Jeff the god of Biscuits

       Don't get me wrong I love my old club, 1. FC Köln, but I love something more. I didn't transfer to Bayern for more money, money wasn't even a question. I didn't transfer to Bayern because it simply is a better club. I have an extreme loyalty to Köln and would someday like to go back. To me it's like extreme nationalism, where every club is it's own country. Each club has it's rivals, each has it's followers. Every time two clubs meet on the pitch, it is like a battle is taking place and the cup they are fighting for is the war. My country ended up like Poland in World War II, another follower of the greater nations. I was content at Köln even though we were (and they still are) fighting for democracy in Vietnam.

      I was the Fuhrer at Köln, there I was amongst my friends, my allies. I joined the Bayern army for one thing only, a fellow soldier. This soldier, though young, was already successful for his country. He won many medals in the first troop. I've heard from the higher-ups that my soldier boy is much happier and performing better with me here. His aim is on target, his stamina is stronger, and he works harder. Bastian Schweinsteiger has a reason to fight; me, I don't care what or why or for whom I am fighting for as long as I am with him. I long to fight in front of him, make his awards mine. I will do anything for Schweini even if I am considered Benedict Arnold to my old club.

       One day we were on the front. The rest of the squad had left for the day and only Schweini and I were there. We sat on the grass and idly passed the ball between us.

“I'm happy you came here Poldi,” Bastian sighed,

“You doubted this would happen?” I asked.

He chuckled because he knew the answer, he won the war.

     Sometimes it's a burden to Xabi. At times Xabi hates it. He hates the knowledge and the power. He hates being strong and nice. He hates being Xabi Alonso. But he hates Steven Gerrard even more. Xabi is suppose to, no, expected to know what to do. He is expected to like everyone and be the emotional anchor after a bad game. He expects himself to be all of these things but he is suppose to be the one receiving it. He hates Steven Gerrard because he is suppose to do what Xabi does but instead is the one who abuses Xabi the most. The worst of it is that Steven doesn't know how much Xabi needs him to be a captain. Not to say that Steven Gerrard is a bad captain, he actually is the best captain Xabi could ask for. Stevie raises the moral, raises the fans enthusiasm and gives great advice. Steven is just crummy at losing. The thing he loves most about Stevie is that right after he scores, he doesn't congratulate himself but he riles up the fans, it's what makes them love him, it's what makes him an excellent captain.

     Most of the time Xabi has no clue how he comes up with some of this crap, it comes out of nowhere, most of the time it's unintelligible but ends up brilliant and at the end of the day it all helps to further his responsibilities. His comfort is like a golden apple. When Peter is off target, Xabi is there. When Luis can't perfect his crosses, Xabi is there. When the whole of the back defense lets an opposing player through to score, Xabi is there. And when Pepe lets that ball slip right past his fingers, Xabi is there. When Steven Gerrard is in the locker room, sitting there, looking listless, Xabi is always fucking there. It's routine. The team returns to the locker room, Xabi goes around hugging or patting people on the back. Stevie would sit on the bench in front of his locker, while the others stumble into the showers. Xabi would stay behind and sit next to him for hours. After one particularly bad loss to Chelsea they sat on that damned bench the whole day until Stevie silently cried (Stevie doesn't know Xabi realized) himself to sleep. Xabi frowned and carried Stevie to his car and brought him to Xabi's apartment. That night Stevie had horrible nightmares. Xabi watched as his captain thrashed about, screamed, and wimpered during the night. The next morning Stevie still wasn't back to normal. He stared off into space as Xabi held him.

Barely audible Stevie whispered, “ Y'know it wasn't so bad losing to them before. Before the World Cup, I mean. Before then they weren't my teammates or my friends,” he continued after a minute, “before all I saw was blue but now JT, Lamps, Joe, Ashley, they're all amongst the sea of blue and now I see all the great faces of today's football,”

Xabi smiled sadly, “It's sad really, blue, depressing almost.”

Steven turned to face Xabi, “You know Frank is a bad substitute for you,”

“Why because he won't hug you or kiss you and put up with your constant moaning?”

“We were the dream pair, the ones to take England to victory, the ones to lift the cup.”

Xabi kissed him and Stevie, having gotten everything off of his chest, returned to normal.

~~~~

     Xabi walked into the locker rooms after the match. Xabi couldn't smile, he couldn't support the team today. They had played poorly and it showed. They had lost three nil to Arsenal, of all teams. As he entered no one looked up as they usually did, no one spoke, no one comforted each other, and no one expected anything from Xabi. Despite his disappointment he felt unneeded and he hated it. Stevie as usual sat on the bench. He hadn't bothered to shower or change or even take his cleats off. His captain band laid in the corner where he obviously threw it. Xabi cringed, he had no will power to sit there and take Steven's grief. Xabi was released from his duties but not from their pain. He felt all of them. Mark was angry and cursing. Luis couldn't understand. Pepe was replaying the whole game in his head and changing the situations to see where they went wrong. But Stevie was understanding. He wasn't angry or doubtful or astonished, he knew. Xabi was standing in the middle of the room and he didn't know where to go or what to do. He looked over to Steven to see if he should should sit next to him. Stevie, sensing someone was looking at him, looked up and caught Xabi staring at him. He smiled and threw a towel at Xabi.

“You're stinking up the place,” Steven half yelled across the room. Everyone looked up and smiled. We're finally getting a competent skipper, somebody said (probably Jamie). They laughed and continued what they were doing in a comfortable silence.

     Xabi hates the responsibility but Xabi needs it. Xabi loves the comfort. He smiles at Stevie. He doesn't hate Steven Gerrard. He doesn't hate being Xabi Alonso only because he doesn't hate Stevie. And the burden, at times, can be shared.