pierrethesnack
Tasty
Stevie, legend dangling limply between his legs, felt the surge of Mersey adrenaline as the crowd roared.Time to make them all pay.
The hated opponents, the false messiah blind to his genius.
We're off. The ball's there, I think, have that you scum ponce. The adulation of the mob rings round the amphitheatre, revelling in the violence. Yes. He still has it. The day is his. His. The full impact of the Liverpool communion surges through him. Only with his followers does he feel whole.
This little twerp dares to challenge me. Me. How dare he? Take that!
A song enters his head unbidden orchestrated to the crowd's roar. His vision clears to an impossible block of red. Has this man lost his senses? This is his God he approaches. This insect cannot mean it.
The unsettled lull penetrates his fogged perception. High-pitched incomprehensible murmurs protest innocence. That there is no hurt. No fault. But soon, fallen, the idol walks slowly accompanied by hubris and envy back over the touchline.
Oh my goodness