Danneskjold
Member
- Joined
- May 6, 2012
- Messages
- 54
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I sat there on the bench absolutely crushing my water bottle in my hand.
Norwich's Steve Morison (who?!) had just latched onto a through ball and flashed it across Szczensy and into the goal. It would be a draw. In the 85th minute of our last home match and the season had just collapsed. Champions League ... *poof*. Sixty seven points (not even two a match) for a team that historically should still be in for the title.
I glanced down the bench to judge the manager's reaction and...
...the phone rang.
I sat up in bed. It was 3:07 in the morning in Portland, Oregon. I was awash in sweat and the phone was ringing.
"Hey Raghead...it's John." My agent.
"Do you have any clue what time it is?"
"Time for you to get up! Wenger just quit! You're going to London."
My sweat turned cold.
Norwich's Steve Morison (who?!) had just latched onto a through ball and flashed it across Szczensy and into the goal. It would be a draw. In the 85th minute of our last home match and the season had just collapsed. Champions League ... *poof*. Sixty seven points (not even two a match) for a team that historically should still be in for the title.
I glanced down the bench to judge the manager's reaction and...
...the phone rang.
I sat up in bed. It was 3:07 in the morning in Portland, Oregon. I was awash in sweat and the phone was ringing.
"Hey Raghead...it's John." My agent.
"Do you have any clue what time it is?"
"Time for you to get up! Wenger just quit! You're going to London."
My sweat turned cold.