Goodbye
Title: Goodbye
Rating: G
Pairing: None, just Ole Gunnar Solskjaer.
Disclaimer: I don't actually know Ole, so this is just a fabrication of my imagination.
Author's Note: I don't want Ole to retire, but unfortunately, it's not up to me. So here's a little something I wrote really quickly (and didn't check for mistakes). I needed tissues when I wrote this...*sniffles*
When Ole had first come to Old Trafford, he had taken one look around the massive pitch and immediately felt as though great things would happen to him there. He had been too afraid to explore the stadium when others were around, so he had waited until they had all gone home, and he was all on his own. This time around, he felt like wandering the hallways alone again, although for an entirely different reason.
Ole sits in the dressing room, trying to recollect all the memories he had made there. As his eyes scan every part of the room, he sees younger versions of himself and his teammates celebrating victories (he remembers being lifted up on countless occasions, after having scored the winning goal), sulking over losses (he remembers how no one spoke much on those days), pulling pranks (he remembers searching for his clothes on countless occasions, only to get them back when everyone else had gotten tired of the joke), and enjoying each others' company. He sees himself teaching foreign players a few words of English (he remembers having to stop Rio from teaching them the 'wrong' ones). He sees himself playing mediator when David and Gary fought. Then, he sees a slightly older version of himself playing the same role when Wayne and Cristiano fought.
Pulling himself out of his reverie, Ole walks to the tunnel and stands there for several minutes, taking in the utter silence that envelopes him. Usually, he would be surrounded by players on all sides and he would be able to hear the crowd outside. But this time, the tunnel was completely empty. Ole could feel the hundreds of players that had passed through this tunnel, some of them on their way to glory. As he stands there, he sees the 1999 squad lining up before their title winning match; there had been a special feeling in the air that day - everyone knew it was their season, their trophy for the taking. He sees younger versions of his teammates, all looking nervous before their debuts. As the years went by, the looks of anxiety on their faces had gotten less, but Ole was sure they were all just as nervous before matches (he knows some things never change).
Ole is just about overwhelmed with a feeling of nostalgia, when he steps onto the pitch. All of a sudden, the lack of noise around him seems even more eerie. Ole feels the ghost of many footballers who had made their mark on the historic pitch before him. He sees events of the past unfolding before his eyes - goals being scored, victories being celebrated, trophies being lifted. He sees the names of his teammates on the back of jerseys (he remembers them all very well), fluttering in the wind. He sees former players kissing their shirts (he knows they'll always be red devils at heart) and throwing them to the crowd. All of his memories have one similarity - he was there. He had been one of the constants at the club, while others came and went (he knows that some longed to stay, but couldn't). All these years, others had been passing by, and now it was his turn.
Ole can practically feel the sacred grounds calling out to him, telling him that he was born to play on that pitch, born to be a Manchester United player, born to become a legend. 76,000 empty seats stare at him and he realizes that he will never be more at home anywhere else. Feeling completely at peace with the world and knowing that he will never truly have to leave, Ole takes one more look around, kisses the pitch, and exits the sacred grounds.
Rating: G
Pairing: None, just Ole Gunnar Solskjaer.
Disclaimer: I don't actually know Ole, so this is just a fabrication of my imagination.
Author's Note: I don't want Ole to retire, but unfortunately, it's not up to me. So here's a little something I wrote really quickly (and didn't check for mistakes). I needed tissues when I wrote this...*sniffles*
When Ole had first come to Old Trafford, he had taken one look around the massive pitch and immediately felt as though great things would happen to him there. He had been too afraid to explore the stadium when others were around, so he had waited until they had all gone home, and he was all on his own. This time around, he felt like wandering the hallways alone again, although for an entirely different reason.
Ole sits in the dressing room, trying to recollect all the memories he had made there. As his eyes scan every part of the room, he sees younger versions of himself and his teammates celebrating victories (he remembers being lifted up on countless occasions, after having scored the winning goal), sulking over losses (he remembers how no one spoke much on those days), pulling pranks (he remembers searching for his clothes on countless occasions, only to get them back when everyone else had gotten tired of the joke), and enjoying each others' company. He sees himself teaching foreign players a few words of English (he remembers having to stop Rio from teaching them the 'wrong' ones). He sees himself playing mediator when David and Gary fought. Then, he sees a slightly older version of himself playing the same role when Wayne and Cristiano fought.
Pulling himself out of his reverie, Ole walks to the tunnel and stands there for several minutes, taking in the utter silence that envelopes him. Usually, he would be surrounded by players on all sides and he would be able to hear the crowd outside. But this time, the tunnel was completely empty. Ole could feel the hundreds of players that had passed through this tunnel, some of them on their way to glory. As he stands there, he sees the 1999 squad lining up before their title winning match; there had been a special feeling in the air that day - everyone knew it was their season, their trophy for the taking. He sees younger versions of his teammates, all looking nervous before their debuts. As the years went by, the looks of anxiety on their faces had gotten less, but Ole was sure they were all just as nervous before matches (he knows some things never change).
Ole is just about overwhelmed with a feeling of nostalgia, when he steps onto the pitch. All of a sudden, the lack of noise around him seems even more eerie. Ole feels the ghost of many footballers who had made their mark on the historic pitch before him. He sees events of the past unfolding before his eyes - goals being scored, victories being celebrated, trophies being lifted. He sees the names of his teammates on the back of jerseys (he remembers them all very well), fluttering in the wind. He sees former players kissing their shirts (he knows they'll always be red devils at heart) and throwing them to the crowd. All of his memories have one similarity - he was there. He had been one of the constants at the club, while others came and went (he knows that some longed to stay, but couldn't). All these years, others had been passing by, and now it was his turn.
Ole can practically feel the sacred grounds calling out to him, telling him that he was born to play on that pitch, born to be a Manchester United player, born to become a legend. 76,000 empty seats stare at him and he realizes that he will never be more at home anywhere else. Feeling completely at peace with the world and knowing that he will never truly have to leave, Ole takes one more look around, kisses the pitch, and exits the sacred grounds.