"And here, at last, we find the elusive RAWK tribe. Cut off from civilisation and, indeed, from reality, the tribe performs its daily rituals in its quest for a success which will never return. The endless repeated mantras - 'We are Liverpool (Football Club™)', 'Lock the thread', 'We have Klopp', and so on - split the sky of fools gold, and their absent god remains further away than ever; Newcastle, in facht.
The tribe, bewildered and angered by progress - not to mention selfies and Portuguese conquistadors - have never set eyes on a trophy. Despite pleas and threats written upon tablets, the tribe's hopes of a return to ancient glories are laughably forlorn. F*ck 'em anyway; when I offered them a trinket from our culture - a Cup Final trophy - they gave me this shit cuckoo clock."