A feature from yesterday's Sunday Herald by Bryan Cooney... worth a read.
ALAN Sugar, together with the silent but deadly Nick Hewer, pay an imaginary visit to Pittodrie just before Aberdeen's Scottish Cup semi-final against Queen of the
South, recording a celebrity edition of The Apprentice for the BBC.
Competing for a place in the tycoon's workforce are Stewart Milne, Willie Miller, Barry Nicholson, Jackie McNamara, Lee Miller and, of course, Jimmy Calderwood. The Sunday Herald has managed to secure a transcript...
SUGAR: I've got to say you lot don't impress me one bit. Against all the odds, you're one match from getting back into Europe and yet there's about as much life in you as a box of haddocks. Let's begin with you, Lee. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't aim you out...
LEE MILLER: Hey, hang on, Alan. Ah'm top scorer.
SUGAR: Sir Alan to you, mush. Top scorer? That don't mean Jack s***. It's a major event when you score. Brass bands begin to play. And, know what, it happens about often as Gordon Brown tells the truth.
LEE MILLER: That's no' fair, Sir Alan. I win a lot of balls in the air...
SUGAR: That maybe so, but what's the use of winning balls if they don't go to one of your mates, eh? Look, I've seen the videos. You ain't exactly greased lightning, you're lazy, you don't track back. Also, you have the most God-awful barnet. You're fired!
LEE MILLER: Fine, Alan. I wiz planning on leavin' anyway.
Sugar turns his baleful stare towards McNamara.
SUGAR: So what's your story, my son?
McNAMARA: Listen, ah've just aboot had it up tae ma sinuses with this little circus ... it's no' exactly Chipperfields, is it?
SUGAR: Well, why don't you leave?
McNAMARA: Ah'll be leavin' right enough, once ah've sorted out a couple of clowns ... it'll no' be long...
SUGAR: Which couple of clowns? No, forget that question. You don't need to be Inspector Barnaby to answer that one. I'm not impressed, my son. They should name the A94 after you. Whoever heard of a 34-year-old player being allowed to live 150 miles away from his club and be allowed to commute on a daily basis? Which numptie sanctioned that? Anyway, no more excuses, you're fired!
Four interviewees remain in the boardroom. Miller's number is next called.
SUGAR: What do you do around here?
MILLER: Ah'm director of football, Sir Alan.
SUGAR: From what I've seen, you might have difficulty directing traffic up a one-way street! Don't you and your mate, Calderwood, keep selling pups to the fans.. .promising them this and that? Didn't you tell them you'd be getting great young stars out of Africa and America? Where are they all?
MILLER: Yes, but...
SUGAR: Still in Africa and America, I would warrant. And what about sponsorship? Why can't you get a decent sponsorship in an oil-rich city? You should be on a nice little earner here. By the way, have you been on to The Donald yet? No, not Ian, you berk! Donald Trump! Doesn't he need a bit of goodwill? Don't you see an opening there? Are there any lights on? No, it doesn't wash, son. You're fired!
Sugar fixes Milne with a stare.
SUGAR: So what's your story, Stewart?
MILNE: One of pure toil, sweat and hardship, Sir Alan. No-one knows how much money I've poured into this club.
SUGAR: That's the whole point. No-one knows. But it can't be helluva much. Look, they say you're worth £250 million-plus. The interest on that little lot alone would make this club tick like a Swiss time piece. Just down the road, you have a man who has about a tenth of your assets, and he's poured £5m into Dundee United. You, my son, are entitled to feel well ashamed of yourself.
MILNE: But you don't know the whole story, Sir Alan.
SUGAR: I don't, but the fact is I'm bleedin' bored with it already. You're fired!
Only two candidates remain in the boardroom now. But there seems to be a resignation note printed on Calderwood's face. It may just be See You Jimmy time.
SUGAR: To give things a local flavour, this cup semi final should be your get-out of (Craiginches card ... but, looking at you, I'm not so sure. I'm in thinking of your movement in the transfer market and how you and Miller have squandered a fortune by allowing players to go out of contract. What's that all about?
CALDERWOOD: Well, Sir Alan, it's the board. They've been ... how can ah put it? A massive disappointment. Yeah, massive. Aye, they've have been tighter than a duck's backside and that carries guarantees of being watertight.
SUGAR: From where I'm sitting, son, you're the large disappointment. The way I hear it, you'd have been delighted to shift your arse from Pittodrie not so long ago. People have told me you were absolutely desperate to get a job in the Championship. When it didn't happen, you signed a contract with Aberdeen. Tell me I've got it wrong...
CALDERWOOD: That's a massive amount of bollocks, Sir Alan.
SUGAR: OK, speaking of bollocks, you can keep your hands on the table and stop scratching your museum pieces right now. It's disrespectful. So what about the players you've brought to this club? How do you justify them?
CALDERWOOD: Well, Sir Alan, I'll admit some of the present bunch have been a big disappointment.
SUGAR: Some? If anyone's a disappointment, it's you, son. I like you but I can't sustain you. You should get out of jail against Queen of the South and if you don't, the only alternative should be to fall on your sabre. But, as far as I'm concerned, you already have. You're fired!
Nick Hewer, so far silent, turns deadly.
HEWER: Well, Sir Alan, that leaves only Barry Nicholson. But he's out of contract and it looks as if he'll be leaving Pittodrie anyway. He's maybe not the most appropriate of candidates for The Apprentice.
SUGAR: Well, Bazza. It's not that you're so much better than the rest, it's just that you can play a bit and you've turned out to be the least incompetent. So you'll be put on the Armstrad wage bill. Two thousand Sovs a week. Nice, eh, son? No more Calderwood, no more Milne, no more Miller. You're hired!
After months of indecision, Barry Nicholson comes to an instant decision. He senses it will not please this cockney Torquemada, but he knows it makes absolute sense.
NICHOLSON: Begging your pardon, Sir Alan, if it's all right with you ... I'd, er, like to stay at Pittodrie...
A feature from yesterday's Sunday Herald by Bryan Cooney... worth a read.
ALAN Sugar, together with the silent but deadly Nick Hewer, pay an imaginary visit to Pittodrie just before Aberdeen's Scottish Cup semi-final against Queen of the
South, recording a celebrity edition of The Apprentice for the BBC.
Competing for a place in the tycoon's workforce are Stewart Milne, Willie Miller, Barry Nicholson, Jackie McNamara, Lee Miller and, of course, Jimmy Calderwood. The Sunday Herald has managed to secure a transcript...
SUGAR: I've got to say you lot don't impress me one bit. Against all the odds, you're one match from getting back into Europe and yet there's about as much life in you as a box of haddocks. Let's begin with you, Lee. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't aim you out...
LEE MILLER: Hey, hang on, Alan. Ah'm top scorer.
SUGAR: Sir Alan to you, mush. Top scorer? That don't mean Jack s***. It's a major event when you score. Brass bands begin to play. And, know what, it happens about often as Gordon Brown tells the truth.
LEE MILLER: That's no' fair, Sir Alan. I win a lot of balls in the air...
SUGAR: That maybe so, but what's the use of winning balls if they don't go to one of your mates, eh? Look, I've seen the videos. You ain't exactly greased lightning, you're lazy, you don't track back. Also, you have the most God-awful barnet. You're fired!
LEE MILLER: Fine, Alan. I wiz planning on leavin' anyway.
Sugar turns his baleful stare towards McNamara.
SUGAR: So what's your story, my son?
McNAMARA: Listen, ah've just aboot had it up tae ma sinuses with this little circus ... it's no' exactly Chipperfields, is it?
SUGAR: Well, why don't you leave?
McNAMARA: Ah'll be leavin' right enough, once ah've sorted out a couple of clowns ... it'll no' be long...
SUGAR: Which couple of clowns? No, forget that question. You don't need to be Inspector Barnaby to answer that one. I'm not impressed, my son. They should name the A94 after you. Whoever heard of a 34-year-old player being allowed to live 150 miles away from his club and be allowed to commute on a daily basis? Which numptie sanctioned that? Anyway, no more excuses, you're fired!
Four interviewees remain in the boardroom. Miller's number is next called.
SUGAR: What do you do around here?
MILLER: Ah'm director of football, Sir Alan.
SUGAR: From what I've seen, you might have difficulty directing traffic up a one-way street! Don't you and your mate, Calderwood, keep selling pups to the fans.. .promising them this and that? Didn't you tell them you'd be getting great young stars out of Africa and America? Where are they all?
MILLER: Yes, but...
SUGAR: Still in Africa and America, I would warrant. And what about sponsorship? Why can't you get a decent sponsorship in an oil-rich city? You should be on a nice little earner here. By the way, have you been on to The Donald yet? No, not Ian, you berk! Donald Trump! Doesn't he need a bit of goodwill? Don't you see an opening there? Are there any lights on? No, it doesn't wash, son. You're fired!
Sugar fixes Milne with a stare.
SUGAR: So what's your story, Stewart?
MILNE: One of pure toil, sweat and hardship, Sir Alan. No-one knows how much money I've poured into this club.
SUGAR: That's the whole point. No-one knows. But it can't be helluva much. Look, they say you're worth £250 million-plus. The interest on that little lot alone would make this club tick like a Swiss time piece. Just down the road, you have a man who has about a tenth of your assets, and he's poured £5m into Dundee United. You, my son, are entitled to feel well ashamed of yourself.
MILNE: But you don't know the whole story, Sir Alan.
SUGAR: I don't, but the fact is I'm bleedin' bored with it already. You're fired!
Only two candidates remain in the boardroom now. But there seems to be a resignation note printed on Calderwood's face. It may just be See You Jimmy time.
SUGAR: To give things a local flavour, this cup semi final should be your get-out of (Craiginches card ... but, looking at you, I'm not so sure. I'm in thinking of your movement in the transfer market and how you and Miller have squandered a fortune by allowing players to go out of contract. What's that all about?
CALDERWOOD: Well, Sir Alan, it's the board. They've been ... how can ah put it? A massive disappointment. Yeah, massive. Aye, they've have been tighter than a duck's backside and that carries guarantees of being watertight.
SUGAR: From where I'm sitting, son, you're the large disappointment. The way I hear it, you'd have been delighted to shift your arse from Pittodrie not so long ago. People have told me you were absolutely desperate to get a job in the Championship. When it didn't happen, you signed a contract with Aberdeen. Tell me I've got it wrong...
CALDERWOOD: That's a massive amount of bollocks, Sir Alan.
SUGAR: OK, speaking of bollocks, you can keep your hands on the table and stop scratching your museum pieces right now. It's disrespectful. So what about the players you've brought to this club? How do you justify them?
CALDERWOOD: Well, Sir Alan, I'll admit some of the present bunch have been a big disappointment.
SUGAR: Some? If anyone's a disappointment, it's you, son. I like you but I can't sustain you. You should get out of jail against Queen of the South and if you don't, the only alternative should be to fall on your sabre. But, as far as I'm concerned, you already have. You're fired!
Nick Hewer, so far silent, turns deadly.
HEWER: Well, Sir Alan, that leaves only Barry Nicholson. But he's out of contract and it looks as if he'll be leaving Pittodrie anyway. He's maybe not the most appropriate of candidates for The Apprentice.
SUGAR: Well, Bazza. It's not that you're so much better than the rest, it's just that you can play a bit and you've turned out to be the least incompetent. So you'll be put on the Armstrad wage bill. Two thousand Sovs a week. Nice, eh, son? No more Calderwood, no more Milne, no more Miller. You're hired!
After months of indecision, Barry Nicholson comes to an instant decision. He senses it will not please this cockney Torquemada, but he knows it makes absolute sense.
NICHOLSON: Begging your pardon, Sir Alan, if it's all right with you ... I'd, er, like to stay at Pittodrie...