that anger/rant headline. wonder if rafa goes to paintball game with the boys, the headline would be rafa goes postal and has a shooting rampage.
I wouldn't want to paintball with Rafa. I bet they'd all be taking the piss - 'ha, rafa we're gonna get you you porky bugger' - all in good banter.
5 minutes in...Rafa's disappeared. Suddenly, bright paint splatter, right between Gerrard's eyes. The squad looks around, confused. A couple of the younger players make a break for cover BOOM! Paint grenade takes 'em both out. There's a rustle in the trees, they fire off indiscriminately as a hint of a shadow makes a few leaves tremble - it's no good, it's like trying to shoot fucking predator.
Bang! Another splatter, Carra, right between the eyes, Torres holds him, going 'Noooo!' as Carra says...'leave me, la, you've...got...to....live.........live..............for...................'
'NOOOOOOOOO!!' Bawls Torres, wiping a tear from his eye. He looks around, renewed determination in his eyes. Meanwhile, a rustle in the bushes, Skrtel and Benny turn and shoot - hitting each other in the crossfire. Another 3 well placed paint grenades take out our midfield, wide men, and a number of assorted youths.
Eventually, it's just Torres left, going postal, shooting into the bushes:
"Damn you Rafael Benitez, Damn you to hell. You come out, you come out now and FIGHT LIKE A MAN! EIJO DE PUTA!!!"
Quietly, you hear the sound of a match being struck. Calmly, paint-gun held aloft, Rafa emerges from behind a tree, smiling in George Peppard style with a fat, freshly lit cuban cigar in his mouth. He takes it out, looks at it, blows on the end a bit then puts it back in, taking a deep, satisfying puff.
Torres shoots, misses. Rafa's smile gets broader as he walks towards Torres, sweating, terrified Torres, taking a slow, long aim. 'This is it' thinks Torres. 'Click' goes Rafa's paint rifle - it's empty. Torres face lights up with relief, until he sees Rafa, still smiling. Still slowly advancing. He takes another shot, misses again. 'Click' goes Rafa's rifle once more. Torres takes another shot, and another - he just can't hit, Rafa's aura seems to deflect the bullets, it's like Hannibal with those pigs, Torres is practically going out of his mind.
Rafa takes a last step, his rifle to Torres forehead now. A final 'click'.
Rafa laughs, lowers the gun. Takes out his cigar again, and with an air of contemplation, calmly flicks it somewhere behind Torres. Torres can't move now - he's like a shrew caught in the gaze of a cobra.
Rafa gives him a friendly smile, a conspiratorial wink. Reaches slowly into his pocket, pulling out one last paint bullet. He holds it up between the two mens eyes like a precious jewel, then, with a final laugh, he flicks it contemptuously, again, right between Torres eyes.
As the paint mingles with Torres tears as he sags kneeling to the floor, weeping for the horror of man's inhumanity to man, Rafa turns around, hoists the rifle over his shoulder, lighting another cigar, one handed, striking the match over his chin stubble.
Never looking back, Rafa walks slowly into the forest, seeming to merge with it as he disappears into the undergrowth, like a ghost.
