It's famously known within the beautiful sport that the man doesn't have a hair on his body. His vigorous waxing regime has been the focus of huge debate, especially as he demands the players watch. If only cameras were allowed in the dressing room at half time. Eye witness accounts describe the scenes as "repetitively brutal". Coyle, who earned his grotesque nickname on account of his spiral shaped genitalia, apparently lies on the floor with his knees by his ears while the unlucky substitutes are goaded into pouring hot wax over his naked thighs. He howls demotivating abuse at the team and rips the hairs out while his appalling wife plays fast percussive music.
He's blind in both eyes and has been quoted as describing football as "exactly like basting turkeys". When asked what he meant the ruddy-faced monster launched into a twenty minute tirade of racist abuse leveled at the Turkish.
His twenty-four hour benders are famous within the city centre. He collects all his body hair that's been removed into bin bags and takes it out on the town with him so he can "fluff up the doubters", a game he likes to play where he pins down anybody who questions him and effectively tars and feathers them with his own body hair while his appalling wife plays fast percussive music.
The players seem strangely loyal to the cider-swigging madman. they famously put each of the letters of his name (Owen Coyle) into a hat, drew them out and each had one letter tattooed onto their naked backs. It's rumoured that when they first showed Owen what they'd done they lined up in front of him naked spelling out his name. A sodden Coyle stood before them and demanded they re-arranged themselves into the words "Cool Weeny", before pulling down his trousers, pulling out his spiral-shaped weeny and urinating over them while his appalling wife played fast percussive music.
It's a long time since we had a true character like this in footballs and I for one think it's exactly what we need to start getting seats in bums in the major stadiums. Long gone are the days of managers like 'Mad Roddy Dunthwaite', 'Graham Sods' and ' Old Derby Dad-pipes' himself. Bring them back I say for their presence can only mean one thing. GOALS!!!!!