The whole process of me scoring the overhead kick seemed to have passed my eyes in a flash; one second, I was tussling against the midget and waiting for Scholes to take the corner, then the next, I was celebrating and hearing the frighteningly high pitched screams of the fans. I had only realized I had scored the possible best goal of the year when all of my teammates had started heaving me up in the air and the weirdly enthusiastic audience had started singing this song:
He's one of our own!
He's one of our own!
Julian King, he's one of our own!
Wait...wasn't this song for another player and team in the future? Well...never mind...whatever...it's mine now.
As I relished in all the praise and glory I had felt from scoring from that mind-boggling goal, I had finally became aware/ remembered the cheeky brat who tried to trash talk me and personally make himself my rival; yes, that cunt, Micheal Owen.
Look now, I don't hate the guy...sorry...I didn't hate the guy before in my past life; I actually thought he was a good player and could help England win our 2nd World Cup.
BUT!
My opinion of him had been warped after this match, just after the first sentence he uttered, "you insect".
How dare he!? Hadn't he realized he was far below my league? Hadn't he realized he was my lowly subject? Hadn't realized there's a reason why I'm the best?
Don't worry, if he didn't know before, he will now know! The King is coming for blood!