28 March 2015

Welbz gives advice to Harry "the Hurra" Kane...

WEMBLEY STADIUM—London, England: After a well-earned victory in which the Three Lions earned yet another three points on their way to qualifying for Euro 2016, there was palpable tension in the locker room. After all, each goal came courtesy of a player who represents one of as many clubs vying for Prem glory—in order on the table: Welbeck, Rooney, Sterling, and Kane. With Rooney having cemented his status and Sterling still a bit out of sorts, it came down to the two North London rivals to sort out their affairs. The ice was already thin, and, ultimately, it came down to the man in the right shade of red to break that ice...

     "'Arry." That guy, Welbz, unlaced his boots while eyeing up his erstwhile countryman and ever-present rival. No response. "Harry."
     The hero of the hour, feigning surprise, looked up, scanning the room as if completely caught off guard. "Eh? Who's that, then?" One might have detected a resemblance, more than passing to one James William Bottomtooth III, as the man attempted to square his jaw and survey the land before him.
     "C'mon, now, Harry, let's not muck about. Good on ya for the goal tonight. What's that, your first for England? Let's hear it, lads, the 'Hurricane' strikes another late goal, this time for Jolly Ol' England!"
     A desultory round of applause arose from those who had not yet gone to shower.
     "Oy, Danny-boy, that's a good man. Give credit where credit's due, eh? That was a cracking goal I scored, if I do say so myself, and I do say so. Certainly had the commentators commentatin', eh? It's as if they didn't even notice you at all, am I right? Story of the hour, I was, and I was ridin' the bench for all of that there hour, and then some, and then, 79 seconds in, and—pow!—the hurricane hits! That's a nickname you can take all the way to the bank, then, innit? See, it's a play on my actual name, 'Harry Kane,' which, if you say it fast enough, sounds like—"
     "Yes, yes, Harry, I get it. Clear as crystal. Listen, about your goal—"
     "Easy, now, Danny, it was a good one, as good as any I've scored, but let's not make too much of it. After all, it's just the first of many, many more to come, so—"
     "Harry. Simmer down, now. I'll admit it was a good one, but keep in mind, we were up 3-0 by that point, and—"
     "Oh, I see. Someone's got a case of the green-eyed gazungas. Well, let me tell you, Mr. Welbeck, if that is indeed your real name, that I, Harry, 'the Hurra' Kane, never strike twice, or—wait, is that lightning that never strikes twice? Never you mind, but mark my words: you haven't heard the last of me!"
     Welbeck did a bit of a double-take but shook it off quickly enough to say, "look, Harry, no offense, but you're in the form of your life, but Roy could barely bring himself to throw you on until the outcome was assured. No offense, mate, but you're just now cutting your teeth."
     Kane squared his jaw and glared off into the middle-distance, and, looking around, harumphed to ensure that his brave pose attracted attention. "I, Harry Kane, of Totteringham—blast!—of Tottenham (yes, that'll do nicely), do solemnly swear not to rest until this hallowed club has overtaken the apostate Arsenal in the Prem."
     Welbeck, still sitting at his locker, seemed to mutter "mind the gap, son; mind the gap..."