SUPERSTITION starring Pat Fenlon.

Having exhausted all avenues in his efforts to make a decision regarding his future managerial career our subject decided that he should consult a clairvoyant to see what the future had in store for him. Football folk are a superstitious lot and Patrick Fenlon, an impish lad of 37 summers, had not left these habits behind him.

Into the Merc he climbed and set off to his preferred sage, an aged gypsy woman colloquially known as Gypsy Bose. He eased himself down from his lofty driving position, secured the motor, and entered the Gypsy's lair. On hearing voices behind the musty curtain he privately hoped that there wasn't much of a queue as he had promised the lads he'd take training this morning.

Gypsy Bose lived in an old building in downtown Dublin and was one of those types who was dedicated to her calling - not in it for the money you see; as such she was a rare gift to the superstitious football folk who regularly called to her door. Young Pat entered and scanned the room; rapidly assessing his probable waiting time. Same old faces.

Rico, Pat Dolan, Trevor Welch, Stan...and he could hear the mumbles of whoever was in the hotseat now. Gypsy Bose didn't go in for soundproofing, she trusted her clientele to be discreet. Nonetheless, there would often be awkward moments when a punter might become excitable on receiving news of the future and forget about the captive audience on the other side of where the door used to be. Rico had promised to have it replaced.

'D'ya think I'll get the Shels job then?' came the voice from within- all eyes hit the floor. 'Who's f'in' in there?' barked Nutsy. No reply was forthcoming. Moments later the jobhunter emerged. Nutsy was numb when he sighted Eamo, his trusty sidekick. Eamo scurried away into the shadows. The other lads obliged, and our subject was next up.

'Howya Ma'am, I'll have the crystal ball today, I'm sick of cards'. Ever the professional Gypsy Bose did not make eye contact. 'Do you see anything, about work like, me career?' And to whatever tune suits you, this is what she said....

I see a man walking away, can't see his face, just a G.
I see the airport road, a sports ground of some sort,
There's work going on.

I see an Oily man, can't understand what he says,
He's trying to seduce you with promises,
There's money, lots of money.

I see an office, the door is ajar,
on the sign it says MANAGER
There's no one in in Tolka.

I see an office, the door is ajar,
on the sign it says MANAGER
There's no one in in Phibsboro.

'What will I do Gypsy Bose?' asked the bewildered football boss. 'There's more', replied the hoarse old woman. 'It's a bit cloudy, it looks like shells...seashells, no, Seychelles; wait it's STAY AT SHELS'.

Pat sprung from the creaky seat threw two fifties on the old table and grabbed the old lady to kiss her. With equal speed he recoiled, a look of disgust raced across his boyish features. Gypsy Bose's scarf had fallen from her head, revealing her facial features; laughing raucously into our hero's face was Roddy Collins.

'Collins yer a b****x!'