He was a fierce specimen. A bull of a man, with a huge barrel chest. He was in the mood to fight.

There were two of them. Swarthy complexions revealing their foreign bloodline. Feeling confident that they had the taking of him they closed in like sharks on a wounded seal.

He knew no fear. Nothing could or would stand in his way. It would take more than two of them.

Muscles tensed, sinews screamed out as they reached bursting point and bones crunched with sickening ferocity. Again and again, arms and legs lashing out. Connecting, hard and fast Savagely. Releasing their energy load mercilessly. Body tissue bruised and battered continued to offer stout resistance.

All three knew that going to ground would signal the end. To be down, was to be out.

Bystanders screamed and shouted. Cheers of encouragement and cries of anguish rang out in equal measure.

All three continuing second by second, twisting and turning in the wild, chaotic tussle.

Then the bull and one of the attackers lost their footing. Falling slowly to ground. Neither could allow it to happen. Both screamed out, trying desperately to regain the advantage.

The bull saw his chance to seal the fate of his nemesis. As the attacker fell and rolled to his back, his legs fell open. His groin exposed for a fleeting moment. A moment was all it took. The bull drove his foot down hard through the soft tissue sack that encapsulated his delicate reproductive organs. Pain signals exploded like depth charges deep within the compressed appendage. Searing waves of pain travelled up the nerve network into the underside of his stomach. Instantly incapacitating him immediately. No time to stop and reflect on his success. The battle was not yet won.

The second protagonist closed in fast as the bull regained his feet fully. Without pausing to catch breath he slammed his heels into the chest of the incoming figure. Space, he needed to create space. To create time to think.

It had gone completely crazy. Others now intoxicated on the aggression that hung heavy in the air, plucked up the courage to join the fray. It became a wild mêlée.

This was it.

Crunch time as the mysterious figure with the jazzy shirt ran in, to join the battle.

Plunging his hand deep into his pocket.

Searching frantically.

And then he found what he was looking for…

Out it came…

Red card.

Rooney was off.

Game over.

And in that moment the dream began to die..