Rituals, Russians and Reality

Mac's got this ritual, right? Exactly half an hour before the home matches, he slips into his office, closes the door, locks it and then...
...well, fuck knows, but he stays there until exactly five minutes before kick-off at which point he emerges, straightens his lucky tartan tie ( yeah, I know, it makes him look like something off a shortbread tin) and then heads into the dressing room to shout his bollocks off at us. He calls it "encouragement".
Nobody knows what goes on behind that locked door for those 25 minutes but of course, we've all speculated. Everything from writing his memoirs, downing a wee 'goldie' from his bottle of scotch, listening to The Proclaimers on his ipod and checking out the Russian porn sites have all been offered as possibilities with the latter option a cause for some real laughs backstage. He turned up at a supporters function a few years back with his 'date', a 30+ Ukranian stunner called Ivana who only knew two words of English one of which was, somewhat disconcertingly, 'cocaine' and cracked a fan on the jaw when he asked if Ivana took paypal or roubles! We never saw her again.
Whatever he does though it's all part of his match-day build-up. We are a superstitious lot in the great world of football.  I've already told you about the vinegar on my gloves, Spock always puts his shorts on last and Cracknell chants out a decade of the rosary from the confines of a lavatory cubicle. Which is strange, cos he's not even a catholic and I doubt if the Virgin Mary chooses to hang about the dressing room bogs of lower League football clubs.
Anyway, Mac's 25-min seclusion, my smelly gloves, Spock's shorts and Crack's prayers paid off yesterday when we hit good form in a three-nil victory.
Note the 'nil' in that statement.
Folks, I had a fuckin' blinder. Blocking shots, picking off crosses, catching a long-range volley then holding it and finally diving at the feet of some aspiring young Swedish striker as he steamed towards me thinking "..this is my fucking moment!" (in Swedish of course). I'm telling you, the News of the World couldn't have hacked into my net yesterday.
I mean, I was interviewed after the game by the local daily and I had to spout all that pish about being "delighted for the lads..." and "...more important to win the 3 points than focus on the blank sheet" but, to be honest, I can be a selfish bastard about these things and not conceding a goal had me as smug as Gordon Ramsay.
When your goalmouth has seen more action than Katie Price's mattress and at the end of the game you can still use the word "nil" then it's a satisfactory day all round. Three points and three goals at home, a clean sheet and climbing to fifth in the table are like Ivana and her pals...they don't come cheap!

And finally...on a serious note....I never worked with him, played with him or even knew him but Gary Speed was one of our own and he's left us far, far too early...may he rest in peace.