Manager of the month

December 8th, 2004

For the second year running I’m playing the Daily Telegraph’s Fantasy Football game. It is superb for making the world of footballing form / trivia / injuries and otherwise utterly uninteresting games suddenly fascinating, and like a soccer geek in the making, I’m loving it.

I’ve said it before and it remains deeply true: There is no more powerful a motivating force for the Modern Western Male than the opportunity to stick it to your mates. The Fantasy Football, with it’s mix of direct competition and anal-male statistical elements is a perfectly devised arena for doing exactly that.

Anyway, right now I’m in about 16,000th place out of 0.25m in the main game (i.e I’m not doing badly at all), and my 2nd place out of 23 in our Agency’s league has me positioned very nicely for the Xmas run-in. But in addition to these two leagues my team, Roboto Carlos, is also entered in the Telegraph’s recruitment league, a game which we at work are invited to take part in as we place so much advertising with them.

It is with considerable pride (and I really mean that), that I can announce my success as Manager of the Month in this competition. Get in! The lads done me good.

With about 600 players in this league my achievement is no mean feat, and unsurprisingly I’m milking the moment as much as possible. In fact I’ve probably already emailed you about this, so yawns all-round.

For my efforts I get a bottle of champagne and a photo of robotperson on the web. For maximum hilarity value I chose the most odious shot from the chav fancy-dress party (which I teased you with below). Highly amusing. I’m not sure it’ll do my chances of being headhunted much good though.

Incidentally, Roboto Carlos (obviously) puns Roberto Carlos, which is Spanish for Robert Charles, which is my christian name. Sweet! Thanks to Rachel for pointing that out. Cue keepy-uppy marathon.

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