the match starts, this match is the one. the one that will end 8 months of agony. 8 months of watching the londoners whore themselves all over the land as the 'invincibles' and getting all wet at the media hype.
the ref is a real 'homer' every 50/50 goes our way. what a wussy ref, might as well give him a red shirt. our gaffer has been conditioning this pussy of a ref thru the papers all week and now he fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.
the inevitable penalty finally arrived.
as you grab the ball and make it your own, memories come flooding back. same place same situation, the ball came off the crossbar and destiny was written and sealed all at once.
the shame.
the agony.
now is the chance to put it rite once and for all. to slay the inner demons and setting the chip on the shoulder rite.
the scene is set. ball 12 yards out, you and the net with the keeper in between.
nothing else matters, everything fades out.
you pick your spot, you begin your run up, you hit the ball like your life depend on it. your life as you know it IS dependent on this one and only kick.
as the ball left your rite foot, you knew it, you just knew it...you have hit the sweet spot dead on.
the net bulged, the twat of a keeper didn't move.
the stadia came alive once again. you run off to the corner to soak it all it. running and screaming like a mad man. that guttural roar that broke the dam holding back all the humiliation, desperation.
its all good again. till the next time.
the ref is a real 'homer' every 50/50 goes our way. what a wussy ref, might as well give him a red shirt. our gaffer has been conditioning this pussy of a ref thru the papers all week and now he fallen for it, hook, line and sinker.
the inevitable penalty finally arrived.
as you grab the ball and make it your own, memories come flooding back. same place same situation, the ball came off the crossbar and destiny was written and sealed all at once.
the shame.
the agony.
now is the chance to put it rite once and for all. to slay the inner demons and setting the chip on the shoulder rite.
the scene is set. ball 12 yards out, you and the net with the keeper in between.
nothing else matters, everything fades out.
you pick your spot, you begin your run up, you hit the ball like your life depend on it. your life as you know it IS dependent on this one and only kick.
as the ball left your rite foot, you knew it, you just knew it...you have hit the sweet spot dead on.
the net bulged, the twat of a keeper didn't move.
the stadia came alive once again. you run off to the corner to soak it all it. running and screaming like a mad man. that guttural roar that broke the dam holding back all the humiliation, desperation.
its all good again. till the next time.
