Porsche Man: The English Premier West Ham

Masquerading as Chelsea, singing the blues Porsche Man ventured towards Olympiacos and an impossible mission, show her image off to the athletic world. Upon arrival she seemed threatened that her talents were not going to be accepted at this level.

“They are all so trim and fit,” she thought taking the stage.

“Let me guess, you are supposed to be Chelsea,” someone sitting in a dark area commented, “singing the blues.”

“That is right,” Porsche Man answered.

“Well, Porsche Man, we here in Olympiacos have two goals, look like winners and awarding medals.”

“Awarding medals?” Porsche Man innocently questioned.

“Be the victor, General Champion To The Masses!”

“But I am a theatrical tease,” Porsche Man clarified.

“If that is true, Porsche Man, your manipulative skills, using your looks to get ahead should make you a victor or ‘General Champion To The Masses’,”

“Translation, beat other people?”

“Yes,” the mysterious voice confirmed.

After performing her best routine by belting out a tune which many could name in a few notes Porsche Man spoke into the microphone, “I do have a goal tonight, to entertain the audience.”

This rebellious act against the establishment resulted in a long trip home, back to the flat. “Despite getting defeated I am still the group’s leader and still grace the upper prestigious marketing tier,” she pondered unlocking her apartment.

Sunday soon approached and Porsche Man woke up really early, remembering Everton, the candy man had a visit planned. Going back to her traditional uniform, the west ham waited patiently and when the door chimed, she turned the bubble machine on creating a festive atmosphere.

Porsche Man enthusiastically opened the entry only to reveal a morbid looking fellow. “Who died?” She acknowledged the figure dressed in a grey funeral style outfit.

“Porsche Man, do I need your electricity right now, love the bubbles they always make me happy,” Everton stated proceeding into the hallway.

“You seemed to have loss something very close to you?” Porsche Man observed.

“Yes, Porsche Man, I did,” Everton confirmed, “I lost a friend who was always there for me.”

“That is so sad,” Porsche Man editorialized, “What can I do for you?”

Forcing a smile Everton told her, “I need a goal.”

“A goal?”

“Yeah, score, put one in the net, I won’t tell anyone,”

“I can do that,” she thought realizing allowing Everton to find a goal would not be any demotion.

“Thank you, Porsche Man,” Everton responded, “I really appreciate it.”

Having a goal Everton left a few Toffees as a tip, “I hope you won’t be making anymore sacrifices, Porsche Man.”

“With your friend gone, you needed that goal,” Porsche Man bidded him farewell.

Softly closing the wooden gate, knowing she needed to pick up points was a priority today but giving them to someone in need had merit. Ignoring a giggling sound on the street she headed into the living room and plopped down, resting for a few minutes.

“How many more sacrifices will I have to make this week,” she thought hearing a news report announcing Porsche Man had two potential goal opportunities suspended and they would not be able to start any buzz next weekend.

“It looks like I am not going to get any goals, in the near future,” Porsche Man whimpered when a ghost appeared on the steps.

“Who are you?” She asked.

“I am the Carabao Creature from the past,” the apparition announced, “and all you have to do is disarm the gunners and silence the Arsenal. It can be done with the Carabao Creature in charge.”

“But what about the goal opportunity suspension?”

“It doesn’t matter for the Arsenal,” the ghost referenced, “and all you need is one goal to get some buzz.”

“Easier said than done,” Porsche Man reflected but that drink energy she had earlier did hit the spot.