It’s cool how Xabi Alonso is mastering every possible way of breaking the human heart. He did it slow and agonizing in 2009, “ooh, I love you, why don’t you love me, oh, I know you say you do but remember how you didn’t like two years ago, oh I’m staying, no I’m going, I love you, I’ll always love you, I’m going to talk about you forever so you never forget how much you loved me, maybe we’ll get back together someday, ha ha no we won’t, but who knows, maybe,” and that was horrible (I wasn’t actually there, but I absorbed the horror by osmosis).
And now, here I am, standing stunned and gutted on our front porch as he drags out a hastily-packed suitcase and kisses me on the cheek. A huge fancy Porsche purrs in the driveway with THAT SLUT PEP GUARDIOLA in the drivers’ seat. I thought they hated each other. “I love you, but I think we have passed all of our good days together,” midfield maestro Xabi Alonso says gently. “I thought it would be best to do this quickly.” “But,” I whisper. “But —” ”Have you met my friend, Toni Kroos?” Xabi inquires, shoving some Peeta Mellark looking dude at me. “Toni, please hold her. She likes to be held when she is emotional.” “DON’T I GET A SAY IN THIS??” I plead. “DON’T YOU OWE ME THAT MUCH????” “Goodbye forever,” Xabi Alonso says. “We’ll always have Lisbon, although I did not technically play there.” He kisses my cheek and jogs down the steps. Pep Guardiola honks the horn merrily and they zoom away into the sunset, leaving me staring after them. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?” I scream at Toni Kroos. “WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?????”