Further meditations on the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo
First, it just re-enforces the little dream I have of us totally tonking Everton in the next derby and Mikey saying to Rooney, a la Edward G Robinson in The Cincinnati Kid, 'You were good, kid. But as long as I'm around you'll always be second best, see?'
Only problem there is, you have to imagine Rooney in the Steve McQueen role, which as a confirmed McQueenaholic is distasteful to me ;)
Oh and also, a little scene inspired by a comment Carra made in Sky's Michael Owen documentary just over a year ago...
Double or Quits
Jamie Carragher: I just want him to get in trouble and be in all the papers.
Michael Owen: Yeah, well we won't mention what you were in the papers for.
After almost a decade of friendship, Michael Owen was surprised to discover there was a side to Jamie Carragher he'd never encountered before.
As far as the public was concerned, there were only two Carras. Sarky, laid back and slightly disreputable off the pitch; hard working, dependable and bellowing like an enraged moose on it.
Then there were some Carras that Michael knew had only been seen by himself and a few select girlfriends. Like the Carra who didn't know where to put himself if you told him he was handsome. And there was one Carra who was only ever seen by Michael alone.
But giddy as a schoolboy Carra? This was the first he'd heard of it.
Michael staggered slightly as Carra gave him another bruising kiss on the cheek. 'I'm so proud of you! Your first scandal!'
'First and *only*.' Michael grumbled.
'Bollocks to that, this time next year I want you photographed on the dancefloor at Cream, snorting coke off the thighs of underage rentboys.'
'CARRA!' Michael burst out. 'Cant we just drop it? It's fucking embarassing.'
'You think yours was embarrassin'? I was on the front pages starkers! With strippers! And whipped cream!'
Michael couldn't help sniggering at the memory. 'You weren't starkers,' he said. 'You had your trainers on.'
'Oh yeah, cos that makes it a much more pleasin' image.' Carra put his hands on Michael's shoulders and manouvered him to sit down on the changing room bench.
'The point is - look down.'
Michael obliged. 'What?'
'Your feet.'
'...and?'
'They haven't fallen off.'
*Hmmm...out of his tiny little mind Carra. Another new breed.*
'You've not changed.' Carra continued. 'What they say can't hurt you. The only thing different about you is that this thing you've been so terrified of all your life has happened, and it's turned out to be not half as scary as you thought.'
'I am *not* frightened of the bloody tabloids!'
'No.' Carra sat down next to him. 'I'll tell you what frightens you.
'Failure. You think this is what you're on the earth for and that one little mistake could take it all away. You're scared of tarnishing that shining image of yours. All them lasses who put your picture on their wall, all them little lads who pretend to be you in the playground - you're scared of letting them down.'
Michael opened his mouth to interrupt, but Carra was having none of it.
'I've watched them, Mikey! All your life, they've been telling you. 'People think footballers are stupid, boozing, skirt-chasin' louts. But not you. You're going to be different. You're going to be our little role model.' And I've watched you swallow it and build yourself this fucking St Michael thing to hide behind and it's choking you!'
'But they need that.' said Michael quietly. 'They need someone to look up to.'
'Yeah, they do. But they need him to be bloody human. It'll do them far more good in the end to have a role model who shows them they can fuck up and still carry on.'
Michael gave up and slumped against Carra, who put an arm around him. 'The gaffer's gonna kill me.' he groaned.
'Yup. Gaffer killed me once. Coupla times actually. Never looked back.'
'They're gonna make out I'm some kind of addict. Everyone's gonna think...'
'Yeah, and for a couple of days they all thought Bobby Moore was a jewel thief. But what do people think of now when you mention Bobby Moore? Shopliftin' charges or winning the World Cup?'
Carra pulled him closer to hug him properly. Michael smiled. This was his favourite Carra. The one only he got to see.
'Thirty years from now, which Michael Owen are they gonna remember? The one who lost at cards or the one who was England's youngest ever goalscorer?'
'Dunno.' Michael grinned up at him. 'D'you wanna bet?'
'Just do me a favour, son. Next time, make it someone other than Kieron, eh? I mean, nice lad an' all, but jeeezus....'
I'm due to leave for the theatre at 5pm, and our match starts at 5.35, so I'll be listening in the car on my walkman. Fingers crossed Michael's in the mood to shove the tabloids' words right down their throats...
Only problem there is, you have to imagine Rooney in the Steve McQueen role, which as a confirmed McQueenaholic is distasteful to me ;)
Oh and also, a little scene inspired by a comment Carra made in Sky's Michael Owen documentary just over a year ago...
Double or Quits
Jamie Carragher: I just want him to get in trouble and be in all the papers.
Michael Owen: Yeah, well we won't mention what you were in the papers for.
After almost a decade of friendship, Michael Owen was surprised to discover there was a side to Jamie Carragher he'd never encountered before.
As far as the public was concerned, there were only two Carras. Sarky, laid back and slightly disreputable off the pitch; hard working, dependable and bellowing like an enraged moose on it.
Then there were some Carras that Michael knew had only been seen by himself and a few select girlfriends. Like the Carra who didn't know where to put himself if you told him he was handsome. And there was one Carra who was only ever seen by Michael alone.
But giddy as a schoolboy Carra? This was the first he'd heard of it.
Michael staggered slightly as Carra gave him another bruising kiss on the cheek. 'I'm so proud of you! Your first scandal!'
'First and *only*.' Michael grumbled.
'Bollocks to that, this time next year I want you photographed on the dancefloor at Cream, snorting coke off the thighs of underage rentboys.'
'CARRA!' Michael burst out. 'Cant we just drop it? It's fucking embarassing.'
'You think yours was embarrassin'? I was on the front pages starkers! With strippers! And whipped cream!'
Michael couldn't help sniggering at the memory. 'You weren't starkers,' he said. 'You had your trainers on.'
'Oh yeah, cos that makes it a much more pleasin' image.' Carra put his hands on Michael's shoulders and manouvered him to sit down on the changing room bench.
'The point is - look down.'
Michael obliged. 'What?'
'Your feet.'
'...and?'
'They haven't fallen off.'
*Hmmm...out of his tiny little mind Carra. Another new breed.*
'You've not changed.' Carra continued. 'What they say can't hurt you. The only thing different about you is that this thing you've been so terrified of all your life has happened, and it's turned out to be not half as scary as you thought.'
'I am *not* frightened of the bloody tabloids!'
'No.' Carra sat down next to him. 'I'll tell you what frightens you.
'Failure. You think this is what you're on the earth for and that one little mistake could take it all away. You're scared of tarnishing that shining image of yours. All them lasses who put your picture on their wall, all them little lads who pretend to be you in the playground - you're scared of letting them down.'
Michael opened his mouth to interrupt, but Carra was having none of it.
'I've watched them, Mikey! All your life, they've been telling you. 'People think footballers are stupid, boozing, skirt-chasin' louts. But not you. You're going to be different. You're going to be our little role model.' And I've watched you swallow it and build yourself this fucking St Michael thing to hide behind and it's choking you!'
'But they need that.' said Michael quietly. 'They need someone to look up to.'
'Yeah, they do. But they need him to be bloody human. It'll do them far more good in the end to have a role model who shows them they can fuck up and still carry on.'
Michael gave up and slumped against Carra, who put an arm around him. 'The gaffer's gonna kill me.' he groaned.
'Yup. Gaffer killed me once. Coupla times actually. Never looked back.'
'They're gonna make out I'm some kind of addict. Everyone's gonna think...'
'Yeah, and for a couple of days they all thought Bobby Moore was a jewel thief. But what do people think of now when you mention Bobby Moore? Shopliftin' charges or winning the World Cup?'
Carra pulled him closer to hug him properly. Michael smiled. This was his favourite Carra. The one only he got to see.
'Thirty years from now, which Michael Owen are they gonna remember? The one who lost at cards or the one who was England's youngest ever goalscorer?'
'Dunno.' Michael grinned up at him. 'D'you wanna bet?'
'Just do me a favour, son. Next time, make it someone other than Kieron, eh? I mean, nice lad an' all, but jeeezus....'
I'm due to leave for the theatre at 5pm, and our match starts at 5.35, so I'll be listening in the car on my walkman. Fingers crossed Michael's in the mood to shove the tabloids' words right down their throats...