"Mmm... Tell me: do you know how long you've been in here?"
"Yes, of course - I've still got two years left to run of a five year contract."
"Right... You've visited us here before haven't you? You were in the Championship Manager Ward 3 earlier this year?"
"I can't say, really - I couldn't see the incident from where I was sitting."

"Yes... Tell me: How many fingers am I holding up?"
"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?"
"That was never a yellow card."
"Okay... Let's try a bit of word association.
"Football."
"No, no, no, no - I haven't started yet."
"That's funny. There are only four minutes left according to my watch."
"Doh! This isn't getting us anywhere. Dr Smith, how much medication is this man on?"
"20 micro-grams a day."
"Double it, and give him a course of electric shock treatment. And give him some other game to play with - something which isn't bloody football."

Three weeks later...
"Well Mr Kid, how are we today?"
"Very well, thank you."
"No 'injury worries' praying on your mind?"
"Nope."
"No 'fixture pile-ups' to complain about?"
"Nope."
"Not even a match to prepare for this week?"
"Of course not."
"Excellent! In that case I think we can let you go."
"Thank God for that. I've got work to do"
"You've got a job? That is excellent!"
"Yes - there's a bloody alien round here somewhere."