''So who've you got, then?" "Well, I've gone for a strong backbone this season - Cech, Terry, Henry, Ambrose."
"I figure he'll play a lot at Charlton. And I can transfer him out when they start falling to pieces in the new year."
"All guns blazing, then?"
"No points for second place, mate."
"You know what I'm doing this year? Aiming for the bottom. 'Cos there's a great art in failure. Picking a rubbish team is more difficult than a winning one. Everyone knows who the best players are - the Lampards, Ferdinands, Okochas - but no one knows who's going to be rubbish.
"You could go cheap with all those Wigan and Sunderland boys, but there's always that chance one of them could do really well and move you up the table. In fact, they should offer as much money for finishing last as finishing top."
"Could be interesting . . . Who are you thinking of for this wondrous study of rubbishness?"
"Kroldrup at Everton. Hleb. He's that new Arsenal midfielder."
"Know what you could do? You could do a 'Try Saying This When You're Drunk' eleven. Giannakopoulos.
"So who are you playing with?"
"Had to go with the Telegraph. Aside from it being the original daddy of them all, that picture of Alan Hansen on their website made my heart go all fluttery . . . You?"
"Guardian's Fantasy Chairman. It's all about the money, but you play against your mates as well. It's the new poker."
"Why play against your mates? With the Sun, you can play against the page-three girls."
"Talk about fantasy football."