Imagine being the Argentine, Sergio Romero, proud servant to the Kingdom of Manchester.
For years you toil under strife, delivering the goods when called upon to protect the net.
And then, the baron of this wicked land suddenly deems you too old and frail for this world.
Dejected, you wander aimlessly. What is my purpose? Who should I serve?
By chance you stumble on a frail maiden by the name of Everton tending to a rose garden.
All these years spent on the edge, never really finding your place but striving regardless.
And then this one looks at you, glowing embers of passion in her eyes.
You fall, but this time in a different way. It's confusing and a little bit exciting.
You head straight to the black-hearted one and ask to be freed. All this time, thinking your former conquests will be rewarded.
And yet, what doeth this man say?
Nah mate, can't let you go to a rival for less than £10m quid.
You protest. But Sir, you took me in as a stray and I served you well.
Sorry, our commercial interests dictate this kingdom, we've no time for compassion.
Melancholy washes over you like a wave. You begrudgingly accept and take leave of absence, wondering what will come next.
And thus concludes the sad tale of Sergio Romero.
Forever wandering.