What follows is a ridiculously hyperbolic and extremely fictional – and we have to put this in because clearly anyone reading it would mistake it for the truth. Sarcasm yo.
It’s early in the morning. Sunlight doesn’t pierce through the curtains for it’s dull and grey. A right Moyes of a skyline. Ryan Joseph Giggs, OBE, stirs from his slumber. He sits for a moment and ponders the harsh realities of life; for everyone else. The others, they go to sleep and dream. He awakes into one. For he is a three time League Cup winner (among many other things). Giggs rises and silently curses at the weather for not being better in his presence. “Doesn’t the Sun know who I am?” he muses, while throwing the curtains open. Still, as his mentor, friend and man for whom he would eventually usurp Sir Alex Ferguson would say “Shite weather today son.” Truer words were never spoken.
There’s barely time to recall any more past glories – and there are so many – before a knock a the door drags Ryan from his morning routine. It’s the postman, a man who can barely keep his knees from trembling when being confronted with *that* chest hair as Giggsy answers the door with nothing but a towel. It’s not even a towel, it’s the 1998/99 Manchester United away kit.
What an honour it must be to converse with the GQ Sportsman of the year 2010, thought Giggs as he simultaneously forgot any and all details of the conversation. Another sack load of fan mail had arrived, though there must be some horrible mix up at the Post Office. Rather than receiving the written adulation from his adoring United fanbase, most of the letters appeared to be addressed from Sunderland fans. “Thanks for keeping us up in 2012” must be code for something else, mused the man who made fifteen starts and still won Player of the Year in 08/09.
After boring of mail from Mackems, Ryan began to wonder if his phone was also broken. He hadn’t hear it ring all morning. In all his eagerness to please his incredibly large fanbase – for surely, deep down inside they would all have known that he might eventually read part of their letters – he had neglected the real purpose of the morning. To write and prepare for his next press conference as a Premier League manager. Any day now he’s getting the call. Everton are hiring. Leicester too. They must have both been calling at the exact same time and cancelling each other out. That’s why he had missed called. “Bollocks” said the Louis Van Gaal in his head. Giggsy wasn’t sure why he said it to him all the time (like seriously, all the time) but right now it made him smile.
It was then that the cover-star of FIFA 2003 had a revelation. Leicester? They’ve only won one league title in like nine years. Everton? While their fans were always nice to him – or any Man United player for that matter – he wasn’t sure if they had quite enough ambition to match someone with a 50% win record as a Premier League manager. He could maybe go through the actual process of applying for a job, or even attempting to finish his coaching badges but all that sounded like it wasn’t worth his time. A little bit like playing for Wales in non important games.
One day someone will come calling. Desperate to hire a man who has no desire to take part in the process. That club will be ridiculed at first. Then there will be the thinkpieces from former players and (United) fans alike clamouring for a clean slate and a chance. All Ryan Giggs needs is a chance and he’ll put it away like the one hundred and fourteen times he did so for Manchester United. Or he won’t. And a football club could be thrown into unnecessary turmoil. But that’s not Giggy’s problem. Give it to him until the end of the season…