"Go Karts?"

Roig had been given the financial report for the month and I'd forgotten that the whole go-kart experiment had happened when he was out of town on business.

"what do you think this is? a playground? you put my millions of euros worth of players on a race track? madres de dios...."

"I thought it would be a good...."

"did you now? you idiot...they are paid to win football matches not drive go-karts!"

He was doing that window thing again, making me sit there not knowing if it was my turn to speak next or not. Eventually he turned towards me and held the report up close to my face.

"and this? €1000 for a new kart? what the hell happened?"

"err...there was a...err small fire and..."

"spare me the details...go on...out"

I made it as far as the door when he called me back.

"I hear you are having a small party tonight huh?"

I cringed, then turned towards him.

"yes, my wife's idea, a sort of house warming thing, you know, just a few of the players, no drink...all very quiet"

"I may just come along....you know, keep and eye on things"

.........................

"you did what?"

My wife wasn't pleased, but then it was hardly my fault he'd invited himself.

"you know he's just bluffing...he's old, he is probably tucked up in bed by 8"

I'd been against the idea from the start anyway. After the hotel fight and the go kart carnage I'd decided that the only place this lot should get together is on a football pitch.

Later that evening the guests gradualy arrived. We'd invited Pablo and he couldn't believe his luck being surrounded by players from his beloved Villareal. We had stayed good to our word and not provided drink.

It was around 8 when the first smell of drink filled the air. Either smuggled in or one of the players or coaches had come from a bar first. As guests spread out around the house we began to lose track of what everyone was up to. On the balcony things were hotting up.

It seems that Miralem Pjanic had been chatting up Pascal Cygan's girlfriend. He'd been calm enough to sort the whole thing out but when Pjanic saw his own girlfriend chatting to Francisco Duran, tempers flared.

Protesting his innocence, Duran tried to avoid getting involved but when a beer can was thrown (no-one ever found out where it came from) and knocked a vase over it was my wife who went for him.

Suddenly there was shouting everywhere. Lucy composed herself but Pjanic was after a fight and stank of beer. He got what he wanted in the shape of Lopez, hammered, and armed with a cactus and our TV remote control. They both went for each other and cheers went up. It wasn't until I saw my TV remote go over the balcony and into the pond that I got involved, wrestling Lopez off of Pjanic, restaining him in a headlock.

Suddenly everyone started to go quiet. I though perhaps it was thier shock in seeing thier boss get involved but then I spotted a familiar pair of expensive shoes. I looked up to see Mr Roig standing there with his wife.

Players backed away and pretended not to have been watching but I still had Lopez's head under my arm.

"errr...sir...can I get you a drink?"

One of the players giggled at this which only made it worse.

"perhaps a little talk huh?"

It was over an hour before I managed to explain the facts, Ruben had stepped in and told it like it was.

As one by one the players made thier way home just a grinning Pablo remained.

"if they show that kind of spirit against Racing on Sunday then you will be ok my lad" he said as he got up to leave.

As he shuffled off into the night he turned and said "great fun".

I closed the door behind him and turned to my wife.

"am I allowed to say 'told you so' now?"