Neil Warnock says that during his Burton Albion days, he hit a proper crisis just before kick-off: his star striker, Stewart Mell, was nowhere to be seen and the teamsheet was already in. His fix? Send one of the lads into a toilet cubicle with his shorts down and orders to sound like he was on his way out. “Heave like you’ve never heaved in your life,” Warnock told him, “and no matter what anybody says, don’t open the door whatever you do.” Off he went to the referee looking heartbroken, explaining that Mell had “come down with food poisoning” and was “puking in the toilet,” so probably couldn't start. “I’m sure their lot won’t mind,” Warnock said, “because he’s my best player.” A linesman was sent along to check. Warnock coughed on the way in, and from behind the door came: “Euggggggegh… euggggesssh…” It was so convincing Warnock reckoned the kid sounded like he was genuinely dying. He looked at the linesman: “That’s how bad he is.” The linesman walked off impressed, and the ref allowed a late reshuffle with Mell on the bench “if he recovered sufficiently.” Five minutes before kick-off, mid team talk, in runs Stewart Mell. Still dressed in his fireman's uniform. “Gaffer, I’m terribly sorry,” he said, “there were two accidents, I ran over a dog…” Warnock's response: “Just get changed.” Then it was back to the ref's door, this time playing the honest man. “Listen, ref,” he said, “I’ve decided it’s just not fair. It’s not fair on Wootton. I put Stewart Mell on my teamsheet in the first place so I’d rather start him.” The ref even thanked him for it. “It’s very good of you.” And Warnock, straight-faced: “Think nothing of it.”