The decision
It's 3A.M. in the morning, I'm lying in bed in Newcastle Upon Tyne, hungover. What's new about that? Nothing. Last night was mental. We partied all night long, I remember asking for more shots every five minutes and now I'm here with a massive headache and vomiting, life couldn't get any worse could it? Oh wait, it did. Last night I didn't only drink a lot, I did some stupid things while drunk, like calling up MTV and telling them I quit from the show "Geordie Shore" what an idiot I am.
Now I'm stuck lying in bed, hungover and unemployed, crap. I have one possible saving grace, football. During my time in school, I got an A* in A level P.E. and I did get a few FA coaching badges, so technically, I could become a manager if I wanted to. There's only one extra problem. How can I promote myself? How will clubs know there's a young handsome and fit lad like myself available to manage their side. Would they judge me based on my history. Ok that's more than one problem! Maybe a text to my agent, Ash could help.
"Ash, I need your help mate. I don't want to be unemployed forever and I don't want to have to result into banging to get money. I've got some qualifications to be a football coach, help me find some small clubs that are willing to take me on mate, cheers. Scotty T."
A few hours later Ash replied:
"Scott, you're a real prick you know. I'll see what I can do and try and contact some clubs. I can't imagine you being a football manager though. You can't even manage how much money you spend each week on drinks, P.S. the club called last night, you did some damage...."
So this is it? The journey has begun, now I'm known as "Scotty T, the Geordie Mourinho" but before I can live up to that name, I need to work out how I'm going to pay for the damage I did.
P.S. Never take too many shots of Ciroc, it can make you're incredible hulk.