WHAT THE ACTUAL ...ACTUAL...ACTUAL FUK.....
“I’ve made up my mind, I’m leaving” and with that Steven Gerrard walked out of Anfield for the last time, leaving Rick Parry, Rafael Benitez and David Moores crestfallen having lost their skipper. The press were full of the stories about Stevie’s decision to leave, and the move to Chelsea seemed imminent, as Benitez began planning a replacement for Gerrard in earnest, Stevie returned to his humble home on Merseyside (ok, not so humble, but its kinda fitting in with the original story….)
As Stevie put himself to bed that night, with his fiancée away for the night (it wouldn’t make sense with someone else there) there was a restlessness in the air, and as Stevie tossed and turned, unable to sleep, he felt an ice cool breeze slip in through the open window, he immediately got out of bed and as he headed to the window he felt a firm, strong hand grip his shoulder. He turned around sharply to face the intruder and was flabbergasted by what he saw, for he was faced by none other than Bill Shankly. Stevie opened his mouth to speak but with his typically strong Scottish voice Shankly simply declared “Keep your questions for later son”, Stevie belligerently replied “but you’re in my house” to which quick as a flash Shanks replied, “this isn’t your house son, this is Liverpools house” (ok, that’s clutching at straws a bit perhaps…) “I’m the ghost of Liverpool past, and you’re coming with me…”
Before Stevie could complain, he was stood on the Kop surrounded by thousands of Liverpudlians singing their hearts out for their team,
“Where am I?” quizzed Stevie,
“You,” Shanks replied, “are at the home of football, you should recognise it, it’s the greatest ground in the world, and those boys wearing that shirt recognise that it’s a privilege not a chore” the crowd suddenly erupts as Iain St John plants a simple finish into the kop goal past the Inter keeper as Shanks joins in the crowd singing “Oh, Inter, one-two-three Go back to Italy”
“We should’ve beaten this lot, cheats they are” Shankly explained to Gerrard who didn’t seem impressed,
“Why am I here” he retorted, “I’ve made up my mind I’m going”
“Oh aye son” quipped Shankly, “You’re here because I say so, and you aint seen nothing yet” Shankly clicked his fingers again and the Kop disappeared and the pair reappeared in Shankly’s office alongside a man who Stevie recognised from somewhere but couldn’t quite pin his finger on it.
“You recognise him sonny?” Asked Shanks, Stevie pauses for a minute before realising, “Its Keegs” he remembers,
“Yes it is,” replies Shankly, “and he’s just decided to move onto bigger and better things, and you wanna know what, people said Liverpool FC couldn’t survive without him, just as they said they couldn’t survive without me, just as they’re saying they couldn’t survive without you, but you know what sonny, he couldn’t survive without Liverpool, neither could I, and neither I don’t think, can you. Liverpool was made for us and we were made for Liverpool”
Stevie suddenly awoke in his room, a dream, it must’ve been a dream, he reassured himself, he stood up and headed downstairs to the kitchen to get himself a drink to calm himself down, when all of a sudden, another, colder, harsher breeze emerged from the still open window, Stevie turned around, and was shocked to be faced by his manager Rafael Benitez, a man who he’d told he was leaving just hours before, Stevie angrily approached his manager,
“What the hell are you doing in my house at this time, I’ve said I’m leaving”
“Firstly, this isn’t your house, this is Liverpool’s house, and I am the ghost of Liverpool present” Rafael replied, Stevie gave Rafael a quizzical look and replied,
“What yer doin speaking in a Scottish accent la, who d’yer think yer are, Sean Connery???”
“Sorry signor,” Rafael replied, “I just thought it fitted in with the tone of the evening, now then, come take a trip with me” Stevie sighed as he once again left his room, it was turning into a fascinating day…
Stevie re-emerged in the dressing room of the Attaturk stadium in Istanbul, surrounded by his dejected teammates, heads down, down and out.
“Why am I here gaffer?” Stevie asked, by now rather frustrated, “I know what happens, we go on and win”
“You are here,” Rafael replies, “to witness the epitome of Liverpool football club in action”
“Yeah,” Stevie replies, “it was one helluva second half, but I’m still on me bike, I’ve done it, I’ve won the cup at Liverpool but I don’t wanna stay nomore.” Rafael shakes his head,
“Non signor, you are here to watch Liverpools captain lift his team, to watch what this means to a true Liverpudlian, see what this club means to its fan, you seem to have forgotten” Gerrard watches himself go round to every member of the team, telling them to get their act together, encouraging them that the game wasn’t over,
“While you’re wearing that shirt, anything can happen, anything is possible, we’re Liverpool FC, and don’t you forget it” he heard himself say, in a worryingly Scottish sounding voice to each player and Stevie, for the first time, felt a surge of regret at leaving the club, coupled with a surge of pride at the memory. He paused for a moment before turning to Rafael,
“Listen gaffer, thanks and all, but me minds made up, I wanna go to Chelsea” Benitez smiled for a second, perhaps, but just look how you managed to raise this team at half time, and the rest, as they say, is history…”
Again Stevie was back in his room, and as soon as he found himself in these familiar surroundings, he marched up and slammed his window shut. Dreams or no dreams it was creepy enough, and the last thing he wanted was to freeze to death on such a strange night. He headed towards his open door to go to the kitchen, when all of a sudden his window flew open, and he was greeted by an elderly looking scouse man who he recognised down to the core but couldn’t pin his finger on him. Stevie sighed,
“Lemme guess, you’re the ghost of Liverpool future?” The elderly man sighed and replied,
“No, I could’ve been, I’m the ghost of your future.”
And with that, Stevie reappeared in the Liverpool interactive museum about 30 years in the future alongside his older self, armed with a mop and smoking a pipe.
“What’ve yer brought me here for? Stevie asked angrily, “and what the hell are yer doin with that mop?” Stevies older self sighed,
“Things didn’t work out perfectly at Chelsea kidda, I won a trophy or two, but I was never at home, all that apples and pears bollocks just wasn’t for me, I’m at home here in Liverpool, I just wish I’d remembered that.”
“Yeah yeah mate,” Stevie replied sceptically, “you’re another part of me dream who doesn’t want me to go, but I’ve made up me mind, Chelsea’s the right move for me, now whats with the flipping mop?” Stevies older self sighed,
“After the move at Chelsea, I didn’t wanna be in football anymore, so I invested my money and made my own company, it went belly up and now I’ve got this job as a cleaner here to pay the mortgage, a few people still recognise me as “the guy who won us our fifth European cup” but when you’ve won 13 the 5th aint that important. Take a look over there.” He said, motioning to the trophy cabinent, going on as far as Stevie could see.
“That’s all the trophies we could’ve won if we stayed, Rafael’s men won everything going for over a decade, it all came to a bit of a halt when Parry was arrested for accepting Abrahmovic’s yacht as a bribe to give him Peter Crouch, but still we went on and on and re-wrote the history books again, look at that” Stevie’s eyes turned to a ludicrously big picture of Rafael Benitez,
“Whats he wearing a sombrero there for?” Stevie asks, by now very confused.
“I dunno, that’s what the painter bloke, Collymore I think he was called, wanted him to wear, he asked Rafael and his missus to go down to the car park afterwards, dunno why, anyways that’s besides the point, you’ll be making a big mistake if you leave Liverpool.” His elder self paused for a minute before looking Stevie in the eye and saying (in a broad Scottish accent naturally),
“Some people believe playing for liverpool is a matter of life and death, I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that."
Stevie awoke with a bang, and instantly picked up his mobile and dialled Rick Parrys number, it was the middle of the night, but anyone with hair as curly as Parry’s surely didn’t sleep, Parry answered the phone and before he could so much as try and persuade Stevie not to leave, Gerrard uttered four priceless words,
“Rick, I can’t leave.” And the rest, as they say, is history.
(This is a work of fiction, any relation to any events real or otherwise is purely coincidental )
Logged
Outside the Shankly gates, I heard a kopite calling...
They are proer fukin mantalists ffs
“I’ve made up my mind, I’m leaving” and with that Steven Gerrard walked out of Anfield for the last time, leaving Rick Parry, Rafael Benitez and David Moores crestfallen having lost their skipper. The press were full of the stories about Stevie’s decision to leave, and the move to Chelsea seemed imminent, as Benitez began planning a replacement for Gerrard in earnest, Stevie returned to his humble home on Merseyside (ok, not so humble, but its kinda fitting in with the original story….)
As Stevie put himself to bed that night, with his fiancée away for the night (it wouldn’t make sense with someone else there) there was a restlessness in the air, and as Stevie tossed and turned, unable to sleep, he felt an ice cool breeze slip in through the open window, he immediately got out of bed and as he headed to the window he felt a firm, strong hand grip his shoulder. He turned around sharply to face the intruder and was flabbergasted by what he saw, for he was faced by none other than Bill Shankly. Stevie opened his mouth to speak but with his typically strong Scottish voice Shankly simply declared “Keep your questions for later son”, Stevie belligerently replied “but you’re in my house” to which quick as a flash Shanks replied, “this isn’t your house son, this is Liverpools house” (ok, that’s clutching at straws a bit perhaps…) “I’m the ghost of Liverpool past, and you’re coming with me…”
Before Stevie could complain, he was stood on the Kop surrounded by thousands of Liverpudlians singing their hearts out for their team,
“Where am I?” quizzed Stevie,
“You,” Shanks replied, “are at the home of football, you should recognise it, it’s the greatest ground in the world, and those boys wearing that shirt recognise that it’s a privilege not a chore” the crowd suddenly erupts as Iain St John plants a simple finish into the kop goal past the Inter keeper as Shanks joins in the crowd singing “Oh, Inter, one-two-three Go back to Italy”
“We should’ve beaten this lot, cheats they are” Shankly explained to Gerrard who didn’t seem impressed,
“Why am I here” he retorted, “I’ve made up my mind I’m going”
“Oh aye son” quipped Shankly, “You’re here because I say so, and you aint seen nothing yet” Shankly clicked his fingers again and the Kop disappeared and the pair reappeared in Shankly’s office alongside a man who Stevie recognised from somewhere but couldn’t quite pin his finger on it.
“You recognise him sonny?” Asked Shanks, Stevie pauses for a minute before realising, “Its Keegs” he remembers,
“Yes it is,” replies Shankly, “and he’s just decided to move onto bigger and better things, and you wanna know what, people said Liverpool FC couldn’t survive without him, just as they said they couldn’t survive without me, just as they’re saying they couldn’t survive without you, but you know what sonny, he couldn’t survive without Liverpool, neither could I, and neither I don’t think, can you. Liverpool was made for us and we were made for Liverpool”
Stevie suddenly awoke in his room, a dream, it must’ve been a dream, he reassured himself, he stood up and headed downstairs to the kitchen to get himself a drink to calm himself down, when all of a sudden, another, colder, harsher breeze emerged from the still open window, Stevie turned around, and was shocked to be faced by his manager Rafael Benitez, a man who he’d told he was leaving just hours before, Stevie angrily approached his manager,
“What the hell are you doing in my house at this time, I’ve said I’m leaving”
“Firstly, this isn’t your house, this is Liverpool’s house, and I am the ghost of Liverpool present” Rafael replied, Stevie gave Rafael a quizzical look and replied,
“What yer doin speaking in a Scottish accent la, who d’yer think yer are, Sean Connery???”
“Sorry signor,” Rafael replied, “I just thought it fitted in with the tone of the evening, now then, come take a trip with me” Stevie sighed as he once again left his room, it was turning into a fascinating day…
Stevie re-emerged in the dressing room of the Attaturk stadium in Istanbul, surrounded by his dejected teammates, heads down, down and out.
“Why am I here gaffer?” Stevie asked, by now rather frustrated, “I know what happens, we go on and win”
“You are here,” Rafael replies, “to witness the epitome of Liverpool football club in action”
“Yeah,” Stevie replies, “it was one helluva second half, but I’m still on me bike, I’ve done it, I’ve won the cup at Liverpool but I don’t wanna stay nomore.” Rafael shakes his head,
“Non signor, you are here to watch Liverpools captain lift his team, to watch what this means to a true Liverpudlian, see what this club means to its fan, you seem to have forgotten” Gerrard watches himself go round to every member of the team, telling them to get their act together, encouraging them that the game wasn’t over,
“While you’re wearing that shirt, anything can happen, anything is possible, we’re Liverpool FC, and don’t you forget it” he heard himself say, in a worryingly Scottish sounding voice to each player and Stevie, for the first time, felt a surge of regret at leaving the club, coupled with a surge of pride at the memory. He paused for a moment before turning to Rafael,
“Listen gaffer, thanks and all, but me minds made up, I wanna go to Chelsea” Benitez smiled for a second, perhaps, but just look how you managed to raise this team at half time, and the rest, as they say, is history…”
Again Stevie was back in his room, and as soon as he found himself in these familiar surroundings, he marched up and slammed his window shut. Dreams or no dreams it was creepy enough, and the last thing he wanted was to freeze to death on such a strange night. He headed towards his open door to go to the kitchen, when all of a sudden his window flew open, and he was greeted by an elderly looking scouse man who he recognised down to the core but couldn’t pin his finger on him. Stevie sighed,
“Lemme guess, you’re the ghost of Liverpool future?” The elderly man sighed and replied,
“No, I could’ve been, I’m the ghost of your future.”
And with that, Stevie reappeared in the Liverpool interactive museum about 30 years in the future alongside his older self, armed with a mop and smoking a pipe.
“What’ve yer brought me here for? Stevie asked angrily, “and what the hell are yer doin with that mop?” Stevies older self sighed,
“Things didn’t work out perfectly at Chelsea kidda, I won a trophy or two, but I was never at home, all that apples and pears bollocks just wasn’t for me, I’m at home here in Liverpool, I just wish I’d remembered that.”
“Yeah yeah mate,” Stevie replied sceptically, “you’re another part of me dream who doesn’t want me to go, but I’ve made up me mind, Chelsea’s the right move for me, now whats with the flipping mop?” Stevies older self sighed,
“After the move at Chelsea, I didn’t wanna be in football anymore, so I invested my money and made my own company, it went belly up and now I’ve got this job as a cleaner here to pay the mortgage, a few people still recognise me as “the guy who won us our fifth European cup” but when you’ve won 13 the 5th aint that important. Take a look over there.” He said, motioning to the trophy cabinent, going on as far as Stevie could see.
“That’s all the trophies we could’ve won if we stayed, Rafael’s men won everything going for over a decade, it all came to a bit of a halt when Parry was arrested for accepting Abrahmovic’s yacht as a bribe to give him Peter Crouch, but still we went on and on and re-wrote the history books again, look at that” Stevie’s eyes turned to a ludicrously big picture of Rafael Benitez,
“Whats he wearing a sombrero there for?” Stevie asks, by now very confused.
“I dunno, that’s what the painter bloke, Collymore I think he was called, wanted him to wear, he asked Rafael and his missus to go down to the car park afterwards, dunno why, anyways that’s besides the point, you’ll be making a big mistake if you leave Liverpool.” His elder self paused for a minute before looking Stevie in the eye and saying (in a broad Scottish accent naturally),
“Some people believe playing for liverpool is a matter of life and death, I am very disappointed with that attitude. I can assure you it is much, much more important than that."
Stevie awoke with a bang, and instantly picked up his mobile and dialled Rick Parrys number, it was the middle of the night, but anyone with hair as curly as Parry’s surely didn’t sleep, Parry answered the phone and before he could so much as try and persuade Stevie not to leave, Gerrard uttered four priceless words,
“Rick, I can’t leave.” And the rest, as they say, is history.
(This is a work of fiction, any relation to any events real or otherwise is purely coincidental )
Logged
Outside the Shankly gates, I heard a kopite calling...
They are proer fukin mantalists ffs
