😂😂
In the showers…
“Lovely bush you have there Steven”
*steven passes small bush plant in plant pot to Gibson*
“Thank you Gibson, it’s my lucky shower bush. Now what do you want”
The best one yet if I do say so
It was a cold, dreary Saturday afternoon at Oxford United’s Kassam Stadium, and Stoke City had just limped to a 1-0 defeat. The Stoke fans were livid, the players trudged off the pitch looking defeated, and Steven Schumacher, the manager, was seething as he stomped towards the dressing room. Yet, as bad as the loss was, nobody could have predicted the bizarre chain of events that was about to unfold.
In the dressing room, the tension was palpable. Schumacher, red-faced and dripping with sweat, paced angrily while muttering under his breath. He had been under pressure for weeks, and this latest defeat was the last straw for someone else in the room—Jon Walters, Stoke City’s Director of Football.
Walters, a club legend and never one to shy away from confrontation, had been fuming in the stands. This was *his* Stoke City, and Schumacher’s dismal tactics had just sent them tumbling to another defeat. By the time Walters stormed into the dressing room, he was a volcano waiting to erupt.
"Schuey!" Walters barked, causing the players to look up nervously from their spots. “What the hell was that? What’s the point of setting up like that against Oxford United? One striker, sitting back? Pathetic!”
Schumacher, already frustrated, shot back, "You’re the Director of Football, Jon. You stay in the stands, and I’ll manage the team. Or have you forgotten how this works?"
Jon’s face darkened. "Forgotten? I haven’t forgotten anything, Schuey. I remember exactly how this is supposed to go: you manage, and the team actually plays football. Not whatever this mess was today!"
Schumacher was having none of it. His face flushed an even deeper shade of crimson as he ripped off his sweat-soaked suit jacket and threw it to the floor. “You think you can do better? Sitting up in your cushy director’s seat, calling the shots after the fact?”
Walters, equally livid, started peeling off his coat as well, as if his rage had triggered a bizarre instinct to strip. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Schuey. I’ve been at this club longer than you’ve had pubes.”
"That's a pretty long time for a washed-up legend who doesn’t even kick a ball anymore!" Schumacher snapped, now down to his shirt and trousers.
That was it. The last straw. Walters yanked off his coat and shirt with a dramatic flourish, leaving his upper half bare, ready for a fight. "You want to settle this like men? Let’s go!"
Schumacher, not one to back down, kicked off his shoes and began stripping down too, as though this was somehow the only logical progression of the argument. “You’re on!”
Before anyone could blink, Walters and Schumacher were grappling in the middle of the dressing room, both now completely naked, in what could only be described as the weirdest fight in football history. Players looked on in stunned silence, some with towels halfway to their faces, unable to decide whether to laugh, scream, or call security.
As Walters attempted a bizarre rugby-style tackle, Schumacher somehow slipped out of his grip, causing them both to tumble onto the cold, tiled floor, limbs flailing everywhere.
It was at this precise moment that Peter Coates, Stoke City’s chairman, burst through the door, his eyes widening in disbelief as he took in the sight of his naked manager and Director of Football rolling around like two angry toddlers.
“What in the actual hell is going on here?!” Coates boomed, causing Walters and Schumacher to freeze mid-wrestle, both still entangled on the floor.
“Er…a tactical disagreement,” Walters mumbled, trying to cover himself with an arm that was definitely too short for the job.
“Tactical disagreement?!” Coates’ face was a mix of horror and fury. “This isn’t a bloody gladiator arena! You two... You...oh my God, Schumacher, you’re fired!”
Schumacher blinked, still lying there in a compromising position. “What?! You can’t sack me for this!”
“I’m not sacking you *just* for this,” Coates snapped. “I’m sacking you because you’ve clearly lost the plot. I can’t have my manager rolling around naked in the dressing room, no matter how bad a game went!”
Schumacher tried to protest, but Coates wasn’t having it. “Pack your things and get out, Steven. You’re done.”
With that, Steven Schumacher’s short and disastrous reign as Stoke City manager came to an inglorious end, not due to poor results alone, but due to an ill-advised, naked brawl with Jon Walters after a miserable 1-0 defeat.
As for Walters, while he managed to keep his job, there were immediate changes. The following Monday, Stoke City instituted a strict new post-match dress code: "No more naked wrestling in the dressing room, no matter how bad the defeat."
It became the stuff of legend, a cautionary tale in the football world. From then on, whenever Stoke City had a rough patch, people would just shake their heads and mutter, “At least it’s not as bad as the Naked Fight at Oxford.”
