Big Sams Plan Sign some new players. Go to Belize, Ulan Bator and Tow Law to look for 35-year-old ex-internationals who are a bit fat, have mad hair and can't speak English. Sign anyone with a track record for spitting at children, beating up pensioners and an inclination towards mass murder. Bring in an unparalleled team of experts as my backroom staff to look after the players. We'll need an a dream analyser; a ballroom dancer; a necromancer; an abortionist; a shaman; a she-man, n aboriginal, an Abba tribute band, a woman called Brenda who makes nice cakes; a brain surgeon; a cosmonaut; a masseuse, a messenger, a masturbator, a master of tai-chi and tie-dying; a Prozone expert, a prostate expert; a prostitute; an institute; a champagne flute; a diet consultant; a sultan; a psychologist; a psychotic; the Dalai Lama; a llama; a farmer; a snake charmer; a joker, a smoker, a midnight toker; a champagne supernova; and someone to clean the bogs after I've had a curry. Employ Ant & Dec as media consultants and full-backs. Sue anyone who says I'm not brilliant. Do some interviews for art magazines so I look proper cultured and not a chunky blow-hard. Find an expert on gum who can help me perfect my chewing technique so that I look classy on telly and not like a big, angry gibbon who is eating wasps. Improve the players' fitness by putting an end to the Newcastle tradition of training on concrete and broken glass. Stop Freddy Shepherd eating players. Increase pie intake of entire squad until everyone's arse is as big as Kevin Davies'. Create a special arse-training regime for the whole squad to learn how to back in to defenders, and how to tackle with their buttocks. Get Titus to lose weight by eating those salmonella-infected Westlers hot dogs that are sold outside the ground by men with dirty finger nails and tattooed foreheads. If that doesn't work, push him into the Tyne and call a Norwegian whaling fleet. Take the lads to my favourite art galleries to inspire them to be creative and so I can get an insight into their character. See who is first to try and melt their watch after a Rene Magritte exhibition. Get Keiron to go by telling him there'll be loads of pictures of naked women. Lecture the lads on the virtues of abstract expressionism and how to deploy it at set-pieces. Discuss the interface between the art deco movement and Native American design traditions with James Milner and see if his head explodes. Get a contortionist to teach Dyer how to suck his own cock so he never has to go out on the town again and cause trouble. Use celebrities as role models to encourage better behaviour. Ask Sting to advise on tantric sex roasting and get George Michael in to teach players how to drive home even when stoned out of your mind. Have Michael Owen made illegal. Make fans love me by holding a Peter Reid throwing competition on the Town Moor like they used to do with dwarves. The one to hoy Reidy the furthest wins a free season ticket, the runner-up gets two. Rename Newcastle United 'England'. I am the England manager. I am. I am. I am. It's me. I am not mad.
