
14 Any hint of racism (social or otherwise) from any of the pundits: ‘Quad bombs’ (four cocktails made of Jägermeister and Red Bull) must be drunk by all competitors.Further note: This is a hugely unlikely incident, though I do remember one Spurs game being watched by Charlie Nicholas. The elastic on someone's shorts had gone and a replacement pair were fetched by the backroom staff. ‘Here's one for the girls,’ laughed Charlie. ‘His shorts are around his ankles!’ Thommo looked over and quipped, ‘Maybe it's one for the boys.’ Without thinking, I said, ‘Maybe, but not the boys I associate with.’ Later, there was a complaint that I had made a homophobic remark, though that was never the intention.
15 Every time Hartlepool score a goal: three shots of beer.Highly unlikely to get you drunk on an afternoon. More's the pity.
16 Every time a pundit shouts off-camera: two shots of beer must be knocked back.Of course, this happens all the time, though it all adds to the drama of the show. The studio is meant to have a relaxed atmosphere. People have said that the show thrives on bar-room conversation, but I'd like to think that it has a more intelligent angle than that. But basically it is five mates standing in the pub talking about football,
