He quaffs another slug of his chocolate Yoo-hoo and gas station vodka concoction, and casts a bleary gaze to the black leather folder before him. Closed. Awaiting his signature.

Sometimes, it felt like the league, the ethereal board, and even the players themselves conspired against him and his quest for athletic glory, but Chester would be damned if he was going to give up now, not after the season he just had.  "The McSlappy Clan, A History in Three Parts" didn't contain a single reference to "giving up", and he wasn't about to make those publishers issue a revised edition.

"SHRIMPITOS, TWO FOR FIVE."

Oh, and who's this here?  Why, it's Chester McSlappy himself, hard at work scouring the globe for players who both have working legs and fit into his miniscule wage budget.  Good luck out there, Chester!  I hear the soccer fields in South Korea are ripe for harvesting.

Minutes later, both fur and raw meat and being ground under the deposed goalkeeper's molars.  He chuckles to himself.  His plan to install himself as the hero-goalie of Southend has been delayed, but only just.

Chester, or "Mr. McSlappy" if you're fancy, realizes he's never seen any members of the Board. He narrows his eyes, squinting past the bright light. The series of colossal desks surrounding him appear unmanned. A single speaker lays sideways on the desk before him. He blinks once, twice, until it erupted in white noise, and a gnarled, delayed voice that interrupted the static. Unintelligible. But with a distinctly positive inflection.

He decides that everything, even the train, is worse at Southend-on-Sea.

We've got a two crazy shows for you this week if any of you missed the streams this week. But first, we've got more info on a few more of our favorite players:

Not ones to question the mystical forces of our plane, we dutifully grasped our Playstation 4 controllers and set out to do just that.