The Scout or Welcome to South Bermondsey - стр. 8
And the blokes did it! We did it in extra time, so the referee and his linesmen would be happy as they didn't have to watch over a penalty shootout. They carried it off so well that it was one for the road!
First, our left winger, Varga, made such a cross that he could at least now be sent to the Hungarian national team. Parker pushed past their defender and kicked the ball to Kenneth, who ran up, and kicked the ball so hard that it almost tore through the net of the goal. Then when the entire United team moved forward, our team ran away in a three-in-two counterattack. After that it was just a matter of technique. Fabrice, Adam Varga and Parker played the game perfectly, and my team-mates just rolled the ball into an empty net.
Four-two. Turn out the lights, game over. Now it would be possible to get plastered on joy alone. I even wished I hadn't been driving, but I didn't want to leave my car in Sheffield.
How the boys got home, I'm afraid to imagine that. Our next game was on Sunday, so Harris let the blokes celebrate. Anyway, Johnny Martin told me later that he didn't remember much, and to get a machine like Johnny plastered, you'd have to try hard.
After the match, Fabrice appeared in all of the newspapers. The blokes from an online-publication did an interview with him in which he, without much hesitation, compared himself to Choupo-Moting. However in general, it all turned out quite well. For only two shitty matches, the cost of my kid on a well-known German portal jumped up one and a half times.
On Saturday, at the pre-match press-conference, it was only the lazy who didn't ask about my Cameroonian. "Where did you get him?" Bitches, don't they know how to use the Internet? And, "Are you sure he's nineteen?" Fucking racists, and, "Have you thought about moving him to a position with the attackers?" What fools they are.
Old Harris, of course, was as impenetrable as a fifth-grader in class, and I think that in his heart he was laughing at everyone. I must say that with journalists it is always better to behave as you would with small children. Suddenly they could all be offended again and start writing all sorts of crap. Although exhausting, this game of cat-and mouse, of course, is also great. So Harris probably got tired at the end and when some creep from a local paper asked him about rumours surrounding his resignation, he couldn't stand it any longer.
"I'm not holding on to my seat! If the management makes such a decision, I will pack my bags and then worry about the club as a fan."