What if Ferguson, Guardiola, Villas-Boas, Wenger, Mourinho and Mancini got in a fist fight?

What if Ferguson, Guardiola, Villas-Boas, Wenger, Mourinho and Mancini got in a fist fight?

Don’t lie. You’ve thought about it.  Just perhaps not quite as vividly as this.

Here’s the way I see it.

There’s a nameless, yet conveniently octagonal- shaped courtyard in the middle of a small medieval European town. Leading to this courtyard, of course, are six evenly sized alley-ways which all conjoin into this random, coincidental arena shaped combat zone.

Walking down these alleyways, are the 6 gladiators of modern football.  To spruce things up, the gentlemen have all brought a single weapon or tool to assist them in combat.

Andres Villas-Boas is first to reach the octagon, sprightly jumping on his toes, causing his flashing “Dora the Explorer” trainers to blink red and pink. He begins pumping the air with jabs of lightning speed before he pulls out his “Thomas the Tank Engine” lunch box to reveal his secret weapon: thousands upon thousands of pages of detailed analysis of the other managers. These dossiers are lined with descriptions of the strengths, weaknesses and tactics of his opponents. They are also decorated on the front with a stick figure Villas-Boas standing in front of a lovely image of Stamford Bridge, all hand-drawn in crayon. Andres begins to tell nearby spectators that he drew the pictures “all by himself” just after his nap-time two hours ago. Early on, Villas-Boas is looking like the favourite.

 

                                                                    Fergy Flashing his Fisticuffs

 

Next to arrive, is Arsene Wenger. From the get-go, everyone sees the weapon that Arsene has brought. Beside Wenger, is a lanky, skinny 14 year old lad who he claims has “massive potential” in the body guarding industry. Arsene immediately rebuffs the claims that his bodyguard isn’t prepared for this level of competition by claiming that this lad has plenty of “mental toughness,” and his ability will carry him through.

Next seen sauntering down the alleyway to the courtyard, is Sir Alex Ferguson. Dressed as an old school boxer, light on his toes, Ferguson hops his way to the arena where he reveals his weapon. Slowly, to the horror of spectators, Ferguson begins to undo his silky robe. Suddenly he reaches into an inside pocket, and pulls out a massive portable hairdryer. A man who looked suspiciously similar to David Beckham in the crowd is seen turning white with fear, vomiting, and sprinting to the nearest airport.

Mancini is next to enter the medieval octagon. He walks quickly and with purpose. The moment he reaches the octagon, he flips out his weapon. Mancini reveals an expensive looking leather-bound cheque book and marches straight towards Arsene’s prodigious bodyguard.  After a few moments of negotiations, the bodyguard takes a hefty cheque from Mancini and follows him to his section of the arena. Wenger claims that he will have plenty enough talent to succeed in the upcoming contest without his biggest talent, and will not be making any further additions. This is all despite desperate pleas from the media and spectators who all agree that Wenger should bring in reinforcements.

Guardiola is the next manager to walk towards the octagon. As he reaches the arena, he slowly takes off his tie, which is only about a single centimeter wide. Next, he reaches into his jacket inside pocket and pulls out a written note with Unicef letterhead. The letter contains a plea from the head of Unicef, also signed by Lionel Messi, to cease the violence and simply let Guardiola walk away with victory. After all, it writes, everyone in the world is obviously on Guardiola’s side and wants him to win.

Last, and certainly not least, Jose Mourinho steps towards the Octagon to complete the roster of fighters. Mourinho, with his elegant wisps of gray hair, is dressed in his legendary long gray coat that he made so famous during his time at Chelsea. He claims that he has brought no weapon, as he is “the special one” and has no need for such trivialities.

                                               "ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?!"- Arsene the Gladiator.

 

Howard Webb, the natural choice as referee, walks towards the center of the Octagon and eyes each and every one of the contenders.

Webb sees Ferguson busy polishing his hairdryer and Wenger, who is occupied simply by staring incessantly at his lost bodyguard and dreaming of “what could have been.”

Next, Webb’s attention turns to Guardiola calmly flicking through a hair-loss magazine for men, whilst Mancini is explaining to his bodyguard that regardless of attacking flair or firepower, a defensive approach is best for this type of occasion.

Webb notices Mourinho standing calmly still, trying to psych his opponents out using only his eyes.

Then Webb turns to Villas-Boas. He looks him up and down, marches up towards him and asks to see his registration form, and his birth certificate. Upon seeing Villas-Boas’ (very recent) date of birth which was covered in glitter and gold stars, Howard Webb insists that this competition is “not for children” and refuses to let Villas-Boas participate.

Villas-Boas Out.

Howard Webb then announces the fight officially on.

Wenger and Guardiola, as per usual in the early rounds of competition, go straight for one another and begin engaging in a very serious fist fight. To everyone’s surprise, Wenger is performing extremely well during the first half of the competition.

Ferguson, meanwhile, marches straight towards Howard Webb and begins screaming about the laughable officiating, particularly regarding Villas-Boas sending off. He questions Webb’s integrity, fitness, and threatens to boycott all media sources until the referee is removed.  The FA, having just released another brand spanking new “Respect the Referee” campaign, gets wind of Ferguson’s comments and subsequently bans him from the match and fines him 10 thousands pounds.

Ferguson Out.

Mancini, during all the calamity, has merely moved as far away from the action as possible. He has literally chained up his newly signed bodyguard full of attacking prowess and spectators hear him mumbling something like “a draw is a good result…”

Arsene and Guardiola, meanwhile, are still slugging it out in the corner,whilst Mourinho, cool as you like, is simply spectating for the moment with a sinister grin on his face, and a suspicious psychopathic twitch in his eye.

Wenger begins to tire as the fight goes on, until eventually, almost inevitably, Guardiola smacks a wicked sucker punch to Wenger’s right temple. Wenger crumbles, and is carried out of the arena blaming a lack of toughness and concentration for his defeat.

Wenger Out.

Mancini meanwhile is still lurking inthe corner, yelling that he is simply waiting for “the right time to strike.”

Guardiola, covered in the blood of Arsene Wenger, steps towards the Mancini and taps him on the shoulder. Mancini, white with fear, peels out of the stadium yelling that he needs to make “several” more signings before his team is ready for this kind of a competition.

Mancini Out.

Mourinho, still laced with an evil grin and a crazy look in his eyes slowly walks into the center of the ring. He opens up his legendary jacket and reveals that his entire chest is strapped with dynamite. Mourinho, twitching with perceived insanity, mutters about how he is the Special One and should be able to decide how the competition ends.

With a quick flick of the detonator button in his hand, the entire octagon goes up in flames leaving Guardiola and Mourinho both dead.

Guardiola Out.

Mourinho Out.

 So, ladies and gentlemen, this is how it would happen.

Just in case you were wondering.