It's saturday afternoon. We're in an office in a remote but quaint part of Brussels. After all this time I'm finally face to face with my hero. "Hello Ro-Roberto" I stumble as I come to grips with being in the same room with him. There's a line in his native language I've been practicing to impress him. "Come on estas?". Roberto gives me a warm smile. "This is my office here in Belgium. Take a look around." I'm drawn towards a cabinet on the left side in the room. In it are two pint glasses with post-it notes stuck on them, each reading the numbers "11". These must be the trophies from our last two seasons together, I begin to realize. Roberto notices me looking at the trophies and stands up behind his desk. He moves towards me. "I see you looking at those phenomenal trophies, commemorating our phenomenal performance in the premier league" he says. My heart skips a beat. Did he really say "our"? I come to my senses. "You know Roberto those two seasons were the best time of my life. You were-". Roberto interrupts my sentence by putting his finger on my lips, as if to shush me. Naturally I oblige. He points to a corner in the room. I see a stack of letters, about 3 feet high. I suddenly realize that those are the letters I've been sending him over the years. "Dave, I didn't do it alone" he suddenly says. Roberto grabs my shirt and unbuttons the top button. "We did this together Dave. You are phenomenal". More buttons get undone. I feel shy as my bare stomach flops over my belt buckle. I blush. "I wanted to personally thank you for our time together Dave". Roberto gazes me deep into my eyes, as his head is slowly moving towards mine. "Is this finally happening" I think to myself. I close my eyes in anticipation of meeting his phenomenal lips with mine.
Suddenly I hear screaming. "GOAL!! Get in there Ross you beauty!!" I hear as I get smacked on my shoulder by my sister. I open my eyes and realize I'm sat on the couch next to her. In front of us is a TV. The camera pans to Ronald Koeman's face as the scoreline is projected on the screen: "Everton 6 - Bournemouth 3" it reads. I get up from the couch in disgust and start moving towards my bedroom. "Are you a kopite or what?" My sister says. I ignore her. After starting up my computer I open my browser. The homepage is a website called Grand Old Team. "Don't worry Roberto, I will always have your back".