A dive in the ocean
‘I’m the king of the world!!!’
It was no Titanic, but a private yacht all the same. Bale sailed onwards, heart set on a move to Madrid. The deal was finally happening. All those hours spent in training, copying Ronaldo’s free kick posture. They had finally paid off.
‘You look happy this morning …’ Bale came back to reality. Ah, the sweet reality. It was his life partner. Bale couldn’t believe it, all of it was like a dream. Like when you find a 10 rupee note in your old jeans.
‘Did you sleep well?’ Bale pulled his partner towards him.
‘Oh yes, yes I did.’
They spent the day watching Game of Thrones. Bale’s partner had to wipe away his tears after the Red Wedding. They made love and slept peacefully.
A loud thud woke Gareth up in the middle of the night. The other side of the bed was empty. The ship shook, the water level rising.
‘Oh f**k me, not the Titanic shite again.’
‘Luis! Where are you Luisito!!’
He came out onto the deck. No reply. Bale then ran to the back of the boat, to the emergency compartment. Luis won’t betray me, not after all we have been through.
Bale couldn’t have been more wrong. He saw the Real Madrid President, Fiorentino Pèrez and Luis, both coming out of the emergency compartment, adjusting their life jackets. All three of them were at the same distance from the only life boat. [But we know that Bale is faster so he could have gotten there first.] He did not go for the lifeboat. Bale felt betrayed. He let it go. He let everything go. In a few minutes, Suarez and Perez started sailing away.
Gareth’s last words were, ‘After all this time, Luis?’
Bale could have survived. He did not. His life was over. He remembered his Southampton days. Then Spurs. How he and Luis dived together. But when Gareth saw the flicker of guilt in Luis’ eyes, he was happy. I must have meant something to him. Luis moved on towards Madrid, as Gareth moved towards the emptiness of the ocean.
[NOTE: Due credit to Titanic, J.K Rowling, George RR Martin. It is a work of fiction and meant for entertainment. No offense is intended to any of these wonderful players or anyone related to them. Photo credit: @101Greatgoals]
He’s just not that into you
David Moyes was searching for a central midfielder. The one they had been lacking since the beginning of time. There was a list, and it was getting shorter every day. Moyes was down to his last three names. He picked up the phone and dialed a number.
‘It’s not you, its me,’ blurted Thiago as he struggled to control his tears.
‘It was not meant to end like this,’ replied Moyes.
Thiago was silent.
‘So this is it?’ said Moyes. His voice reflected defeat. Thiago thought back on the day he had got a call from Pep Guardiola. To play in midfield with Tom Cleverly, Anderson and Rooney with a manager who has won nothing or to pick a midfield of Bastian Schweinsteiger, Mario Gotze, Ribery and Robben for a manager who has won every major trophy. It was like having to pick between Mila Kunis and Megan Fox. There were a few moments of silence. Moyes sighed. He hadn’t held out hope to begin with.
‘Hello, is this Cesc?’
‘This is David Moy–‘
‘Oh piss off!’
[Image credit: The telegraph]
The Chosen One
I was sat in a dark corner. There was no sign of him. I kept checking my phone. You have no new messages. The clock was ticking. Another round please, I shouted. The bartender came over and refilled my pint. You have no new messages.
‘I got like a thousand calls from you for fuck’s sake, what’s the matter?’
‘Oi, if you have called me here just for a brotherly chat, piss off already.’
‘Sit down, Wayne.’ My anger was barely controlled.
He sat down.
‘What’s the matter, Mr. Mourinho?’
‘You tell me, Wayne. You tell me. I know it isn’t going very well for you. The Fabregas deal failed, I heard? That’s another year for you in the midfield.’
‘Mr. Mourinho, have you called me all the way down here to make fun of me?’
‘No, you’re being disrespected at United is what I’m trying to tell you. Come to the Bridge. You will be treated well.’
‘Are you serious? What about Torres? What about Lukak-‘
‘Look, Wayne, do you want in or not?’
The finality gets through to him.
‘Yes, yes. I’d love that.’
‘Then I need you to do something for me. You need to hand in a transfer request.’
‘Consider it done, Mr Mourinho. Can’t believe you actually want me!’
‘Here, this is your contract.’
I passed him an envelope.
‘Take it and leave before I change my mind.’
‘Thank you so much, Mr. Mourinho!’
The flickering tube light illuminated him as he headed for the back door. I took another sip of my pint before picking up the phone.
Hello, Roman Abramovich here. Please leave a message.
‘Fatman has been unsettled. Let’s move for Robin.’