Alexander-Arnold’s Anfield Amnesia…
Picture this: Liverpool’s vice-captain Trent Alexander-Arnold, beloved by fans and feared by goalkeepers, ghosting around like an amnesiac magician on the Anfield pitch. Word had it that the glamorous Real Madrid had whispered sweet nothings into his ear, turning Liverpool’s United clash into a mere sideshow. The 11-martian Anfield squad battled on, possibly wondering if a piñata had more focus than their enchanted number 66. But just like Cinderella’s pumpkin coach, the game vanished, and despite his dreamy distraction, Liverpool somehow sashayed to a sparkling Premier League crown.
While the Reds might fume at losing their Scouse sorcerer to the Spanish kings for zilch, Alexander-Arnold seems set to swap the Royal Liver Building’s shadow for the Bernabeu’s sparkling spotlight. The Madrid maestros tried to speed up the show, offering pesos—let’s say the worth of a chocolate bar—to whisk Trent away early. But Liverpool said “nope!”, thinking a trophy or two beats quick chocolate every time.
As the footballing world spins, Trent broke the silence, speaking from the heart rather than the boot: “It’s been two decades of dreams, triumphs, and pies at the Kop. Now, after walking that red carpet, I crave a fresh fiesta. The show must go on, but I’m trading my red cape for royal robes.” His timeliness might be debated finer than a VAR decision, but the lad remains our full-back fabler, who now eyes the land where tapas triumphs over scouse.
