I’ve always been one for weird dreams and night terrors where I end up outside or naked in the hallway. None of that last night (I hope), but I did have a strange dream that I remember an awful lot of. So here it is:
“In Group A with Germany, the Netherlands and Mongolia, will be…WALES”
Sepp Blatter held out the white piece of card with FIFA and WALES written on it. We would be first out at the World Cup, in a tough looking group.
There was very little of this going on in Stalingrad
After the public outcry to the successful World Cup bids from Russia and Qatar, Blatter had changed the game. Qualifying was exactly the same as it had always been and Wales was triumphant for the first time since 1958. But here is where things became different. The tournament itself would not be based on football. It was now a Hunger Games style fight to the death. Each country had a 4 man team, with a deeper reserve squad ready to replace the dead as each round passed. Only one team would advance from each group, the rest would be killed along the way.
I’ve no idea how I had been chosen, all I knew was that I had no choice, no experience and was shitting myself. The tournament was to take place in a re-construction of Stalingrad during the long battle between the Nazis and the Soviets in World War Two.
As we stood for the national anthems in a destroyed central square, Gareth Bale was resplendent in his gleaming white Wales away kit, slick back hair and brand new Pony football boots. I glanced down and they resembled empty tissue boxes dangling on his expensive feet.
“I just know these boots will make me play better than you” Bale gloated at the rest of his team.
We weren’t in this together, the superstar’s head had gone. And to be honest I didn’t fancy his chances of getting very far in those ‘boots’ and without a weapon.
To our right stood the Mongolia team, all looking a little bit like Genghis Khan’s warriors (I can’t help my subconscious!). Hand-to-hand I don’t think I’d last too long with them, but we’d have the speed to get away and attack from a distance. To our left was the German team – all looking tall, strong, clean uniforms and confident. The Dutch team had already disappeared somewhere.
The whistle was blown and within seconds Gareth Bale had taken a spear to the neck from the Mongolian team. His white shirt saw a trickle of deep red blood quickly cover his torso and his tissue box boots caught fire. He may have been the World’s most expensive footballer, but in the Hunger Games he was just another amateur. Real Madrid will not be happy.
Only 3 of us left, me, my mate Kettle (hope he’s reading this – he was the most helpful person in the entire thing) and one other person who I didn’t know. We ran for a battered hotel and managed to find a hiding spot on the top floor. There were loads of little rooms and cupboards to hide away in and plot (or in my case panic).
There was a lot of time to gather our thoughts. We kept the lights out and searched around for weapons. Blatter knew what he was doing. Hidden away in each building could be found countless weapons, but the majority of them were fakes. We saw the German team walk past outside. They were bold – right out in the open – but they should be because they’d managed to find assault rifles and a tank, a tank! I turned around to see my remaining teammates trying to do what they could with a slingshot, some wooden sticks and plastic toy guns.
We were fucked.
Kettle and I found ourselves up in the attic of the hotel – and discovered a treasure chest full of shotguns and ammunition. It was a start. But the guns had to be assembled and that’s where we were stuck. We had no experience. Luckily for us, snoring away in the next room was a friend with experience of the Territorial Army through his brother. He helped us assemble the weapons and we had ourselves a sniper shotgun. From the attic windows I could see a German within the crosshairs, slowly I pulled my finger towards the trigger, exhaled and bottled it.
They must have heard my fear and apprehension, because quickly the German team turned towards the hotel. The tank aimed and fired at the lobby. It was destroyed to rubble in seconds and it felt like the whole building would quickly collapse. We ran as fast as we could down to the first floor, keeping away from the eyes of the Germans, and to our horror discovered that the hotel was where the teams from Group B were waiting to come out and fight.
Team USA was in tatters. 3 members of the sitcom Modern Family lay fatally wounded whilst the fourth member, Jennifer Lawrence, was alive and scrambling for the trees which had appeared on the only surviving interior wall. Somehow, I knew she would live through this. 1992 Olympic Champion, Sally Gunnell, laughed maniacally from Team England’s safe spot opposite us on the 1st floor. When did she become so cold?
My eyes met with Gunnell’s and I paused for a second too long. As I turned away I was met by two German’s, aimed and ready to fire. I placed my hands in the air and then…
…I woke up. I’ve never died in a dream and luckily I didn’t last night again. Is it true that if you die in your dreams you’re done for in real life?
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