I mock because I care - assorted Real Madrid and Arsenal crack ficlets
So while I was getting into football fandom and the_wild_son was watching me get into football fandom, I used to email her all the stupid crack fic / ridiculous plots that we came up with. Since I have now got to the point at which I have no shame, here is a selection of those fics.
In which Ramos gives facial hair a go
i.e. I mock Ramos for aallll the days, and Casillas' life is so hard.
"I like Iker's beard," says Sergio, apropos of nothing. Fernando makes a face. "If you say so," he says, and puts his headphones on. Sergio smiles at him.
---
"How long does it take you to grow that?" Sergio asks, pointing to Xabi's chin. Xabi raises one eyebrow. "Erm," he says. "A week?"
Sergio nods thoughtfully.
---
"Does it scratch?" He says to Gerard, as they're jogging around the training pitch.
"Does what scratch?"
"Cesc's beard," Sergio says. Gerard snorts and jogs away. Sergio's legs aren't long enough to keep up.
---
"Does it scratch?" He says to Cesc, as they're getting onto the bus. Cesc stares at him.
"Gerard's beard," Sergio clarifies.
Cesc stares at him.
"On you," Sergio says. Puyol clouts him round the back of his head with his washbag.
"Ow," Sergio says, and Cesc sits five seats away from him.
---
"I like your beard," he says to Iker. Iker scowls at him, and elbows him in the stomach when Sergio puts an arm around Iker's shoulders.
---
"Is that-"
"-are you-"
"-hey Sergio-"
Sergio looks over. Raul and Alvaro are grinning at him. Raul taps at his own chin. "Got something on your face," he says. and Alvaro ducks his head, shoulders shaking. Sergio looks suspicious.
---
"So what d'you think?"
Fernando glances up. He grins and glances down again. "Um," he says. "Oh I think someone's ringing me."
He pulls out his silent phone and answers it.
---
"Do you need a razor?"
Sergio looks up, surprised. Xabi is standing over him, looking concerned.
"No," he says. "I don't think so?"
Xabi holds out a razor. "Take it anyway okay?"
Sergio does.
---
Iker grabs him at the hotel and takes him up to the captain's room. "We need to talk," he says.
Sergio nods. "About the team?"
"About your face."
There's a long pause.
"The-" Iker makes a motion with his hand. He makes circles at Sergio's face and then points at his own and then throws both hands in the air and stares at the opposite wall.
Sergio waits for a while but Iker doesn't seem to be able to finish his sentence. "Okay, I'm-" Sergio half stands. "I'm going to - go."
He makes a movement towards the door. "Unless there was anything else..."
Iker makes a face. Sergio leaves.
---
They get back from international duty and Mourinho sees it. "Ramos," he says. "Shave. Now."
Sergio looks sadly at his manager.
"But-" he says.
Mourinho just points.
---
Sergio takes a picture, for posterity. Maybe another time.
***
In which Sergio Ramos is projecting
i.e. I mock Ramos a bit, and Casillas' life is seriously so hard.
"Iker," says Ramos, slumped in a corner of the Real Madrid changing rooms, his head in his hands, "Iker, I'm in love."
Iker sighs. He is feeling so put upon. His team is so annoying. Just today, Ronaldo had come moping around because him and Kaka can never be, tragic romance, blah blah blah, Marcello had come moaning to him about how Ronaldo won't stop jumping over his head and it's getting annoying, whatever, come back when you have real problems, and Mourinho had pulled Iker aside for an hour and forty minutes after training just to list to him all the reasons why he was not going to talk to the press today, ending with reason number four hunded and eight: the BBC guy was wearing an offensively coloured tie.
And now, even though Iker should have been finished for the day almost two hours ago, here is Sergio Ramos, sitting on the floor, whining.
He hasn't even got changed.
"You know," Iker says helpfully, and a bit hopefully, "Things always seem a lot brighter when you've had a shower and put some clean clothes on."
Ramos sighs deeply. "Oh Iker," he says, "you know nothing of being in love."
"I happen to be very much in love with my girlfriend, actually," says Iker, and wonders yet again why no one takes him seriously.
Ramos snorts and waves a hand. "Psht. Pastasauce. That's not real love. That doesn't burn inside you."
No, thinks Iker, it doesn't. Which is really quite nice. His life is turbulently emotional enough on the pitch without burning love off the pitch. "Buck up," he says, "at least get off the floor. It's dirty, Sergio. Come on now. Sit on the bench and tell me what this is all about. Has Fernando done something?"
Ramos frowns. "What's Fernando got to do with it? I'm in love, Iker. I'm not in love with Fernando, he's just my best friend forever."
Iker wants to cry. Ramos at least climbs onto a bench and half heartedly takes one shoe off.
"I've seen a vision," he says, "and his name is Francesc."
Iker really, really wants to cry. He can actually feel a lump in his throat. Why is this his life? Why did Mourinho think an emotional wreck of a goalkeeper would make a good captain?
Ramos is staring at him. Iker rubs at his forehead. "I um." He coughs. "I can only assume that you don't mean Fabregas."
Ramos sighs dreamily. "That's right," he says. "Cesc Fabregas."
Iker blinks away a tear. This can't be happening.
"He's so luscious," Ramos says. "Those dark eyes, those crooked teeth, that adorable smile."
Iker would really like this to be a joke, but he really, really knows that it isn't. Ramos is not, alas, a practical joker, but he definitely is the kind of horrible man who insists on making Iker's job much harder than it already is. He wishes Raul was still around.
"Sergio," he says, and puts a hand on Ramos' shoulder. "Cesc is a very nice looking boy but do you really think-"
"Have you seen," says Ramos, "his tummy?"
"No," says Iker, even though he has and he agrees it's very nice. "No, I have not. Because I have not been looking, and neither should you have been. Number one, he is a rival. You do not get crushes on rival players. Number two, Pique will kill you."
"I'm not afraid of Pique," says Ramos. "I have love on my side."
"Pique has about six foot seven and three hundred pounds on his side," says Iker, who is nothing if not practical. "Please don't get delusions of grandeur. That is not the Real Madrid way."
"He's so beautiful though, Iker, Iker, his eyes are like pools of liquid chocolate."
Iker can feel the tears coming back at that. "Ramos," he says. "Don't you think you might be projecting your love for someone else onto Cesc? It does seem rather convenient, that you have fallen in love with a rival player who lives in a different country and is already taken."
Ramos thinks for a while. "I can't think who that would be," he says finally.
Iker mentally smashes his head against a wall. "You keep thinking," he says. "Sleep on it. Come and see me tomorrow."
Then he leaves the changing room even though he hasn't showered or anything, and he goes back out to the training ground and sits by one of the goalposts and has a good cry. God he hates his team.
---
Later that day when he's feeling a bit better and his girlfriend has given him cuddles and agreed how annoying his team is, he picks up the phone and dials his goalkeeper speeddial. Reina picks up. "Hello mate, deffo, what can I do for you?"
Iker hates the Liverpool players' faux-scouse accents. "Pepe," he says, "can I have Fernando's number?"
There's a long silence.
"Oh," says Reina. "Sorry mate, I deffo threw that away in a fit of rage back in January."
Iker hangs up. He calls David Villa. Villa answers with a foulmouthed torrent of anti-madridista abuse. Iker starts crying again. Eventually his girlfriend takes over and calls Fernando's wife. "Hello Olalla," she says, "can Iker speak to Fernando please?"
Then she hands the phone to Iker.
"Hello Fernando," he says. "I know we don't know each other that well, but I'm concerned about Sergio, and thought you should know."
"Deffo," says Fernando, and Iker grits his teeth. "What's up?"
"He thinks he's in love with Cesc Fabregas."
There's another long silence and then Fernando's wife comes on the phone. "I don't know what you just said to Fernando," she says, "but he's gone and shut himself in his bedroom."
Iker gives up and hands the phone back to his girlfriend. "Fix it," he says. "Please."
So she does.
---
The next day in training Ramos comes up to Iker with a big smile. "Thanks Iker," he says. "Turns out you were right, I was projecting. I've had a chat with Fernando and we've agree to be platonic boyfriends, because I love him more than anyone else in the world but he is married."
"Oh good," says Iker. "And Cesc?"
"He's still proper fit," says Ramos, "but he's not my type. I like them blond and freckly."
That's probably more than Iker cared to know, so he leaves.
---
In Barcelona, Villa's wife is having a go at him. "Don't be mean to Iker Casillas," she says. "I won't have it. You footballers and your petty rivalries. You're all as bad as each other. Call him and apologise."
So David Villa calls Iker and apologises, and Iker explains why he was calling, and Villa tells Xavi and Xavi tells Iniesta and Iniesta tells Victor and Victor tells Pinto and Pinto tells Bojan and Bojan tells Messi and Messi tells Pique, and in the next Clasico, Pique punches Ramos in the face. He gets sent off, but it's totally worth it.
That night he gets a call from Cesc. "Moc moc! I was defending your honour," says Pique when he picks up the phone.
"Oh okay," says Cesc. "I thought maybe you were just having a bad day so I wanted to see if I could cheer you up."
"Oh," says Pique. "What were you going to do?"
"Tell you a story about unicorns and rainbows," Cesc says.
"I am having," says Pique in the most sad voice he can manage, "a terrible day."
---
Added extra!
"I could be a stripper," Jack says. "I could be called Jack the Stripper." He falls about laughing.
Robin stares at him, pained. "Don't say that again," he says. "Ever."
Jack is still laughing. He's so pleased with himself. Robin is both endeared and horrified. He has a mental image of Jack stripping. He wants to claw his eyes out.
"Where is Thomas," he says.
Jack laughs and laughs until he cries a little and then he stops. "Do you want some tea?"
Robin does want some tea. And Thomas. Where is Thomas right now to fix this.
Thomas comes in with a cup of tea. "Okay?" He says.
Robin is still in shock and can't speak.
"Thomas," Jack says, "hey guess what I'd be called if I was a stripper."
"You can't be a stripper," Thomas says, "you're twelve."
Jack looks sad.
Robin looks at Jack's sad face and sighs. "He'd be Jack the Stripper," he says, and Jack grins happily.
There's a long pause. "That is inappropriate on so many levels," Thomas says.
Robin thinks he might be in love.
***
Okay have we all had enough now? If not, you know where to find me.
In which Ramos gives facial hair a go
i.e. I mock Ramos for aallll the days, and Casillas' life is so hard.
"I like Iker's beard," says Sergio, apropos of nothing. Fernando makes a face. "If you say so," he says, and puts his headphones on. Sergio smiles at him.
---
"How long does it take you to grow that?" Sergio asks, pointing to Xabi's chin. Xabi raises one eyebrow. "Erm," he says. "A week?"
Sergio nods thoughtfully.
---
"Does it scratch?" He says to Gerard, as they're jogging around the training pitch.
"Does what scratch?"
"Cesc's beard," Sergio says. Gerard snorts and jogs away. Sergio's legs aren't long enough to keep up.
---
"Does it scratch?" He says to Cesc, as they're getting onto the bus. Cesc stares at him.
"Gerard's beard," Sergio clarifies.
Cesc stares at him.
"On you," Sergio says. Puyol clouts him round the back of his head with his washbag.
"Ow," Sergio says, and Cesc sits five seats away from him.
---
"I like your beard," he says to Iker. Iker scowls at him, and elbows him in the stomach when Sergio puts an arm around Iker's shoulders.
---
"Is that-"
"-are you-"
"-hey Sergio-"
Sergio looks over. Raul and Alvaro are grinning at him. Raul taps at his own chin. "Got something on your face," he says. and Alvaro ducks his head, shoulders shaking. Sergio looks suspicious.
---
"So what d'you think?"
Fernando glances up. He grins and glances down again. "Um," he says. "Oh I think someone's ringing me."
He pulls out his silent phone and answers it.
---
"Do you need a razor?"
Sergio looks up, surprised. Xabi is standing over him, looking concerned.
"No," he says. "I don't think so?"
Xabi holds out a razor. "Take it anyway okay?"
Sergio does.
---
Iker grabs him at the hotel and takes him up to the captain's room. "We need to talk," he says.
Sergio nods. "About the team?"
"About your face."
There's a long pause.
"The-" Iker makes a motion with his hand. He makes circles at Sergio's face and then points at his own and then throws both hands in the air and stares at the opposite wall.
Sergio waits for a while but Iker doesn't seem to be able to finish his sentence. "Okay, I'm-" Sergio half stands. "I'm going to - go."
He makes a movement towards the door. "Unless there was anything else..."
Iker makes a face. Sergio leaves.
---
They get back from international duty and Mourinho sees it. "Ramos," he says. "Shave. Now."
Sergio looks sadly at his manager.
"But-" he says.
Mourinho just points.
---
Sergio takes a picture, for posterity. Maybe another time.
***
In which Sergio Ramos is projecting
i.e. I mock Ramos a bit, and Casillas' life is seriously so hard.
"Iker," says Ramos, slumped in a corner of the Real Madrid changing rooms, his head in his hands, "Iker, I'm in love."
Iker sighs. He is feeling so put upon. His team is so annoying. Just today, Ronaldo had come moping around because him and Kaka can never be, tragic romance, blah blah blah, Marcello had come moaning to him about how Ronaldo won't stop jumping over his head and it's getting annoying, whatever, come back when you have real problems, and Mourinho had pulled Iker aside for an hour and forty minutes after training just to list to him all the reasons why he was not going to talk to the press today, ending with reason number four hunded and eight: the BBC guy was wearing an offensively coloured tie.
And now, even though Iker should have been finished for the day almost two hours ago, here is Sergio Ramos, sitting on the floor, whining.
He hasn't even got changed.
"You know," Iker says helpfully, and a bit hopefully, "Things always seem a lot brighter when you've had a shower and put some clean clothes on."
Ramos sighs deeply. "Oh Iker," he says, "you know nothing of being in love."
"I happen to be very much in love with my girlfriend, actually," says Iker, and wonders yet again why no one takes him seriously.
Ramos snorts and waves a hand. "Psht. Pastasauce. That's not real love. That doesn't burn inside you."
No, thinks Iker, it doesn't. Which is really quite nice. His life is turbulently emotional enough on the pitch without burning love off the pitch. "Buck up," he says, "at least get off the floor. It's dirty, Sergio. Come on now. Sit on the bench and tell me what this is all about. Has Fernando done something?"
Ramos frowns. "What's Fernando got to do with it? I'm in love, Iker. I'm not in love with Fernando, he's just my best friend forever."
Iker wants to cry. Ramos at least climbs onto a bench and half heartedly takes one shoe off.
"I've seen a vision," he says, "and his name is Francesc."
Iker really, really wants to cry. He can actually feel a lump in his throat. Why is this his life? Why did Mourinho think an emotional wreck of a goalkeeper would make a good captain?
Ramos is staring at him. Iker rubs at his forehead. "I um." He coughs. "I can only assume that you don't mean Fabregas."
Ramos sighs dreamily. "That's right," he says. "Cesc Fabregas."
Iker blinks away a tear. This can't be happening.
"He's so luscious," Ramos says. "Those dark eyes, those crooked teeth, that adorable smile."
Iker would really like this to be a joke, but he really, really knows that it isn't. Ramos is not, alas, a practical joker, but he definitely is the kind of horrible man who insists on making Iker's job much harder than it already is. He wishes Raul was still around.
"Sergio," he says, and puts a hand on Ramos' shoulder. "Cesc is a very nice looking boy but do you really think-"
"Have you seen," says Ramos, "his tummy?"
"No," says Iker, even though he has and he agrees it's very nice. "No, I have not. Because I have not been looking, and neither should you have been. Number one, he is a rival. You do not get crushes on rival players. Number two, Pique will kill you."
"I'm not afraid of Pique," says Ramos. "I have love on my side."
"Pique has about six foot seven and three hundred pounds on his side," says Iker, who is nothing if not practical. "Please don't get delusions of grandeur. That is not the Real Madrid way."
"He's so beautiful though, Iker, Iker, his eyes are like pools of liquid chocolate."
Iker can feel the tears coming back at that. "Ramos," he says. "Don't you think you might be projecting your love for someone else onto Cesc? It does seem rather convenient, that you have fallen in love with a rival player who lives in a different country and is already taken."
Ramos thinks for a while. "I can't think who that would be," he says finally.
Iker mentally smashes his head against a wall. "You keep thinking," he says. "Sleep on it. Come and see me tomorrow."
Then he leaves the changing room even though he hasn't showered or anything, and he goes back out to the training ground and sits by one of the goalposts and has a good cry. God he hates his team.
---
Later that day when he's feeling a bit better and his girlfriend has given him cuddles and agreed how annoying his team is, he picks up the phone and dials his goalkeeper speeddial. Reina picks up. "Hello mate, deffo, what can I do for you?"
Iker hates the Liverpool players' faux-scouse accents. "Pepe," he says, "can I have Fernando's number?"
There's a long silence.
"Oh," says Reina. "Sorry mate, I deffo threw that away in a fit of rage back in January."
Iker hangs up. He calls David Villa. Villa answers with a foulmouthed torrent of anti-madridista abuse. Iker starts crying again. Eventually his girlfriend takes over and calls Fernando's wife. "Hello Olalla," she says, "can Iker speak to Fernando please?"
Then she hands the phone to Iker.
"Hello Fernando," he says. "I know we don't know each other that well, but I'm concerned about Sergio, and thought you should know."
"Deffo," says Fernando, and Iker grits his teeth. "What's up?"
"He thinks he's in love with Cesc Fabregas."
There's another long silence and then Fernando's wife comes on the phone. "I don't know what you just said to Fernando," she says, "but he's gone and shut himself in his bedroom."
Iker gives up and hands the phone back to his girlfriend. "Fix it," he says. "Please."
So she does.
---
The next day in training Ramos comes up to Iker with a big smile. "Thanks Iker," he says. "Turns out you were right, I was projecting. I've had a chat with Fernando and we've agree to be platonic boyfriends, because I love him more than anyone else in the world but he is married."
"Oh good," says Iker. "And Cesc?"
"He's still proper fit," says Ramos, "but he's not my type. I like them blond and freckly."
That's probably more than Iker cared to know, so he leaves.
---
In Barcelona, Villa's wife is having a go at him. "Don't be mean to Iker Casillas," she says. "I won't have it. You footballers and your petty rivalries. You're all as bad as each other. Call him and apologise."
So David Villa calls Iker and apologises, and Iker explains why he was calling, and Villa tells Xavi and Xavi tells Iniesta and Iniesta tells Victor and Victor tells Pinto and Pinto tells Bojan and Bojan tells Messi and Messi tells Pique, and in the next Clasico, Pique punches Ramos in the face. He gets sent off, but it's totally worth it.
That night he gets a call from Cesc. "Moc moc! I was defending your honour," says Pique when he picks up the phone.
"Oh okay," says Cesc. "I thought maybe you were just having a bad day so I wanted to see if I could cheer you up."
"Oh," says Pique. "What were you going to do?"
"Tell you a story about unicorns and rainbows," Cesc says.
"I am having," says Pique in the most sad voice he can manage, "a terrible day."
---
Added extra!
"I could be a stripper," Jack says. "I could be called Jack the Stripper." He falls about laughing.
Robin stares at him, pained. "Don't say that again," he says. "Ever."
Jack is still laughing. He's so pleased with himself. Robin is both endeared and horrified. He has a mental image of Jack stripping. He wants to claw his eyes out.
"Where is Thomas," he says.
Jack laughs and laughs until he cries a little and then he stops. "Do you want some tea?"
Robin does want some tea. And Thomas. Where is Thomas right now to fix this.
Thomas comes in with a cup of tea. "Okay?" He says.
Robin is still in shock and can't speak.
"Thomas," Jack says, "hey guess what I'd be called if I was a stripper."
"You can't be a stripper," Thomas says, "you're twelve."
Jack looks sad.
Robin looks at Jack's sad face and sighs. "He'd be Jack the Stripper," he says, and Jack grins happily.
There's a long pause. "That is inappropriate on so many levels," Thomas says.
Robin thinks he might be in love.
***
Okay have we all had enough now? If not, you know where to find me.