He scored the winning goal. Again, unfortunately.

Even as a centre-back, Micky van de Ven had a knack for scoring wonders. But all pros have their cons, and Micky certainly had cons.

Many of them in fact, but the one overshadowing the rest was how much of an absolute dick he was to you. He was never nice. Ever.

You thought perhaps Micky may change his brusque, surly ways, but he wouldn't. His attitude didn't seem like it was going to shift anytime soon.

Be that as it may, Micky always did this one celebration whenever he scored. No matter how he scored it, whether it be a header or a left foot banger, the celebration remained the same. Invariably.

He would stare directly at the camera whilst blowing a kiss, followed by a fist at his heart that was thumping violently in his chest. The same heart that soared for one person, the same person he dedicated each and every one of his goals to - the girl of his dreams.

And guess who that might be? Oh yeah, you.

It was a bit ridiculous really, to put it mildly. He'd been nothing but a total prick, giving you all the wrong ideas about him.

And here he was, declaring his undying love for you in front of 60,000 people without you even knowing. You could only roll your eyes from your living room at the shit-eating grin playing upon his painfully handsome features.

After the game finishes and the post coverage starts, your phone pings in your lap. Probably the Premier League app stating the score, right?

No. An Instagram message. And oh- that dreaded name popped up on your screen.

For fuck's sake-

10:06PM @mickyvdven : >That goal was for you beautiful 🤍

You double-take, almost dropping your phone. What. Was this a cruel joke or something? Micky van de Ven, being sweet? Unfathomable.

What was he on? The booze? It seems so.