Will Saha Ever Return?

The following exclusive extracts from Louis Saha's diary appeared in RI 193 back in May. To ensure your copy of the new issue (out next weekend) subscribe via the links below:


The Diary Of Louis Saha (Malingerer-In-Chief)

Monday:
Got up early ready to go to training but suffered terrible paper cut while opening junk mail from BUPA. Lost seven pints of blood, rushed to hospital where I contracted MRSI, then cracked pelvis falling out of bed while reaching for grapes Alan Smith had brought in. (Looking at his lips, I suspect he'd already eaten some of them.)

Tuesday:
Got up early ready to go to training but bit into free plastic model of Wife Swap's Lizzie Bardsley hidden in Coco Pops and dislocated jaw. Tried to dial ambulance but snapped flexor digitorum profundus of index finger due to particularly stiff number 9 button. Tripped getting off bus and fell into concrete mixer which was then hit by falling piano ... all in all, today was a good day.

Wednesday:
Contracted Leprosy after buying a Big Issue and then three different sexually transmitted diseases after sitting on a toilet seat at Carrington. Following an Acute Myocardial Infarction brought about by Wayne popping a bag of crisps I trip up and manage to wedge my mouth round Kieran Richardson's twin exhaust while he was revving up. I'm now back in hospital, for a Heart and Lung transplant.

Thursday:
After a series of mix ups in the Operating Theatre, I'm conjoined to a Siamese Twin seeking a reversal of a previous operation followed by a sex change. Fergie says I should be fit for Saturday though.

Friday:
Drove through Chorlton. Was savaged by dead cow. Am now doubtful for Saturday.

Saturday:
Told the boss I wasn't ready to play against Boro tonight. He called me a "fuckin' headcase" and punched me in the face and broke my jaw.

Sunday:
I head to church to seek some guidance from the Lord and redemption from these terrible afflictions but dislocate my hip whilst genuflecting. As the pastor rumbles down the aisle to see if I'm okay, the vibrations of the choir singing "Abide With Me" fractures my skull as I lay on the ground. The Last Rites were issued, including communion, but the severed my tongue and I pass out again due to blood loss. I'm consoled by the knowledge that God works in mysterious ways and I get paid on Tuesday regardless.

Monday:
Watch Henrik Larsson video in hospital and stab voodoo doll. Missus says I should get over it. I go to slap her but pull hamstring and dislocate wrist.

Tuesday:
Went to Zizzi's on the Strand. Was tucking into my Quattro Stagioni but ended up severing my own penis. The doctor said it couldn't be reattached.

Wednesday:
While stabbing Henrik Larrson voodoo doll again I inadvertently sever a radial artery. Slip on the blood while staggering out to ambulance now permanently stationed outside front door and stagger into kitchen cabinet. Bottle of mayonnaise falls out and breaks left metatarsal. Now what are the chances of that happening, eh?

Thursday:
Good day today, no new accidents to report. But apparently I am in a coma as I have lost 28 gallons of blood in the past week. If I awake I may be fit for Sunday (game, not church again).

Friday:
Still in coma. My name is Sam Tyler, I was a Premiership footballer playing for one of the greatest clubs in the land but somehow I've ended up back in the early Seventies battling relegation. The Boss has picked me to play against a Leeds team that contains Norman Hunter, Billy Bremner and Jack Charlton. Am feeling very confident I will sail through this one.

Saturday:
I make the mistake of hitting (quite literally) the toilets the same time as big Norm, little Billy and Mad Jack. As they wrestled on the piss covered floor (naked - their very own unique warm up), I slipped on my steel studs as I tried to stop myself entering the room. My grabbing of the door frame saw me somersault onto the tiles under a flying Charlton who was in the process of belly flopping Hunter and Bremner from the top of the armitage shanks 6 inch urinal. The resulting pile up saw me break my back. I'm out for a week.

Sunday:
Am going towards the light. Didn't reach the light. Fell down a disused mineshaft. As I lay, twisted and shattered in the darkness, I took the opportunity to ponder the complex structure of all physical reality. I considered that matter is energy in multitudinous forms, and as I did so my very being melted into a pool of yellow liquid. At that moment, a beam of sunlight penetrated the gloom of the mineshaft and in just a few seconds I was completely evaporated! Floating upwards, now in gaseous form, I once again burst forth into the open sky - and was immediately sucked into the air-conditioning system of a nearby office block. I've been here a couple of hours now; all the office workers have gone home sick. At last! I'm a French Legionnaire!

Monday:
I FINALLY PLAYED FOOTBALL..... OK. It was table football and unfortunately when I was up against Nemanja he tried to demonstrate how you do a sliding tackle with one of those sticks, impaling one of my testes as it shot through to my side. Still, at least he was sympathetic.

Tuesday:
Momma came over from Paris today. We had a lovely day together. She really loves my mansion. However, there was a terrible accident. I stood by the window, watching her as she walked the grounds. Oh, how far we've come from poor Paris! As she walked out, I saw her slip on some wet steps, slide down then snap her leg in two. It was exécrable! I shouted and wished to run to her aid. Unfortunately, a slight twinge in my hamstring meant I really couldn't help her. Still, I called an ambulance. After calling my helper dog bon-bon to bring the phone to me. I really couldn't leave my £3,500 lazy-boy - such was the dull, excruciating pain. I may not be fit for the weekend.

Wednesday:
Mr Ferguson called again. He's not happy. Have just suffered a recurrence of carpal tunnel syndrome while typing this. Twisted my back while turning, fell off the chair, dislocated my shoulder getting up and aggravated my shinsplints.

Thursday:
Good news, my agent says Spurs are in for me. They haven't had a proper replacement for Darren Anderton. I open a bottle of champagne to celebrate and the cork hits me in the eye blinding me.