Too Many Crooks

Crooky and the boys hit Tenerife

After beating off The Sun in a vicious bidding war, The Gaffer is proud to announce our serialisation of Ian Crook’s autobiography, ‘Too Many Crooks’. The ex-Norwich hero’s book promises to lift the lid on a tumultuous career, and a much-anticipated chapter will unveil “The truth about Darren Eadie”. This week, Ian reveals all about the Norwich squad’s adventures in Tenerife

What most people don’t know about Jeremy Goss is that on a hot day he’ll burn up as red as a lobster in less than 10 minutes. He says that sun cream is gayer than Richard Fairbrass from Right Said Fred, but that sort of rhetoric doesn’t help anyone when you’re on a week-long all-expenses-paid club jolly to Tenerife, and rooming with him flaking all over the shop.

The Gaffer said that after a long hard season we deserved to let our hair down, and he was right. Not only had we beaten Bayern Munich on our travels, but we’d picked up points at The Dell, Highfield Road, Selhurst Park (Crystal Palace), and Selhurst Park (Wimbledon). We deserved a few Sols on the sun loungers, and that was just for stareters

We arrived jet-lagged having had a few bevvies on Captain Branson on the plane over, but before I had even unpacked my flip-flops and Bermudas, Ian “Culvers” Culverhouse was ushering us into town to a Lineker’s bar. Call me a traditionalist, but I like to start my drinking with a cold pint of Carling Black Label and work on from there, but as always Efan “The Chief” Ekoku had other ideas. Before I knew what was happening I was dealing with more shots from The Chief than Craig Forrest in a one-sided East Anglian derby.

That would have been fine, but it turned out that The Chief had forgotten to change his currency at Stanstead. Before I knew it I was handed a bill the size of Gossy’s head post-Munich (Bayern, not air disaster). If the barmaid didn’t have such a lovely smile I would have asked to see the manager. I was fuming, and when I showed it to Gossy, who is hilarious, he shouted “F-ing Ek-oku!”, and I couldn’t help but crack up. “Are they taking the piss-etas?” chipped in Culvers and I hadn’t laughed so much since John Polston stepped on a rake.

Still, they weren’t taking the pesetas, I didn’t have enough of them to cover the bill. I thought we were going to have to spend the rest of the day washing up pint pots, which would have been a bloody nightmare. Ruel Fox had challenged me to 18 holes and I could sense a win: he was too sozzled to focus on his dry roasted peanuts, let alone a tricky drive down the fairway of the 15th.

Anyway, I digress, we needed to cover the bill and that is when I remembered that Spanish people really like football. So we challenged them to a game, winner takes all. If we won the drinks were free, if we lost then we would have to work behind the bar that night. They must not have seen the early rounds of the UEFA Cup that year, because they jumped at the chance. They got a team together made up of local drunks and a few barmen and we headed out onto the street. To cut a long story short we produced a textbook away performance, quietening the crowd and giving them no time on the ball with Chris Sutton grabbing a double to give us a 2-1 lead at half time.

Everything was going to plan until we saw 11 men in tracksuits coming round the corner. It was the bloody Ipswich squad, the Tractor Boys were on their own post-season jolly and they were looking for revenge. They had a chat with the owner of Lineker’s and he made 11 half-time changes. Shitswich hadn’t hit the vino yet that day and frankly, they tore us apart. Rob Newman (who doesn’t drink) was everywhere, but in the end John Wark headed home a last minute winner.

Well, anyone that went for a drink in Lineker’s that night certainly got a surprise as I poured the cocktails and The Chief manned the bottle bar. It was all good banter in the end and I seemed to be going to down well with the British tourists, signing copies of Shoot and 90 Minutes left, right and centre. But then who should walk through the doors looking for a post-supper pint but The Gaffer, Mike Walker. He came up to the bar and did a double take. I offered him a Sex on the Beach before putting on a Spanish accent and adding, “you know you look like that Mike Walker, people often say I look like Ian Crook.”

Needless to say The Gaffer was livid.

Next time Ian reveals the bet that led to Ruel Fox growing those little dreadlocks.

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