Michael Ballack says farewell to his enemies

Brooks Peck
Dirty Tackle

Hello, I am Michael Ballack and you might remember me from such direct to VHS classics as Ballacks Knows Best, Michael Ballack's Crunk Dance Revolution and How To Cook A Duck In The Way That Michael Ballack Would If He Were To Ever Cook A Duck In His Personal Life.

As you may have already heard, I am retiring from football. I played for Bayer Leverkusen, Bayern Munich and Chelsea. I was also an extremely punctual captain of Germany. And I often read cookbooks while traveling. As the people who speak in unoriginal phrases say, "it has been a great ride." I have made many friends over the years and I have also made many enemies. Today I will be speaking only to the enemies because, frankly, the friends do not mean that much to me.

Hello, enemies. I am Michael Ballack. How are you? I hope not too well. Since I am retiring I have several last words for some of you and I will be doing them now. I would tell you to sit down for this, but I would rather imagine you standing up for an uncomfortable period of time. And so we begin.

Lukas Podolski -- Hello, Lukas. I am Michael Ballack. I know you are now playing for Arsenal in London, where I won many trophies with Chelsea and you have won exactly none. Do you remember when you slapped me, your captain, directly in the face during an international match? I do.

You might think that you have gotten away with this insubordination, but I have very recent information for you: Now that I am retired I plan on teaching myself the computer hacking. And once I become a master of the computer hacking, I am going to create a picture of you dressed as a baby child and put it on your computer and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. When you see it you are going to say, "What is this picture of me as a baby child? I wish I never slapped Michael Ballack, my extremely punctual captain, during an international match." If I could hear you say that I would laugh for several seconds, but I probably won't be close enough to hear you say it, so my laughing most likely won't happen.

Tom Henning Ovrebo -- Hello, Tom Henning. I am Michael Ballack. I have no idea what you are doing now, but I very much hope it involves being prodded with sharp poking devices by hell demons. You are undoubtedly aware that your failings as a referee in the Champions League several years ago were displeasing to me at the time and I am here to tell you that they still are today.

Now that I am retired, I plan on dressing as your wife and sneaking into your bed so that in the morning, you wake up and put your arm around your wife only to realize that it is actually me wearing a very tasteful camisole. "Why is Michael Ballack taking the place of my wife and displaying an respectable eye for women's sleepwear fashion? I wish I never denied Chelsea all of those penalties in the Champions League several years ago," you will say as I quickly change back into my normal clothes because I feel so embarrassed about wearing the tasteful camisole in front of another person. Ruthless vengeance at its finest.

Philipp Lahm -- Hello, Philipp. I am Michael Ballack. I have saved you for last because you are a tiny elf creature and also because I don't like you. When I got injured, you were supposed to replace me as Germany's captain on a temporary basis at the 2010 World Cup. Instead, you took it forever and my international career ended two caps short of 100, which gives me a headache every time I think about it. You conspired with Jogi Low to betray me and that is something I capable of but unwilling to forgive.

Now that I am retired, I plan on becoming your butler, Philipp. Yes, I will be your servent. I will clean your house and cook your nutritional meals. I will do your shopping and refill the potpourri in your bathrooms. For years and years I will be your loyal employee person, always with a pleasantly neutral expression on my face and a useful phrase coming out of my mouth. Then, when we are both old men and you have forgotten all about our days as footballers, I will suddenly disappear. Hopefully this will not be because I died of natural causes in my sleeping quarters, but because finally enacted my revenge.

What will that be? Pizzas. After I decades away, I will return to my own home, say a brief hello to my own family and I will order no less than four pizzas that will be delivered to your house. "How have these pizzas arrived at my home when I did not order them? I remember betraying Michael Ballack and I finally feel less than satisfied with myself," you'll say. Jogi Low, meanwhile, will probably still be picking his nose somewhere so I am not as concerned with him.

That is how I plan on spending my golden retirement years. None of you will ever see it coming.

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