And it came to pass that Saint Christopher of the Powelites, the chosen one of the one true Lord (Curbs) did lead his disciples to the sacred field of Sparrows for pre-match preps and a low calorie/high-protein Christmas feast.

And as Saint Christopher did wash the holy feet of Saint Solly of Diddyland in asses milk – for Saint Solly was too short to reach his own tiny feet- he did say unto his disciples,

“The chosen people of the red Valley are content this Christmas time. We have been victorious against the mighty dragons of Taffland and battled against hungry wolves and defeated the fearsome orange loons of the black pools and we can now bask in the warm and fertile land of mid-table obscurity. Praise be to the Lord (Curbs).”

And there was much jubilation and back slapping all around the sacred field of sparrows. The disciples did sing great hymns of praise for the one true Lord (Curbs) who had appeared to many as a ghostly angelic vision on a late night football show but never spoke a word in the presence of other men, so great was his faith in the mantra of two banks of four.

Only Saint Bradley of Lewisham could be seen sulking over by the corner flag and muttering to his agent on his mobile phone.

And then a great black ( BMW 7 series) chariot did arriveth at the sacred field of Sparrows (Directors car park) and the great King Slater of the Moneylenders did march towards them his robes billowing in the winter wind. And the disciples did all cower in great fear for many brave and long serving Addicks had been put to the sword in the temple for crossing the King or his great ally Prince Antonio, the wicked emperor of Spanish golf courses.

“Greetings my King,” said Saint Christopher, looking holy and sharp in his Nike designer tracksuit of many colours, “ and may the blessings of the one true Lord (Curbs) be with you always.”

“Bugger the one true Lord” roared the King who was clearly in a mighty hump as was often the case when the disciples pay day approacheth.

And Saint Christopher of the Powelites was also mighty afraid for though a brave and mighty warrior he did truly hate the evil Wise man of Yobbo who was the brother in law of the Prince Antonio and wanted to rule in the red Valley.

“There is now a new Lord around here and all disciples must worship Koc! ”

Saint Christopher did look mightily upset and confused for there was nothing about Koc worship in the holy word passed down from father to son since the ancient times when the Addicks tribe first roamed the Red Valley on the misty banks of the river Thames.

How could this word as written on the holy tablets by the ancient scribe, Saint Keith of Peacock (available in the valley superstore at only £9-99) be forsaken thus?

“But my King” stammered Saint Chris, “surely thou must have faith that only the one true Lord (Curbs) and his chosen one (me) can lead us to the promised land as it is written in the ancient tablets in the Valley superstore.”

“I am fed up spending my gold and waiting for the promised-land” roared the King “

“Now is the time for us to entereth the Kingdom of Koc Holding” he commanded.

For now the disciples too did look verily afraid for they knew not what this holding of Kocs might mean (particularly during post match showers) and verily thought that King Slater must have been on the cooking sherry at lunchtime or fallen heavily on is head during a marathon training run.

“But where is this unknown kingdom of Koc Holding and how shall we seek it out oh wise one?” asked Saint Jacko of Leftboot, bowing low to the King in the hope of extending his contract if Saint Christopher was indeed put to the sword by the grumpy King and the Moorish prince, to make way for the evil Wise man of Yobbo.

“It’s just outside the walls of the ancient city of Istanbul and there are giant sacks of gold spilling into the streets there” said King Slater rubbing his blood stained hands with excitement and looking slightly bonkers.

“And how shall we tell the proud people of the red Valley that we are entering the Kingdom of Koc?” asked saint Solly of the Diddymen, who still had his sacred feet in a bowl of asses milk.

“Do not telleth those stroppy buggers anything until we get there “said the King “for verily some of those ancient Addicks and tribal elders will only causeth me mighty trouble before I get my hands on that gold.”

Then Saint Christopher gripped with the fear of unemployment did feel his waters warm on his leg as he felt divine inspiration dripping through his Nike nylon tracksuit.

“The kingdom of the Koc Holding has become the kingdom of our Lord (Curbs) and of his chosen one Saint Christopher, and he shall reign forever and ever.” he proclaimed to the heavens.

And King Slater raised his eyebrows in despair, Prince Antonio polished his seven-iron, Saint Alex of Pressups blew a golden trumpet and there were cock jokes and carol singing all around. Weight-watchers range mince pies, prepared by the maidens at the checkout of Tesco Extra were served to the King and the Prince on golden paper plates and glory truly shone around.

And this is the word of the Lord (Curbs) and happy Christmas to the Addicks people where ever you might be.