There was tension in the air at the Extraordinary Meeting for Pooltown FC called by Chairman Smokin Joe Sweeney.

Nobody jokes. No banter. No tales about the wife.

They were in a predicament which roughly translated into deep doodoo.

Cheryl wanted striker Jake. He wasn’t interested.

Result? An upset Cheryl who would tell her landlord uncle Gerry of her woes.

Result? Pooltown would no longer be able to use the Golden Bell as their watering-hole of the last 50 years.

Result? Despair. Gloom. No more lock-ins. Saturday nights spent with ‘her indoors’.

Just as Smokin Joe was finishing his ninth pint, contemplating a future of shandy, Coronation Street and visits to the mother-in-law, an eerie silence hit the snug.

Cheryl marched in. She was parading a hulk on her arm who was a cross between a silver-back gorilla and Charles Laughton straight out of the Hunchback of Notre Dame.

“Meet Sammy, my new fiancé. He is captain of the rugby club and suggested last week that we scrum down together.

“We get married next month. The drinks are on me.”

Smokin Joe Sweeney wore a smile the length of the M62.






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