Quote Originally Posted by SLUDGE FACTORY View Post
I am playing in central midfield for city , a sort of willie boland who scores goals type

We are away at those bloody plastic scousers , last game of the season

It's our first season back in the big time and we have gone from bottom of the league at xmas to within a point of liverpool

Who ever wins this game , wins the league

With two minutes left the ball falls to me outside the area and I curl out a belter that finds the corner of the net

Cue bedlam in the packed away end , people are invading the pitch

Order is restored and we have to see out five minutes of injury time

I am at the centre of everything , end to end tackles , goalline clearances , the lot

Eventually the final whistle goes , the city fans run onto the pitch and I am carried in their arms all around the pitch , stopping at the top to flick the vicks to the spoilt gits

After the game before boarding the bus I am approached by Salma Hayek who says she has always been a cardiff fan due to her docks ancestry , she gives me her number and we spend the summer making love on her luxury yacht in Florida

Sadly fame goes to my head , I develop a methadone habit and end up in a bed sit on newport road
Hold on, what happened to the one you've related to me ad infinitum?

Let me remind you. It's Rome 1977, the scene of Liverpool's first European Cup triumph. With five minutes remaining the Scousers are 0-2 down. Bill Shankly is sweating snobs on the touchline. His hopes and dreams had all but evaporated until he finally paid notice to the louder and increasingly desperate chants reverberating throughout the mass ranks of Merseyside's unemployed who filled half the stadium. "We want Sludge!" they demanded.

Shankly points at you sat on the bench casually leafing through that month's issue of Reader's Wives Big Tits Special Edition. "Get on and bag a double, then we can beat them in extra time," he instructed. "I'll easily score a hat-trick in the time remaining, boss, and we'll enjoy a sing song in the communal bath rather than have extra time" you replied nonchalantly before combing your hair again to look your best for the TV cameras.

Two stunning 30 yard strikes by you, the second an amazingly powerful back-heeled rocket, evened the scoreline, before you scored the winner after embarking on a 60-yard run where you displayed your customary dribbling wizardry as a prelude to slotting the ball past their awestruck keeper.