The greatest comeback since LazarusBy: aman | November 15th, 2009
I sat in my chair, puffing a cigarette, and examined the man sitting across the desk from me. The man who should have been a living legend, now just a broken down piece of meat, a joke for douche bag bloggers who would never in their lives taste the greatness that once dripped from his every pore. His body ravaged by injury, donuts, and tranny love sticks, it would be easy to write him off as burned-out and washed-up, just another athlete whose body had served its purpose, put down like a lame race horse. But I saw the hunger in his eyes, and it wasn’t for the corn dog in his hand: the hunger to set his legacy straight, the hunger for redemption. This man still had a final chapter to write in his story, the conclusion to a remarkable career with only one fitting end, the one honor that had eluded him: Champions League glory.
Ladies and Gentlemen, please put your hands together to welcome Sunderland #9, Fat Ronaldo.
Not a lot of people put their hands together to welcome him. There was a general feeling of ‘what the fuck?’ around the club, and the press gawked at him with the bug-eyed disbelief of mid-western tourists stumbling upon a beached whale at his unveiling. Peasants. They couldn’t see what I saw, their little minds couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of awesomeness that was about to be unleashed. Fat Ronaldo would rise from the ashes like a magnificent phoenix, and deliver me the sword of Gryffindor to slay all those in my path to European domination. And I would call him Fawkes, and he would know me as Harry, and I would make 15 babies with Hermione…