"Poor boy. He has no idea what just rolled into town. Look at that smile. It's like he doesn't even know that First Place Arsene just showed up to teach him how it's done. His hand feels dry, but he's probably redirecting his massive amounts of sweat down to his feet just so I won't notice. Well, don't worry Brendan, it'll all be over soon. Hahahahahahahaha!"
"Wait...what just happened? Did the match even start yet? Who started the match?! How could they have scored already?! And how could it have been Martin F***ing Skrtel that did it? Is this a warm-up? Some kind of viral marketing thing they're filming before the game starts? Whatever. Even if it counts it's just one goal. After we win, I'll just say how next time we need to keep a clean sheet. No biggie. Not like they'll score three more times in the next 19 minutes or something."
"Son of a cantaloupe! Skrtel did it again! What dimension is this?!?! Are dinosaurs still alive? If I see a brontosaurus walk by, I'm going to be really angry! I knew things were going to be weird when I didn't have trouble zipping up my coat today. I knew it! Fine. We'll win 3-2. There's 80 minutes left. We'll win 3-2."
"Great. Now my nose is running. Raheem 'I wasn't even born yet when Kurt Cobain died' Sterling just made it 3-0 in the 16th freaking minute and my nose is running and I left all my tissues in Brendan Rodgers' office on the assumption that he would need them since he started Kolo Toure again. But at least neither Suarez nor Sturridge have scored. They'll have to give me credit for that."
"And Sturridge just scored. Where is the ejector pack on this coat?"
"Should've offered £40,000,002. For Skrtel."
"5-0. This is what it feels like to be Tottenham. North London has established a synergy of shame and there isn't enough red wine in the world to make it okay."
"My nose won't stop running, I still don't have any tissues and Olivier Giroud played so poorly that wiping my face on his shirt would make him more useful than he's been all day."
"Yippy skippy. 5-1. They had to concede a penalty for us to finally score a goal. Yippy. Skippy. Goodbye first place. Goodbye feeling of superiority. Goodbye smiles. I'm going to pretend to fall down in the train station so maybe people will occupy themselves by talking about that instead of this terrible, terrible match."
- - - - - - -
- Sports & Recreation