ROBBIE Fowler has a few more impish celebrations planned for Liverpool's remaining games.

And, being a thoughtful, considerate kind of scallywag, he has already prepared some explanations for manager Gerard Houllier to feed to the blissfully unsuspecting public.

At Leeds, Fowler intends to mimic the actions of a lovelorn shepherd in front of the Elland Road kop.

Houllier plans to brush off the ritual as a training routine used by Fowler to improve pelvic mobility.

Then Liverpool host Aston Villa when Fowler goals should be plentiful. In a playful dig at Stan Collymore, Fowler will shave his head and sit in the corner of the goal rocking himself, enmeshed in a straitjacket of netting.

Houllier will explain the prank as Robbie's scientific approach to marksmanship - if he can fix the scent of the back of the net, Fowler's finishing becomes even more instinctive.

John Filan and the Blackburn defence thankfully ensure that Ewood Park is not subjected to the rascal's comic capers.

But when Spurs visit Anfield, the refreshed Robbie is at his most innocently playful. His mime of putting his head in a gas oven before keeling over is laughed off by Houllier as something Rigobert Song did at Metz, pretending to eat grass treated by toxic weedkiller.

Robbie's logic becomes a little warped when he pretends to urinate in front of the Leppings Lane supporters against Sheffield Wednesday at Hillsbrough. Houllier at last is lost for words.

Fowler is suspended for the final game against Wimbledon and ordered to donate £10 to Comic Relief.

The above scenarios are not intended to titillate.

They are designed to illustrate just how repugnantly sick Fowler's actions were in front of the Everton fans at Anfield last Saturday.

For it has been suggested to me that his attempts to parody the snorting of cocaine was just a harmless bit of fun.

Ask the smackheads of Toxteth just how much fun hard drugs can be.

His actions plumbed new depths that would be hard for even Fowler to ever again reach. But if Fowler can make a joke out of drug addiction, whatever the moronic provocation, perhaps he genuinely does know no bounds.

Liverpool's official response is dictated by the ridiculous ruling that players can only be fined a maximum of two weeks wages by their club.

The FA still have the chance the rub the little brat's nose in it. (That phrase was intended to entertain.)

So if Fowler can be taught a real lesson - and that makes the somewhat far-fetched assumption that there is at least a flickering of neurological activity inside his skull - former schoolteacher Houllier is the man.

The Frenchman, however, is too soft and his pathetic attempts to gloss over the incident were almost as disgusting as the act itself.

Players take their lead from the manager and, at present, Liverpool players think they can get away with murder.

If I was Houllier, Fowler would be out the Anfield door before he could say "Derrrrrrrr"!

Unfortunately, though, the man can play football and that tends to supersede basic moral obligations.

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