Biggleswade F.C./Interview 1
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We catch up with a newly reconstituted Johnny Whyddle in a sunny graveyard on the outskirts of Luton. He's looking quite fit, but of course that's the effect of Uncyc's patented reconstitution process.
Uncyc: Hello, Johnny. How does it feel to be back amongst the living?
Johnny: Cor. Well it's a surprise, aye. Me mouth is a bit dry, y'know.
Uncyc: Have a sip of water. We are now in the 21st Century, Johnny! What do you think of that?
Johnny: You don't say. Amazing.
Uncyc: Yes, we reconstituted you from the dead because we want to ask you, one of the really great Hedgies, how the game has changed in the century since you thundered down the pitch brushing Sheffield defenders back like blueflies.
Johnny: Well blimey that's a feckin' thick notion innit.
Uncyc: Erm, what?
Johnny: I bin dead the whole time, ain't I.
Uncyc: Yes, but...
Johnny: I ha'n't bin watchin' much football whilst reclinin' on me back six foot underground, mate.
Uncyc: Yes, yes, but you see...
Johnny: I ha'n't bin watchin' any football. They could be playin' it with aeroplanes now for alls I know. Now, you could ask me about how the worms have changed in 100 years. 'Cos I bin keepin' me eyesockets occupied with watchin' them, all right. I bin a-reclinin' there on me back, slowly and unpleasantly decayin', watchin' the worms crawlin' back and forth through th'ole graveyard mould. I bin just layin' there a-studying their crawlin' technique.
Uncyc: Uh, really.
Johnny: Yes, I have. They're quite int'restin' you know. They got a side-to-side sinusoidous sort of crawl, and they got a sort of blodgy thicken-and-stretch-out crawl, and they do a sort of special slime-oozing crawl when they got the horn.
Uncyc: Can we talk about football?
Johnny: You talk about football if you want, mate. I sort of lost my int'rest in the game several years back. About 70 years ago it was, aye, when me feet rotted off at the ankles. 'Johnny', I says to meself when I felt me feet fall off, 'Johnny, you face the fact, now lad: you ain't never gonter kick no football any more.' I says to meself, 'Johnny, th'ole game is buggerall as far as you're concernt. You find yourself another int'rest, me lad.'
Uncyc: I'm afraid our -- er, your -- time is up...
Johnny: And that's when I started studyin' the worms.
Uncyc: Ashes to ashes, dust to dust...
Johnny: And I find the worms quite fascinatin', you know...hey! That tickles. What's happening?
Uncyc: Reconstitution is temporary, I'm afraid, Mr. Whyddle. And so we reluctantly say goodbye to one of Biggleswade's truly timeless players, as he trickles bit by bit back into his grave...
Johnny (trickling away): I thought I was come back for good. You buncha rotten wankers.