Once again our mole at Big Sam’s publishers has delivered the goods. This time it’s an insight into the early stages of Big Sam’s transfer negotiations.

Douglas, more material for the book here. I think this chapter gives a good insight into the mind of the modern footballer and the kind of motivational techniques you need to succeed as a manager. Speaking of which how’s this for a title ‘The Allardyce Method, how one man’s genius revolutionised football?’

Meeting transfer targets for the first time is always tricky, just getting to them can be hard. There’s the deals with agents, the other manager, the players missus, all that. However there’s a certain kind of player who require something a bit more than a wedge of cash, a tip off about the 4:15 at Chelmsford and bunch of flowers to get close to. It’s being able to deal with these kind of players that got me where I am today. Of course I’ve got a top class team backing me up.

“Who are we meeting then?”

“Dr. Felix von Hofdkracht” I tell Shepherd. “He’s a top psycho-ologist”

“That’s Psychologist Sam” he says.

Normally I’d have corrected him for that, but he’s been under a lot of pressure lately. I’m not one to spend time worrying about high finance but by the sound of it the large man is on the way out for an even larger man, the Jonny Vegas of the retail world so to speak. Still he’d insisted on coming along for this meeting to show he was still doing business as usual, even dragging himself out of hospital, and since he wanted to be useful I’d asked him to bring something along.

“Have you got the stuff I asked for”

“Yes,” he says, “but I don’t understand…”

“Never mind” I tell him “It’ll all become clear soon enough”

Poor b****** I think. He’s got no idea what he’s in for. No idea how to handle the real top players. He’d never have signed El Hadj Diouf, the Serial Killer from Senegal.

Ten minutes later and von Hofdkracht is giving me the lowdown on the target.

“Zis one is goink to be a really hard one to deal with, even for you Sam.” he tell me. “I know you have dealt with difficult players before, but zis one is special. Even ze psycho-ological tests were hard to make out. As you can see..”, he shows me two charts covered in splodges of red “we could only give ze subject crayons, anything else was too sharp.”

I look over the charts with a practiced eye. “Looks like a classic ENPM to me Doc” I say

“I know this,” says Shepherd, “he’s an Extrovert, iNtuitive… um”

“No” I say. “That’s the Myers-Briggs test. This is the Souness-Harris scale and our man is an ENPM, an Extremely Nasty Psycho Midfielder.”

“Exzactly” says the Doc “But not just any ENPM, this one really is off the scale. Be careful down there Sam.”

Its cool in the basement. The security guard looked nervous when he opened the door and I barely had time to find the lightswitch before he closed it behind us. A single bare bulb illuminates a concrete corridor.

“This can’t be right” says Shepherd “I know footballers, they don’t live in places like this.”

“Not if they’ve got a choice” I reply.

We make our way down the corridor, and at the end we find a door of metal bars, and behind it, curled up in a corner the player we’ve come to see.

“Fookin ‘ell!” whispers Shepherd “He’s got blood on his face”

“Don’t be daft man” I tell him “He probably just ate the crayolas”

The shape in the corner ignores us. I rattle the door.

“Barton! Joey Barton!” I shout “I’m here to make you an offer”

Suddenly the shape explodes across the cell, grabs the bars and pushes it’s face up against the door. It’s a monsters face, there’s burning rage behind the eyes. I can see the spittle in his mouth as he speaks.

“You’re not the boss. You can’t make me an offer. I work for the Psycho. Everyone knows that.”

“But Psycho doesn’t want you any more Joey” I tell him. “He’s gone now. he’s not even at Citeh anymore. You haven’t seen him in a long time have you Joey? You must know he’s not coming back.”

There’s an angry scream from inside the cell and suddenly the shape is back in the corner, with it’s back to us. It’s breathing hard, it might be the exertion but I think he’s crying. That’s the thing with some of these players, they need a protector, a bit of discipline, an Alpha male. Take that away and what’s left?

“Let’s get out of here,” Shepherd tugs at my sleeve, “he’s useless now, this was all a mistake”

“Not yet” I say, “Open the box”

Shepherd opens the box just a touch. It’s a white plastic medicine box, perfectly sterile. It was brought down from Newcastle in a fridge and as Shepherd pushes the lid up I can just make out the contents, red and glistening.

The thing in the cell doens’t even need to see that, it can smell what’s inside. Suddenly it’s back at the door clawing at the lock, rattling the bars.

“You know what that is don’t you Joey?” his eyes are fixed on the box, but I know he’s listening. Shepherd is backing away.”That’s Michael Owens cruciate ligament that is. Steadman keeps these things after the operations. We’ve got access to the lot. Shearers’ ankle ligaments, Dyers’ Hamstrings, imagine it Joey, we’ve got enough bits of professional footballer on ice to keep you happy for a long time. What have they been feeding you on down here hey? Leftover bits of Alfe Inge Haaland? Whatever you can scavenge off the training ground?”

I grab the box from Shepherd and hold it close to the bars, he’s drooling.

“This is from a top class England International Joey, this is as close as you can get to the real thing. Come on, all you’ve got to do is agree to work for me. You’ve always wanted a piece of the internationals haven’t you? You know who I am don’t you Joey? Don’t you? Who do you work for Joey? Who’s going to take care of you?”,

But he’s not ready yet. In his mind he’s still running out on the Citeh training grounds with Psycho giving the orders. All credit to Pearce, he’s got the management of nutcases down well, it’ll take a few more sessions with Barton before he’s ready to change his mind. I take the box off Shepherd and leave it a few meters from the door.

“You sit there and think about this Joey” I tell him “Because no one else has come down here to see you. No-one else wants you. I’ll be back soon, and when I am, that’s your only chance.” I turn away and walk down the corridor, behind me I can hear Barton sobbing and yelling out for Psycho who’ll never come. Beside me there’s a retching noise and I realise Shepherd has been sick on his shoes.