(This post was delayed due to internet narliness. I have not read Weasel's yet. The bulk of this was written Tuesday night).
This came up in a conversation with Weasel this evening. We both decided to blog it and publish at the same time, Midday on Wednesday.
This is an old game/conversation piece we used to do with friends in the pub, classroom, on the bus, where ever. It can be applied to any sport.
The rules are thus, you have a fifteen year career in the top (ish) flight of professional football. Where would you play?, What would you win? You have to play for five different teams (not including an international career, not mandatory but I've never known anyone turn it down).
I would start out at Norwich City as a budding midfielder in the young Steve McManaman mode, perhaps, on a good day with a dash of the Cruyff. I would spend 5 years as a Barclay end favourite and would leave the club after winning the FA Cup at Wembley, beating Arsenal 2-0.
After 4 years with Norwich I'm spotted by the England manager. I make my international debut against Wales in a 2-2 draw.
After the FA Cup victory I sign for Fulham. I know, it's not an obvious choice but I like being by the river and they were my mum's team back in the early 60's. I also enjoy having a drink with Mr Fayed and listening to his crazy theories about the Duke of Edinburgh.
I score a last minute winner in a European Championship qualifier. This thrusts me somewhat unexpectedly into the global spotlight, a bit like Mark Hughes's goal against Spain in 1985.
I spend a year at Fulham before foreigners start sniffing about. I sign for Barcelona without so much as a backward glance. London always was full of wankers.
Lose the European Championship final against Spain. Oh the Irony.
The defeat makes me stronger as a person and the wife simply loves the Spanish lifestyle, all that tapas. I enjoy playing for Barca and spend the next 6 years with them.
The fans love me, they love me because I play quite well and I read George Orwell before big games. Then the mood changes, new management and can you beleieve it? I'm on my way out the door.
In the meantime the team win 2 European Cups and 2 Spanish league championships.
A world cup semi final defeat against the Germans makes me a national hero as I get all Churchillian at the final whistle, a TV career looks certain.
After the Spanish adventure and the bullshit Churhill stuff I return to England where I put in a year at West Ham. I think they think I'm some sort of nationalist mascot. I'm not. I soon remember why I left Fulham, Cockney wankers.
My England career ends with a hat trick against the Germans at Wembley. REVENGE!!
I spend my final playing days at Bristol Rovers helping them gain promotion in two years. I play my final professional game against Swindon Town and score a hatrick, thus snatching the prized second automatic promotion spot into the Championship. I have always hated Swindon and this gives me and the fans tremendous pleasure.
The Mayor of Bristol (a personal friend) publicly congratulates me which I thought was a very nice touch, he didn't need to do that but he did, just shows that he's a big hearted man who is able to rise above partisan matters.
But what to do now? I love the West of England and seriously consider an offer to present 'West Match Plus' on ITV on sunday afternoons. My dream TV career is looking like becoming a reality!
So, there you have it. My fantasy football career. At the end of the day, It all boils down to hard work and a Ford dealership in Mangotsfield.