So about a year ago, I interviewed this guy about a certain football match that was about to take place. Now you will never guess who I ran into this morning. Or, actually, and uhhh, truth be told, quite unfortunately, he ran into me…
Hey you! Yeah, you, come here!
(eyes widen) …Uhhh, dude, uhmmm, errrr, I’m just about to uhhhh, yeah mmm to go to work, the bus errrr you know I’m starting early this morning and the bus will leave any minu…
Hey, hey, chill man, chill. I’ve been taking my meds, you know I have, it’s okay, we can talk.
(inhales sharply) yeah but…
Go on, ask me questions about the Clasico, man, come on!
The Clasico? Are you sure you want me to do that? Do you promise me you’ll be okay?
Does the sun rise in the morning?
And the moon comes out at night?
So you’re cool?
Cool like a rapping turtle.
Like an eskimo on a jetski!
You mean Inuit. I don’t know about this, man.
Ok, ok, wait, wait, wait… Like Dani Alves in a porn flick, no, no, no, I meant fashion parade, don’t print that, fashion parade, fashion parade!!!
What the hell is wrong with you?
I’m cool like an ice cube down the small of your back!
Whatever, I guess I got some time. It’s not like anybody’s posting anything anyway. So what do you think about tomorrow’s match?
(starts frothing at the mouth)
I thought you were coo…
– Hey, don’t pressure me, motherf*cker. Tomorrow’s match is important, all right? It’s really friggin’ important.
Ok… And why is it so important? It is only the tenth match of the season, right?
Why is it so important? Why is it so important? Why is it… duuude have you been paying attention to me at all during this here life? Do you have any… idea… whatsoever what is going through my mind during Clasico weeks? Do you even care how I feel?
Of course I care. How you feel affects me too, right?
All right, man. At least you care. It’s important, ok? I don’t know why you wanna ask these dumbass questions anyway… (with a mocking voice) And why is it important? (return to normal voice) Why is it freakin’ important… That’s a stupid question to ask a cule. Why don’t you ask real questions, man, you fake motherfu…
Whooooooah! Okay, enough with the profanity already, jeez…
Hey, what comes out of my mouth, comes out of your mouth too!
Fu…Uhm, I mean, God, this is going nowhere… Dude…. Behave… Pleeeease… For our readers?
I always behave. Just don’t agitate me like that no more.
Right. So, for our readers, and yes, I know that tomorrow’s match is really, really, really important, and you know that I know that you and I both know that we know how important important is, youknow, but could you please explain why?
See, now you’re making sense. Tomorrow’s match is really important because it is a Clasico.
Thank you. And what will be key to our success?
Success? We must annihilate them. Break their will and bash them into submission. Extinguish the flame of hope that lives in the soul of every merengue on earth. Forever. Humiliate them so badly they can’t go back to M*drid after the game. We must bring them to their knees and defecate in their faces. I love the sight of Cristiano Ronaldo crying in his big white diapers. It looks like… Victory.
Yeah, uhmmm, but I meant tactic wise?
The first rule of tactics is we don’t talk about tactics.
Hey, don’t go all Tyler Durden on me now, we are supposed to be friends you and I and me and you.
Yeah well, just remember who’s in charge.
Oh yeah? Why don’t you ask the questions then, since you seem to know it all anyway?
Now we’re talking! Ok, imagine, if you performed a stretched-leg studs-up career-ending six-month-long agonizing pain inducing tackle on someone, would your preferred target be CR7 or Gareth Bale?
What kind of question is that? What’s wrong with you? You maniac!
(takes a long, hard stare into the mirror) Just. Answer. The question!
(without missing a beat) Oil Can.
(slaps himself on the cheek) Wrong answer!
Ouch, that hurt! Bale?
(slaps himself on the other cheek) Of course not! Ancelotti, you idiot!
Double-ouch! Why would I want to do such a thing? What has Ancelotti ever done to us?
(shivers) Brrrrrrr, I just can’t stand that Chelsea-loving, Özil-underappreciating, Droopy wannabe with his “I’m more Italian than thou” attitude. Oh what I would do to him on an early Saturday afternoon in the Camp Nou. It’s a good thing that Sandro banned children from the stadium.
Yeah, but… (sighs) never mind. Next question, please.
Ok. If you were to commit a bone-pulverizing, ligament-snapping, skin off the leg-burning foul on anybody in a white shirt, what would be the name of your chosen victim?
Man, why does anything always have to about violence with you? Why don’t you ask about tiki taka?
Mmmmmm, I’ll tiki taka with Iker’s girlf…
Heeeeeeeeey! Our own girlfriend is reading this! Remember, the soon to be mother of your child? Man, you’re gonna get us into trouble! Let’s talk about our new verticality.
Hey man, we can do it vertically, horizontally, whatever way she wa…
Okay, shut up. Just, please shut up, please. Before we get banned from BFB. Really,do you want to get banned?
(gulps) … You’re just saying that. Not banned. Not from Barcelona Football Blog? You’re mean!
Well, jeez, what do you think? You’re just talking crazy. About violence and, you know, that other stuff, I don’t even wanna go there. People could be offended. Toddlers might be reading this. Think about the children!
(puts on a sad face) …
That’s right. You haven’t thought about that, have you? You never do.
Toddlers can’t read.
Oh come on, don’t sulk. The smart ones can. There are some bright motherf***ing toddlers out there, man. You gotta think like a role model now. You’re gonna be a father soon.
Okay. And what do fathers say?
That’s right. Visca Barça!