Tag: Sam Allardyce

Barry Maguire is Sam Allardyce’s lovechild

The News of the World doesn’t exist anymore, so it’s up to old Bert to break the big stories. I’ve been saving this one so it wouldn’t distract from England’s World Cup, but since that’s gone tits up, here it is: England hero Barry Maguire is Hefty Sam Allardyce’s lovechild. You heard it here first and I heard it from the mammoth lips of Sam himself after a night of drinking absinthe mixed with salad cream. All you have to do is look at young Maguire to know that he’s Big Sam’s offspring. But since many of you reading this are likely daft as a dingleberry, I’ll explain all the traits that prove their relation better than any DNA test ever could.

  1. They’re both large enough to swallow a small Brazilian man whole

Let’s start with the obvious. Maguire and Super Sized Sam are both larger than life. Especially if that life is a small Brazilian man with a pain threshold like wet bog roll. Look at Maguire’s eyes in the photo above. Those are eyes that say “I can consume your entire being and still pop over for a cheeky Nando’s immediately afterwards.” Extra Large Sam has those same eyes.

2. They’re both pure sex

I once saw Fully Engorged Sam chat up a person dressed as Peppa Pig. He didn’t get a phone number, but Peppa was clearly loving it. Seems the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

3. They both have the same luggage

Barry Maguire showed up to his first ever England camp with his gear in a bin bag. Big Sam carries everything he owns in bin bags wherever he goes. One time the staff at Bolton’s training ground got rid of them thinking it was a build-up of rubbish in Sam’s office. When he found out what had happened, he said “fair play,” bought new gear, and immediately put it all in bin bags. Normal people don’t do this. Only exceptionally non-materialistic people like Big Sam and Big Sam Jr.

4. Maguire scored in the World Cup quarterfinal for England

Like Big Sam, Maguire is a big man for a big occasion. He scored the decisive goal against Sweden while Kane was doing fuck all. Only a giant lad sprung from the loins of a relegation avoiding legend like Samuel Allardyce could rise up against the Swedes on the third largest stage the World Cup has to offer.

5. They’re both have giant fucking heads

Apparently Hamie Vardy calls Maguire “slab head” because he has a head the size of a Volkswagen. You know who else has a head like a scandal plagued car? Sizable. Sam. Allardyce.

There you have it. No DNA test needed. Hopefully Barry takes on his real father’s surname for the start of next season. Wear it proud, you absolute unit.

Watching England 6-1 Panama at the pub with Sam Allardyce

Big Sam after he took off his trousers

Massive Sam is my best mate, so I knew he’s been down about not being in Russia with the England squad after laying the foundation for their success with his PERFECT RECORD as England manager. He taught those lads how to win and he knew football was coming home—he even put it in writing:

I know for a fact that Garry Kane carries this letter with him in his wallet to this day, because I put it there and I replace it with a fresh copy every time he tosses it out.

Anyway, Gargantuan Sam has been feeling down, so I invited him round to mine to watch England play Panama, but once he arrived I remembered that my flat screen has been broken ever since I tried to glass Simon Cowell after he said something even more stupid than usual on X-Factor. So I said, “Right, lets go down the pub. The people of England need to see the true manager of England—which is you, Absolute Unit Sam. Not that numpty Southgate, who can’t even go for a jog by himself without getting hit by a car driven by me and dislocating his shoulder.”

Sam refused at first, but then Glaucoma, one of my 18 kids kept asking him if he wanted to play a game called “taste the scab” and that finally got him out the door.

Here’s the diary I kept during the match:

1’—It took Sam less time than usual to explain to the staff that white wine is best served in pint glasses. This country may have hope yet.

8’—Everyone in the pub cheers. I guess they finally noticed that Huge Sam is here. He waves to the crowd, but they politely keep their distance. That’s the kind of respect he commands.

22’—Another cheer, this time as Sam inhales his fourth burger in record time. Sam smiles for the first time in weeks, finally experiencing true appreciation for his many talents.

25’—I leave the table to order another round for us. At the bar, I get into an argument with a prat in a Gazza shirt going on about “the magic of Italia ’90.” I tell him there was nothing “magic” about the venereal disease I contracted during that World Cup. As this was happening, some hack took a video of Enormous Sam to make it look like he was watching the match alone. Lies.

36’—Another cheer as Sam reminisced about the time his England side beat Slovakia. What a match that was. No coincidence that he showed them how to win it late and what did they do against Tunisia? They did it the Big Sam way. You’re welcome, Gareth. You weak shouldered pillock.

40’—YET ANOTHER CHEER. Sam tells everyone that he appreciates them making him feel welcome, but he just wants to enjoy his 12th pint of wine in peace. They ignore his request, because you never stop singing for a legend.

45’—While buying drugs in the toilet, I hear another cheer for Colossal Sam. He must have shown them his trick for winning the cinnamon challenge (he swallows the whole jar of cinnamon, including the jar—the man is a tactical genius).

HT—We’re told that England are up 5-0. Not bad, but it’s still less goals than Humongous Sam ate burgers during the first half.

55’—Apparently they have the match on the tele. It’s been 10 minutes since the half and not one England goal. Sam shakes his boulder-like head.

62’—Garry Kane finally scores from the spot. What confidence Sam’s note has given him.

78’—Panama score their first ever World Cup goal. “Hart would’ve stopped that,” Immense Sam says as he consumes yet another burger without even chewing. What a lad.

82’—As I black out, I see Giant Sam pulling out a pen to draw cocks on my face and I know I’ve succeeded in raising his spirits.

A Visit from Big Sam

Crystal Palace bring a traditional Christmas poem to life by hiring Sam Allardyce

’Twas two nights before Christmas, when all through Selhurst Park
Not a creature was stirring, not even a lark
The stockings were hung by Benteke with care
In the hopes that Big Sam soon would be there

The players were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of Chinese transfers danced in their heads
Steve Parrish in his ‘kerchief, and I in my cap
Had settled our brains for a long winter of crap

When out on the pitch there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my desk to see what was the matter
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash

The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Gave a luster of midday to objects below
When what to my wondering eyes did appear
But a large Mercedes and eight camera crews out for a leer

With a big driver who had a head like a ham
I knew in a moment he must be Big Sam
More rapid than eagles the players they came
And he whistled and shouted and called them by name

“Now, Sako! Now, Souare! Now, Zaha and Ledley!
On, Remy! On, Tomkins! On, Campbell and Kelly!
To the top of the table! Or at least to the center!
Now don’t let investigators even hope to enter!”

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his shoes
And his reputation was all tarnished with scandals in the news
A bundle of money he had flung on his back
And he looked like a grifter just back from the track

His eyes—how they twinkled! His dimples, how merry!
His cheeks filled with porkchops, his brow rather scary!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And his multiple chins bounced to and fro

The stump of a cigar he held tight in his lips
And his shirt was too tight, exposing his nips
He had a broad face and a sizable gut
That was definitely caused by too much Pizza Hut

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly gaffer
And I laughed when I saw him—oh, the internet banter!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
And filled all his pockets, then turned with a jerk
And laying his finger inside of his nose
And giving a nod, his ego—it grows!

He sprang to his car, his team gave a whistle
And down the drain they flew, like the last piece of gristle
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight—
“Happy Christmas to all, going undercover ain’t right!”

Sam Allardyce’s guide to remaining undefeated as England manager

This is a follow-up to “Sam Allardyce’s guide to being England manager.” But this guide has been written by Big Sam himself. 

There are three certainties in life: Death, taxes, and England managers getting sacked for disgracing the nation. I knew that going into the job and I was smart enough to work the system so that I would go down as England’s only undefeated manager ever. Here’s how I did it…

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