The uneventful life of a secret retired footballer

I'm Bert Tiddle and you've never heard of me. I record many unknown facts about the inner workings of professional football during my playing days with Ipswich Town, Coventry City, Sheffield United and several other clubs that I can't remember right now -- all before the Premier League came along and ruined everything. Most of these facts involve me getting blackout drunk and laughing at Sam Allardyce and Alan Shearer. Hell. I've already ruined the secret bit, haven't I? Sam Allardyce is a numpty.

Keenan, one of my 18 kids, has been reading these Secret Footballer columns in the Guardian to me while I eat my breakfast, even though I never asked him to and he can't read. Which is really quite embarrassing for him since he has to be at least 16 or 19 years old at this point. I always tell him that, too. Enough about slow Keenan, though. The point is, these Secret Footballer columns are a waste of anonymity and don't tell you much. So old Bert is going to do you all a favor and tell you several things about the inner workings of the game that even the Secret Footballer wouldn't dare say. So strap in, losers.

1. Every club tries to buy off the referees before every match. Usually it's with posh cheeses and promises of discounted sex toys. These gifts are presented in a secret pre-match ritual known as The Offerings. Barry Manilow music plays and some of the footballers take turns giving the! refs ba ck rubs. One time I punched Graham Poll in the side of the head during all this. He sent me off in the third minute for karate kicking a teammate that day.

2. Footballers just pretend to train. The clubs ask us to do it just to make it look like we're getting paid loads of money to work more than 90 minutes once or twice a week. But it's all just an act. A little jogging, kick the ball around in front of the news cameras, then go inside, watch a Steven Seagal flick and pretend it's a film about your opponent.

3. Alan Shearer is an alien. Seriously -- he's from a planet called Septulum 5 and he only eats African toupees. Everyone knows it, but no one says it. How's that, Alan? Your secret's out. Maybe now you'll respond to my texts inviting you to play darts with me and Crusty Frank. That's right. Frank's rash is all cleared up and he's ready to party.

So there you have it. Actual secrets of the game worth printing. I'm going to buy a hat.

Follow Bert, the kind of secret retired footballer, on Twitter.

Photo: Globoesporte