The football game in the future

It is the future. A dark, bleak time after a great war which has left humanity on the brink.

A few stalwarts struggle to right what went wrong but the forces of evil prevail. They are pervasive, easy to follow, they give people what they want without struggle and because of this the light of goodness than exists in man is almost extinguished.

A desperate alliance strives not to overthrow the pernicious overlords but to remind those who they control that there is a better way. It takes intelligence and bravery to see the way of life they try and expound. Many listen but few hear.

The dark ones know that they have nearly completed their task, that in a short time the cabal which troubles them will have to give up. They grow arrogant and mocking. Previously happy to let the resistance exist they now round them up. Such is their hubris their leaders offer them a deal. A once off battle of the resistance’s choosing, winner takes all. They give them 24 hours to think about it, never considering for one second the possibility they might lose.

The next day the resistance return and accept the offer. The battle shall take place in the form of a game of football between players of goodness and virtue and players of a fiendish and heinous disposition. It is agreed that each side shall choose 11 players from the past. Those players will then cloned and duplicated, for this is the future, so that each team has a squad of 22. Two of each in case of injury.

It takes time to recreate the players but eventually the line-ups are complete.

The Evil XI: Andy Goram – Cristian Panucci – John Terry – Alan Hansen – Ashley Cole – Cristiano Ronaldo – Joey Barton – Roy Keane – El Hadji Diouf – Didier Drogba – Malcom Christie

The good XI: Packie Bonner – Dave Langan – Bobby Moore – Franco Baresi – Paolo Maldini – Liam Brady – Cesc Fabregas – Ashley Grimes – Johann Cruyff – Pele – Ferenc Puskas

Many debate the goodness and evil of the teams but eventually the debates die down and each side is given two weeks to train and work on tactics and set-pieces. The venue is the only football stadium left standing in the entire world, Richmond Park in Inchicore, home to former League of Ireland team St Patrick’s Athletic.

In the annals of history many will claim to have been there that fateful day, many more than the 5,500 capacity that’s for certain. If the Evil XI wins then the resistance must disband, allowing the dark forces to engulf the world with no turning back. Should the Good XI win then those same dark forces will cease their malign influence over the human race.

A watertight contract is drawn up. Despite the war and the billions who have died lawyers still remain.

The day of the match arrives. There is an intense atmosphere. A small pocket of fans supporting the Good XI stands on a terrace, huddling together for warmth for the night is cold. The teams emerge. The Evil XI strut onto the pitch, cocky, self-assured, while the Good XI have suffered problems in the build up to the game. They suspect foul play but they are down one Pele, one Fabregas and one Bonner through injury and poorly completed clones. They cannot afford to lose any more.

The game begins, refereed by a clone of Graham Poll, and it is the Goods who start the brighter. They zip the ball around the pristine turf, leaving the Evils chasing shadows. An early move sees Cruyff take down a 60 yard crossfield ball from Baresi, he performs an himself-turn, chips it to the back post and Pele rises highest to head home. 1-0 Goods.

The Evils are stunned. They react the only way the know how: evily. Barton goes in neck high on Ashley Grimes, slicing open his cartoid artery with his studs. Medics take the fatally injured midfielder off and replace him with his clone. Cristiano Ronaldo does 100mph stepovers giving credence to rumours that the Evils have been genetically modified. He runs past Langan, gets into the area and with nobody anywhere near him he falls over and shrieks loudly.

Penalty! John Terry steps up, slips, the ball hits the post. Terry starts to weep uncontrollably but just as Maldini is about to clear Diouf snaps his neck and rolls the ball past Bonner for the equaliser. The Goods object, the ref waves their protests away, poses for a picture and restarts the game. Maldini’s replacement is brought on.

The Goods are on the back foot, shaken by the depths to which the Evils are allowed sink. Drogba wins a free kick with an outrageous dive that sees Baresi blinded in both eyes. He is replaced but it turns out his clone is faulty and is also blind in both eyes. Ronaldo crosses it and Malcolm Christie performs an overhead scissors kick to make it 2-1. At halftime it is 3-1 when Ashley Cole’s anus makes a sound like the referee’s whistle, the Goods stop and Drogba races through, slides the ball home then jumps in two-footed on Bonner’s left leg, snapping it like a dry twig.

The second half starts with the second Bobby Moore in goal but the Evils are too strong. They almost score again and again but somehow the Goods keep the ball out with a mixture of valiant defending and sheer luck. Graham Poll misses an obvious Brady handball in the box while giving an in-game interview to Sky Sports News about how great he is.

There are just 10 minutes left when Liam Brady turns Roy Keane inside out, then right side out again, then inside out once more, leaving a pile of skin and guts. Joey Barton throws a hunting knife at him but misses. He skips one tackle, then another, gets to the byline and pulls the ball back where Puskas dinks it over Alan Hansen and buries it in the top corner to make it 3-2.

The Evils are rattled. The Goods can sense something special might happen. They work the ball out to the right hand side, Fabregas nutmegs Panucci, crosses and Baresi, having charged upfield making high-pitched beeps so he can navigate by sonar like a bat, flings himself at the ball to score a 20 yard diving header.

The supporters of the Goods go wild. It’s on. It’s really on. The Evils fight back, pressing for the winner which would complete their nefarious plan. An intricate passing move in midfield sees them 3 on 2 against the Goods. Drogba passes to Cole who gives it to Ronaldo whose unfeasibly quick and cheaty feet put Malcolm Christie in but at the vital moment he hesitates and the chance goes begging.

Every single member of the Evils stops to wave their arms theatrically and to berate Christie for wasting the opportunity. Fabregas thinks quickly and takes off upfield with the ball. They barely notice so consumed are they in their vicious tirade against their team-mate. Only as he’s heading towards their penalty area do they react. But it’s too late. He’s through on goal. He must score. If he scores the Goods win and life can begin to get back to normal.

The crowd is deathly silent. He’s at the edge of the box. Goram looks on with schizophrenic protestant panic in his eyes. He can see that Fabregas will not miss. Nothing he can do will prevent the goal. Hands are on mouths. Arms are raised in anticipation of the goal. Fabregas shapes to shoot, draws his leg back, and bursts into flames.

“Haha”, laughs the manager of the Evils, turning to the manager of Goods as his midfield hero burns on the pitch in front of him, “your Cesc is on fire”.