"Do we go?" whispered Chief Constable McScallybastid of the Merseyside Police. In the monitor-lined bunker deep beneath Anfield, Klopp and Dalglish exchanged unsmiling glances.
Mike Gash of the World Football Governing Cartel nodded gravely on the jumbotron. "Go."
"Operation Kopparberg is live," said McScallybastid, taking off his hat and wiping his neck. "May God have mercy on us. Godspeed, Michael."
Michael Oliver cracked his knuckles. Testing his fake paunch one final time, he slipped the latex mask of a generic Liverpudlian bindipping bastard over his lean face, felt the weight of the cider bottle in his hand and glanced up at the secret map of the luxury coach's route.
"I'm fookghen reddy larrrrgh", he said.