Nerone_rb 09/03/2005

24 hours later, Sunday: Light desire of giving a look to the NG or the conference. Then, by luck, the sport shows on TV act like methadone.

48 hours later, Monday: The desire of reading the NG becomes stronger. The patient starts to stare at the computer hoping that Outlook could download the new messages by its own. Being Monday, the desire to check if some oldman has lost decimals is very strong. From the window the patient thinks he saw a group of youth leading to the ticket office in order to pay for fees, but they are just nuns from Novara visiting the Cathedral.

72 hours later: It's Tuesday the friendly-day. The patient will seat in front of the computer, turned on, the sweating will grow, the desire to enter the Hattrick website will show in all its strong. But no, he must resist! The
non-smoker patient will start to smoke, after having finished his fingernails.

4 days later, Wednsday: During the night the patient wakes up suddenly, after having dreamed his keeper who, seated on the bar, talks about the friendly of the day before. He will turn, completely sweaty, towards his wife, but she will look like she is lying on an hammock apologizing for the inconvenient. The patient will throw the cigarettes and throw himself to the hashish.

5 days later, Thursday: The patient will waste at least two hours staring at the monitor. He will write on the browser bar the complete address, but he wont dare to click on "go". He will become temperamental and dishonest. He will lose his appetite and, finished with the fingernails, he will start to eat the ones of the foots, cleaned or not it doesn't matter seeing that the perceptive senses will be altered. During the night the dreams will be crowded by doctors who shaking hands with the patient's injured +5 wingback will say: "Don't worry, by tomorrow you will be bruised, but playing". The patient will seem to hear the doorbell singing and imagine to see 39 new supporters sitting into his living-room. Thrown he hashish now it's the turn of cocaine.

6 days later, Friday: The night is a torment. The patient will dream, in the order: a midfield improving in one time from outstanding to magical; the form of all players outstanding on average; the U20 coach who, in the grip of despair, asks for help for the lineup. The character gets worse significantly: he will become a fiery, infamous, nasty fellow. The beard is unkempt. When his wife will ask if he wants to make a walk "toward the middle", he will cry out he's not Marrundo (*Italian national coach, ndT*) and the wings have to be offensive. The cocaine is over, let's go with eroine!

7 days later, Saturday: This is the worse day. The night dream sees the patient moving up form his youth squad all the players of the national team, including the reserves. The Disintoxication Recovery Program wants the patient to resist untill 11.46, the deadline for the lineup. The salivation is absent. The patient wakes up at 4.15 a.m. and he feels like Ulyss hearing the computer calling for him, like a siren song. He tries to resist. Having finished the eroine, now he tries listening to all Backstreet boys discography.
The hands seem like logs. The beard is long. When the patient will finally take the decision to cut it, his hand will shake and the blood will flow copious from the wounds; he will now realize he used his wife's leg-razor. It's 7.15. The patient leans out of the window, the sun is scorching. Seeing a sweaty and tired guy resting on the curch's stairs he will think he is his powerful defender. At 10.10 the phone rings, the patient will take the handset thinking his coach is on the phone asking desperate for the lineup. The patient seems to be confused, he will ask for the form of his players, but the line has gone dead. Or maybe it has never been. He will seat in front of the computer. He will write the address and press the fateful key, but he wont dare to log in. The vision gets clouded. The fat man with that yellow coat on the homepage turns into Monica Bellucci who, completely naked, promises gorgeous things for making the lineup. The patient will go and have a shower, using by mistake his wife's private cleanser. He will come back on the pc. It's 11.10. His wife ended up in the boxroom, tied up and swollen, just for having asked if he wanted milk or coffee: tension is running high. Time goes by. The situation is dramatic. At 11.30 the patient will quickly reckon, sure of having all the time to check for improvements and form and make the lineup. He tries to resist. At 11.37 the homepage becomes enormous, the user and password boxes fill the whole monitor. Tachycardia is smashing the chest. He starts to cry. Weepy you finally decide to enter: you fill the user box. You look around. Roll down the shutter. You fill also the password box and check the time: it's 11.38, you've got seven minutes! You hit enter...
We are very sorry for the unexpected downtime. The site will open again at 11.47, Hattrick time. We apologize for the inconvenience.
After some months you think that, at the end, 15 years for the murder of HT-Bjorn, it's not so much.