Free Football Crazy by Terry Ravenscroft, Ravenscroft Page B

control the hooligans. And to make sure they knew they were inside a citadel. Get it into their thick heads that once they were inside there was no escape for them once they'd started with their hooligan ways.
    He thought for a moment or two then underneath the word 'Citadel' on the notepad he wrote 'Moat? Obtain estimates.'
    Screwer had yet to pay a visit to Offal Road but had driven past the stadium and had already seen citadel-like possibilities; there was a fence all the way round the perimeter for a start, and although it wasn't all that high and could easily be scrambled over by a hooligan intent on mischief it wouldn't be scrambled over so easily once it had barbed wire on the top of it; and the four floodlight pylons could certainly be put to good use.
    Recalling this now he made another note. 'Barbed wire, that razor edge stuff they use to keep cattle in. Platforms for floodlight pylons'.
    There was a tap on the door.
    “ Come,” said Screwer.
    The door opened and a somewhat hesitant-looking Sergeant Hawks stepped in.
    “ Yes?” said Screwer.
    “ Well....Well there's a man outside, sir” said Hawks. “With....Well he says you ordered this white horse off him.”
    Screwer couldn't have been more delighted if Hawks had just told him a busload of England football fans had gone over a precipice. “Is it here?”
    Hawks still couldn't quite believe it. “You did order a white horse off him, sir?”
    The police chief pushed his chair back, got to his feet and brandished a clenched fist. “Scourge of the Terraces!”
    Hawks blinked. “Beg pardon, sir?
    “ That's what I'm going to call it. 'Scourge of the Terraces'.”
    “ Oh I see sir,” said Hawks, feeling the peace and quiet of his retirement take another giant leap further away.
    “ Mark my words Sergeant, the football hooligans of Frogley will wish they'd never been born by the time I've finished with them!” Hawks didn't doubt it for one moment. Screwer continued. “Put it in one of the cells.”
    “ Pardon, sir?”
    “ The horse, man. Put in one of the cells.”
    “ In one of the cells, sir?”
    The good mood that had enveloped Screwer on being told of the arrival of his horse was quickly evaporating. He glared at Hawks. “Have I missed something here at Frogley Police HQ, Hawks? The well-appointed stable block for example?”
    “ No. No sir.”
    “ Then put it in one of the cells man! Then send out for some oats.”
    “ Yes sir.”

    In their portakabin dressing room the players were larking about after training. Lock was in particularly high spirits. “Hey did youse see that gooal I scored, man! God, I love scoring gooals, it's better than sex.”
    Briggs looked at him in disbelief. “Who are you shagging?”
    “ What?” said Lock.
    “ Well she must be a bleedin' poor shag if she's not as good as scoring a goal,” reasoned Briggs. “The ones I'm shagging are a lot better than scoring a goal, I can tell you.”
    “ Well you play up front,” reasoned Lock. “I play at the back man, I don't get many gooals.”
    “ You don't get many shags either, Locky,” said Crock.
    The others within hearing range joined in the ridicule at Lock's expense. The Geordie was about to put up an argument citing several fair maidens of Frogley who could testify to the contrary, and one or two foul ones as well, when the door opened and Donny and Price came in. At the sight of their boss and the new owner the room went quiet, save for Barrel who was singing 'Sex Bomb' in the showers.
    “ Tell Robbie Williams to put a sock in it and get himself out here, Linksy,” Donny said to Links, who was nearest the shower.
    “ It's Tom Jones who sings Sex Bomb, Boss”, said Dicks, helpfully.
    “ Just get him out here,” said Donny. “We don't want to keep Mr Price waiting do we, he's a busy man, he's got millions of pies to make.”
    The subject having been brought up, Hanks thought it might be a good time to bring up the matter of a pie discount with Price, but