As Ole ran up to me to be substituted, I saw him stare at me with a dead, hard gaze...now the more I think about it...it felt like the same cold, wicked look I felt in the changing rooms...nah...must just be a hunch...why would he hate me anyway?!
The small Norwegian striker had finally reached me and the deadly gaze I had felt before had seemed to have dissipated; more like it never existed before; I knew it! It was just a hunch! There's no way such a kind guy like him would hate me AND there's definitely no way I'd hate him; he was the Manchester United manager when I died...even though he wasn't the most successful.
But this worries me...if it wasn't him...who was it?
"Cmon, rookie, you can do this, the score is tied and you're the difference maker; show them what Manchester has in store for them" Ole encouraged me with his stupid beaming trademark smile we all loved, shocking me for obvious reasons.
Why the hell is he talking to me?!
I don't mean it in a bad way...I just mean...we'd never talked before...and...like...he's one of my idols growing up...and...and...
[What a fangirl]
(SHUT UP OMEGA! I just admire him, okay! There's nothing wrong appreciating another man!)
Anyways...
After all the high-fiving and words of encouragement, I set onto the field, determined to change the fate of this game. I would not lose!
ESPECIALLY TO LIVERPOOL!
While self-encouraging myself and not trying not to shit my pants, I didn't realize the murderous glare aimed at my back.