#fa cup quarter finals

[pernillecfcw]

💙💙💙

[brighter-by-the-daly]

This game is no good for my blood pressure 🤞

[mariusslonelysoul]

Lmao the girls are FIGHTING

[goodgooner]

FA Youth Cup quarter-final confirmed

We now have confirmation of our quarter-final fixture against Cambridge United

[mapileonxputellas]

Beckham II: 2 That Day

Part 2 is here!!!!!

Short one for this part but I think some context is needed before I bring us back to the present day!

Hope you enjoy! Also in this the third place game doesn't exist.

(Part 1 can be found here x)

2nd July 2019, England vs USA, World Cup Semi-final

25th minute – 1 - 1

“This is a real battle out there isn’t it Sue?” Jonathon Pearce broadcasted to the UK, all eyes on the England team trying to defeat the US. Though they had gone behind very early on, an Ellen White leveller had brought them back onto even terms.

“It certainly is, you can see how much this means to all the players out there. None of this England team have ever experienced an occasion like this before but they seem to be carrying that emotion well.”

Out on the field it felt like an out of body experience. Before this the biggest game you’d played in would have to be a substitute appearance in an FA cup final, now you were starting the semi final at a World Cup. You were 19 and felt like the whole world was watching you.

At the start of the tournament you hadn’t been expecting to start but when Jill Scott picked up an injury in the round of 16 you’d stepped into the starting position next to Keira and never looked back. Receiving praise back at home for the level-headed game you played but still managed to bring out that touch of David Beckham in you.

It was a free-kick in the quarter-final that really brought you to the forefront of the nation. A slick ball which soared into the top corner of the net leaving their goalkeeper stranded and left everyone open-mouthed at home. You were never a nobody but now you were here to stay. Your Instagram following doubled and whenever you left the hotel in the past week the camera had never left you. The pressure was on.

“Fucking hell.” You swore coming up to take a corner for England nestled into the corner of the ground flooded with US fans.

“Nepotism trash!” “Daddy not here to hold your hand!” “Can’t even kick a ball!” “Weak!” “Spineless!”

The insults were flying in from every angle, everything was covered in the thirty seconds you had to wait to take the corner, of course your dad was mentioned but so was your appearance in the media. Newly turned 19 and yet it seemed like you were still the five-year-old girl who had her father carry her everywhere. Everyone just presumed you were an innocent little baby who couldn’t put in a tackle, you hated it.

But now was not the time to let that frustration out. Now was game time when nothing else mattered.

Your in-swinging corner found Millie on the edge of the 6-yard box but she couldn’t quite get the connection on it to trouble Naeher, instead giving her an easy catch but you could feel it coming.

The only problem is now there was now a break on. A quick release from the goalkeeper had set Lavelle free, Keira had stayed back but you couldn’t leave her one on one with Morgan in the centre.

You had one second to make a decision.

One second to work out how to stop her. You could try and get further back but you knew you had to stop it at source.

You were known for your pace so you had no trouble getting back to her but Lavelle was known for her trickery and skill.

In your head you made the best decision you could. You followed the rules you played football by and trusted your instinct.

That was where the world as you knew it slowly began to fade away.

“Oh that’s a nasty one from Beckham there and Lavelle seems seriously hurt.”

You thought it was clean, in fact you were sure of it. The contact with the ball was clear sending it flying out of play, you didn’t touch her other than her leg coming into yours as she came over the top of you and yet as she rolled around on the floor it was like the opposite had happened.

Suddenly you were surrounded by players in red, all screaming at you. “What the fuck did you do that for?” “Learn that one from your daddy did you?”

Millie came to stand in front of you, trying to block you from the players as Steph and Lucy surrounded the others at the referee.

“She didn’t touch her.” Millie defended you. “Tell your own player to stop cheating.”

You thought that would be the end of it. Tempers flared, emotions were high and you would get on with the match again. When the referee reached into her pocket you were convinced it was to calm everyone down, a booking usually helped to send a message out but when you saw it was red and it was flashed in your direction it was like time stopped.

“It’s a red card for Beckham, just like her father that name has once again come back to haunt England.” Jonathon commentated. “It’s a long way back for them here.”

You couldn’t believe what was happening. “Go and have a look yourself.” Millie shouted at the ref to overcome the noise in the stadium. “It was a clean tackle, she didn’t touch her.”

“The contact was enough to endanger the opponent. It’s reckless, dangerous and that it is a red card.”

“VAR has got to overturn this.” Sue Smith pointed out. “She’s nowhere near her opponent, it’s not even a yellow card.”

“When you make a challenge like that you bring about a decision from the ref.”

“But that’s what VAR is here for, to show the referee what actually happened. Beckham has arguably been one of the players of the tournament and yet she could be remembered for just this moment.”

It could have been minutes, it must only have been thirty seconds that you stood there. Waiting for some to tell you it had all been a big mistake. Apologies would come and you’d be able to restart the game.

Instead VAR confirmed the red card. You’d been sent off in the most important game you’d ever played in, maybe would ever play in.

This time though it felt like the impact hit you immediately, looking back it was probably the reason you hated showing any emotion now. Your teammates tried to comfort you as the tears started to come but the guilt was already too much, you couldn’t bare to be around anyone right now so pulling your shirt over your face you walked back inside. Every step towards that sideline felt like you were wading through quick sand, the boos from the US side ringing in your ear as you tried to head to the tunnel.

Before the match had begun your brother had FaceTime’d you, at the time you imagined looking up at them at the final whistle, perhaps celebrating with them. Now you couldn’t face looking where you knew they would be sat. The disappointment from yourself was too much to handle right now never mind disappointing your idol, your father.

You can vaguely remember Karen Carney coming out to meet you on the touchline, a kiss being pressed to your head and a little muttering of “keep it together” in your ear. Maybe it was for the best that everyone else was busy trying to reshuffle the pack a few sympathetic faces were thrown your way but you knew football didn’t have time for sentiment. Maybe it was also for the best that Phil didn’t even look your way, your favourite kitman met you to head back into the changing rooms with you but the rest didn’t even bat an eyelid at you.

It was only when you got inside, when you were all alone that the emotion fully came out.

The anger, the pure sadness, the hatred you felt towards yourself. It started that day and it felt then like you’d received a life sentence. A life sentence hating yourself.

……

“Phil, a lot happened out there today. Can you tell us your overriding emotions right now?”

“Oh I’m just proud of every dingle girl out there who competed to the very end. They gave it their all tonight and this result shouldn’t tarnish their pride in themselves or in each other. They stuck in the game when it seemed like other people threw it away.”

“We can’t shy away from Y/N Beckham, what were your thoughts?”

“As football players we know that every tackle we put in can lead to a card and she made that decision. It’s hard because I know the talent is in there but talent can’t be everything.”

“Do you think it should have been a red?”

“Like I said the referee was put in a position where she had to make the decision. We can all wish for different outcomes on the pitch but sometimes we just have to accept them.”

“How is she doing now?”

“As a team we are all very disappointed right and I think it’s the team we should be focusing on right now.”

“Fucking bullshit.” If this was your own bedroom perhaps you would have thrown the remote at the TV, instead you calmly had to just turn it off.

Maybe it wasn’t the best decision to turn on the TV when you got back to the hotel room. England had lost in the end, going 2-1 down to an Alex Morgan winner, they’d given it there everything but it just wasn’t enough.

In the two hours since the game finished you couldn’t count the number of times you’d cried. Firstly on your own, then with some of the girls, then on your own again on the bus and yet not a single word had been said. You knew you’d never be able to say sorry enough times and they knew it was no use telling you anything right now. Though you were crying it was almost as if you were blank inside, you couldn’t take in anything else right now. Your usual spot on the bus next to Keira was left vacant, instead you found a little corner and tried to kid yourself and other that you were asleep when how could you be with all the thoughts swirling in your mind.

Your phone lay switched off on the other side of the room, that interview being the first real insight you’d got into any opinions on the matter. He was right, he might not have said it outright but it was obvious he blamed you. When Phil brought you in for your first senior camp fans were concerned about favouritism but if anything it was the opposite. He had this almost saintly view of your dad and you would never be anything compared to him.

You knew he would be worried, he tried to protect you from everything growing up but now he was powerless. Yet even knowing that you couldn’t bring yourself to switch the phone on, answer any of the messages or calls you’d received before you turned it off on the couch.

It was all too much.

…..

The plan was always for you to spend the 2 weeks you had off after the weekend in the south of France, a quaint villa in the middle of nowhere which you’d had since you were a child. This place was one of the only true places you could just be yourself. You could vividly remember the holidays there once a year being the only time you felt truly free. Your father would spend every second of the day just being a father and your mother could show you her true self, the fun and carefree woman she was away from the pressures of the public eye. This was the place where yourself, Brooklyn and Romeo would spend hours on the beach with a ball and jumpers for goalposts, where you all taught Cruz to ride a bike and Harper to swim. This place meant so much to you.

It felt wrong to tarnish this place with the thoughts you had right now.

That’s why when you touched down in London the following day instead of rushing back to your apartment to pack and meet your family at the airport, you sat, staring at the clock. Time passed, they would have waited for you to arrive and slowly realised you weren’t coming. They would probably be worried and it was for that reason only that you finally turned your phone on. The messages flooded onto your lock screens, dozens of missed calls came through but you ignored them all simply sending a message to your mum claiming you were fine and didn’t want any company right now, only one of those statements being true.

Maybe you should have expected the phone call that immediately came up from your father but they also should have expected your immediate response, decline.

You always thought you were quite strong about the media. You’d grown up with famous parents, you sadly were used to comments about every aspect of yourself from your appearance to the way you spoke. In your time at Chelsea you’d had your fair share of stick from the fans about your place in football but before this you’d proved everyone wrong.

People called you dumb, you passed all your exams and were studying part time for a degree.

People commented on your appearance, your friends and family’s comments opposed that.

United fans taunted you in an FA cup match, you stuck the ball in the top corner and celebrated right in front of them.

All those times you’d known they were wrong and could do something about it. All that media training and yet in that moment you broke the number one rule and opened Twitter.

The results were more horrendous than you ever could have imagined. Not only were there comments about your performance, but they also came for your family, your friends, yourself. The death threats were constant, every other comment on an article link were suggesting this was punishable in unimaginable ways.

Instagram though more concentrated felt worse when you checked a post from your best friend outside of football, comments were left under her post for even just being associated with your name. Taunting her, taunting you and threatening the both of you. Not only had you disappointed everyone but now you were putting those you loved in danger.

Leaving Instagram, blurry eyed and shaking like a leaf, twitter was opened once again. You couldn’t stop and the more articled you read, the more the panic started to set in. People knew where you lived from media pictures, it wouldn’t be long before they came here again. You lived in a gated community but they’d find a way in. You’d never be alone.

Your throat was closing in, it was becoming harder to breath as you panicked more. The only thing you could do was phone the only person who would understand.

“Dad…. dad I need you.”

……

Everyone probably thinks they have the best family but in this moment you knew yours were the best. Thirty minutes on from that phone call you were in your old family living room, curled up in blankets next to your mum and dad, eating homemade chocolate cake and listening to your sister talk you through her week. The biggest drama in which being a girl who took the last apple juice carton and left her with orange juice, which to an eight-year-old felt like the end of the world.

You hadn’t even said another word on that phone call before your dad was ordering you to pack a bag and promised he would be with you in less than ten minutes.

“Why didn’t you go to France?” Your thoughts came out. “We were meant to go.”

“Like we were ever going to leave you here alone,” Your dad chastised you. “I know you well enough to know you might not have needed us in that moment but we were always going to be there when you did.”

“I didn’t mean to do anything, I thought I made the right decision and now people are threatening me. They’re going to find me.”

“They’re not.” Your mother immediately comforted you. “I’ve watched enough football over the years to know tackles like that are made every week and they never get punished. Football is a game, you live for it but it’s a game and people sometimes forget that. You were a big reason England even got to the semi-final and people need to remember that.”

“What did your teammates say?” Brooklyn asked from the next sofa with my other brothers.

“I haven’t spoken to them.”

“What? You flew home with them this morning.”

“I can’t look at them. They’re all sad because of me, everyone knows it, they were always on the back foot because of me and now they’re going home.”

“Millie messaged me this morning.” Brooklyn said. You were of course very close to the Chelsea girls and they’d met your family more times than you could count. You remember they exchanged numbers before you went away on a summer camp one year just in case they needed to contact your family. “She asked me to look after you, they’re not upset.”

“They’ll never admit it, at least not to my face but how can I play with them again after all this.”

“They’re your friends.” Your mum implored and she was right. You were the youngest in the world cup but yourself Leah, Keira and Georgia had formed a little England squad bond. Your sensible and often shy nature balancing out their craziness.

“They’re better off without me. I need to get out of here.”

“Out of where?”

“Out of England, I can’t stay.”

[cauliflowercounty]

In the Stands

Jamie Tartt x Reader

Summary:  Jamie x reader drabble for anon

“Can I request a Jamie Tartt fic based off this TikTok please?”

Warnings: Cussing but if you watch Ted Lasso idk why ur worried about that

Word Count : 1.1K

The Dog Track roars as the Richmond team walk out onto the field to play Tottenham Hotspur for the quarter final of this year’s FA Cup. Jamie surveys the crowd, a sea of red and blue alive with excitement, scarves and flags waving in the crisp air as the team huddles in a pre-game circle. The Richmond faithful's song swells and fills the air.

“We’re Richmond ‘till we die!  We’re Richmond ‘til we die! We know we are, We’re sure we are, We’re Richmond ‘til we die!”

As Isaac shouts out orders for warm up, Jamie can’t help but raise his gaze up to the private boxes. He looks up and smiles to himself, seeing you bundled up in your jacket and gloves next to Keeley, who’s whispering something into your ear.  You push up your Richmond beanie as it almost falls down over your eyes.  Rebecca steps down and takes a seat next to you, handing you and Keeley hot coffees.

Jamie had never expected to date a popstar, much less one that Keeley introduced him to. You’d come into his life unexpectedly. After getting rejected from Lust Conquers All and Man City, he thankfully was able to return to Richmond after Ted changed his mind, but the team had had a difficult time accepting his return. Despite being given the cold shoulder by the team, he still looked forward to coming to the club each day because you were there.

Keeley had brought you on for PR for the club.  She and Rebecca had decided you could write a song about Richmond, which would benefit both parties, and you had just returned to the UK after being away on a North American tour in support of your latest album.  

In order for you to get some inspiration for the song, Keeley and Rebecca asked Ted to let you observe training and attend games, so you could understand the essence and culture of the team, so the song would be truly representative of Richmond. Nate was originally very resistant to the idea, thinking that you would be a distraction to the team, Beard didn’t mind, and Roy was more or less apathetic to the idea, so you were brought onto the team. 

Once Jamie saw you, he knew you were different than anyone else he had known before.  You were creative like Keeley, but you had this air about you that put him at ease. You had shown every person in the club remarkable kindness and seemed genuinely happy to be there, but he had also seemed to catch your eye as well, but Jamie was unsure if that was real or just his imagination.

Overtime, you became universally loved by the whole Richmond team because of your warmth and humor. Day by day, the bond you had formed with the team got stronger and stronger as you traveled with them for matches, hung around the club, celebrated their wins, and mourned their losses. You were all close-knit, but your and Jamie’s relationship was different than the one you had everyone else.  

It all started two weeks after you arrived when you were singing in the locker room after you thought everyone was gone. You'd taken to songwriting after hours after everyone was gone in order to soak in the atmosphere of the club to spur your creative juices. He'd forgotten his phone yet again when he caught you singing to yourself, circling the locker room.

You were shocked to see him and had blushed in embarrassment that you were singing so loud when you weren't actually the only one left, but he had made it clear that you had nothing to be ashamed of.

"I think you sound great," he had said, which made you heave a sigh of relief. "Would you mind showing me more of what you have for the song?"

You obliged, and since that day, you and Jamie would hang back after training. You'd sing Jamie the melodies you were toying with, play your guitar, and run lyrics by him. Songwriting wasn’t ever something Jamie had shown interest in, but now that you were letting him in on the process, he had grown to enjoy it, especially since it was an excuse to spend some alone time with you.

Overtime, his inclination had blossomed into what felt like a boyhood crush. He desperately wanted to ask you out on a real date, but he was worried that you’d say no and that you’d never have another of your after hours songwriting sessions or that your friendship with Keeley would keep you from saying yes.  To his delight, you immediately said yes when he accidentally blurted out "could I take you for coffee sometime?"

Coffee turned to dinner, which turned into a budding romance. As soon as the team realized you were getting along with Jamie, they seemed more inclined to hear him out, and you even encouraged Jamie to apologize. Jamie was thankful that you had helped him bridge the rift between him and the rest of the team. Now you were all like one big, happy family and Richmond was on a win streak.

From the pitch, Jamie smiles in your direction and waves his hands high above his head to get your attention. He sees Keeley point his way, tapping your shoulder.  Your eyes dart to him and you immediately smile, seeing him grinning at you like a little kid.  The whole Richmond team lets out a series of “oohs” and slap Jamie on his shoulders when he makes a heart with his arms in your direction. You wave back to him, shouting “Good luck, Jamie!”

Some of the Tottenham players look over to the group of Richmond players and then up to the stands, trying to see what the commotion from their opponents is about.  Their kitman’s eyes raise as he nearly misses one of the players hands when he tries to hand him a water bottle.  

“No way!” the kitman gasps, his eyes wide.  

“What is it?” a player says, looking to the stands as well, finally seeing you waving at the Richmond gang.  “Oh shit!” The player goes to tap his teammate on the shoulder and points up at you from the field.

“Who’s the fuck's that?!” another says rather gruffly, which makes the entire Richmond team burst into laughter as the Tottenham players seemed completely taken aback at your presence, especially since you’re sporting Richmond gear of all things.  Jamie blows a kiss your way with a flourish, which makes you blush. You shake your head at his cheesiness.

You mouth “good luck! Go get ‘em” to Jamie, and he smiles in thanks to you, his heart swelling with confidence.  Ted calls the boys over for a few final words before the match starts and with your support, Jamie’s ready to go all out with his team today. 

--

Thanks for reading!

[killa-trav]

Bruno Fernandes and Rasmus Højlund of Manchester United react at the end of the Emirates FA Cup Quarter Final match between Manchester United and Liverpool at Old Trafford; Manchester, England; 17.03.2024

📸; ASH DONELON

[stargirlsfc]

Alessia Russo during the FA Women's Continental Tyres League Cup Quarter Final match between London City Lionesses and Arsenal

📸: Alex Burstow/Arsenal FC via Getty Images

[serensational]

hello i would die for a sneak peak of your cowboy au 🫡🫡

ask and you shall receive 😘

-

take a shot lemon drop (then we'll rock all night)

“Next up, rider number 17, Eddie Diaz on Sirocco!” She called into the microphone with fake enthusiasm, but Buck’s was all sincere. He finally perked up, clapping a little more heartily along with everyone else. He craned his neck to see what was happening, and he finally caught a glimpse of Eddie– well, his horse, anyway. She was a gorgeous American Quarter Horse, a bigger one too, coming in at around sixteen hands. She had a silky, dark and dusty brown coat, lighter dusky dapples covering her. Her muscles flexed in the dingy lighting, accented with her perfectly fitted tack. The only thing better than the horse, in Buck’s opinion, was the rider. 

Eddie sat atop his horse with the confidence of someone who had already won. And knowing Eddie, Buck didn’t doubt that was what was going through his mind at the moment. He was clad in dark-wash jeans, and Buck could appreciate how they hugged Eddie’s ass and thighs. As for a top, he was wearing a deep maroon button-up, folded up to his elbows. His biceps tested the seams of it, and Buck had to swallow thickly. He was freshly shaven and atop his head sat a black leather cowboy hat. Eddie walked Sirocco around in a circle before lining her up with the entrance to the arena, and there seemed to be a unanimous lull of anticipation in the crowd’s cheers. 

Buck watched with reciprocated anticipation, waiting for the horn to blare signaling the start of the run. A few silent beats went by, then said horn blared, and Sirocco was off. Cheers erupted from all around as Eddie guided the horse effortlessly around the first barrel, making a sharp turn and beelining for the second. Buck felt like his eyes couldn’t keep up with how fast Eddie was going. It was like he was entranced. Everyone before Eddie seemed a bore, but now he could barely take his eyes off the other. He looked completely in his element, back muscles flexing against his shirt as he rounded the last barrel. Buck’s mouth fell half-open, and then he was balling his hands up as he spared a glance at the big analog timer on the wall. 

“Come on, come on,” Buck murmured to himself, watching as Eddie booked it towards the exit. He watched as Eddie kicked Sirocco’s sides, and somehow the horse got faster, and then it was over. Eddie was across the threshold, calming Sirocco down. There was a beat of silence, and then the crowd roared louder than he’d heard the whole day. Buck launched up along with the rest of them, clapping ferociously and cupping his hands around his mouth to whoop and holler. Eddie had claimed the title of fastest runner by two seconds. 

Buck suddenly felt an overwhelming surge of pride and admiration, and he didn’t know what to do with it. Eddie slowly walked Sirocco around and waved towards the crowd at his claim of the new record, eyes scanning all the people. Buck watched as he turned the horse in his direction and walked towards his side of the stands, eyes still flitting over the crowd. Their eyes locked then, and Eddie’s smile grew exponentially, into that infamous, toothy grin that Buck begrudgingly adored. Eddie reached up and took his hat off, clutching it against his chest, hair mussed and sweaty. His sun-marked skin shimmered with a sheen of sweat, and Buck selfishly ogled him for a minute.  Some girl in front of him distantly squealed, probably thinking Eddie was looking at her, but Buck knew he wasn’t. Blood rushed behind Buck’s ears and it overtook the shrill and boisterous cheers of the crowd, and he felt his cheeks heat up. It felt like it was only him and Eddie right now, everyone else some distant apparitions that were miles away. Just them two. But then Eddie winked and blew a kiss at him, and the thundering of Buck’s heart (metaphorically) stopped. 

Oh. 

Oh.

 He was so very, royally fucked.

-

this is just a snippet, but this has been soooo fun to write so far oml, hope you enjoy!!!

[pernillecfcw]

Do love a penalty shoot out when it’s not chelsea😂

[louisupdates]

MY FOOTBALL

The One Direction star has two principal loves: Ronaldinho and James Coppinger

FOUR FOUR TWO, MARCH 2023 (by PAUL WILKES)

Which was the first match that you ever went to?

I actually got into football quite late, when I started playing at around 11. There were a few Manchester United fans in the family, so the first match I ever went to was an unbelievable first game: the FA Cup fifth round tie against Arsenal in February 2003 - the match when Sir Alex Ferguson kicked the boot and hit David Beckham! My best memories come from Doncaster, who are the only club I support now. We had a fantastic League Cup run in 2005 - we beat Manchester City on penalties, then beat Aston Villa 3-0 and lost to Arsenal on penalties in the quarter-finals. That was my first real low as a football fan. I can remember walking back home absolutely gutted.

Who was your childhood hero and did you ever meet them?

James Coppinger is my club hero - he played at every level and really played for the badge. Everyone in Donny loves him and he’s a great bloke too. After I got into One Direction, I was lucky to meet him and played alongside him a couple of times in charity games. As a fan growing up watching him, that was amazing l. The best person I’ve ever met in football was Pele. I met him about four or five years ago and it was incredible - he had all these stories and we spoke for ages. He was lovely.

What has been your finest moment playing football?

I played in Soccer Aid and Ronaldinho tried to nutmeg me. I was all over his shirt, giving him no respect, and I just managed to nick the ball off him! There's a sick picture that I've seen of it.

The other moment was when I was about 15. I started as a centre-back, but didn’t grow any taller so moved across to right-back, and scored the only Sunday League goal I ever scored. I’ll never forget it.

What do you like most about going to the match?

The whole atmosphere, that magic. When you have those experiences as a young lad, there’s an element of nostalgia each time you go into a football stadium.

Which players do you admire even though they’ve never played for your club?

As some of my family supported Manchester United, I was never allowed to like Thierry Henry, but those grudge matches against Arsenal were amazing. He was a serious player.

Where’s the best place you’ve ever watched a game?

The Bernabeu - it was Neymar’s first ever Clasico for Barcelona against Real Madrid, which is pretty special. It’s one of the bucket list fixtures to go to. When I was young, Doncaster signed me as a reserve player and I went to a pre-season training camp in Portugal. As a supporter of the club, that’s not something you’re normally privy to, so watching how the squad trained and prepared was fascinating.

A few years ago, you filmed a music video with Bebe Rexha on the pitch at Keepmoat Stadium. What was that like?

It was really important for me and my career. The reason I’m sat here today is because of Doncaster - it’s played a huge role. It’s who I am as a person and it’s what I write songs about. The fact that we were able to film the video at the Keepmoat, where I’ve spent many days and evenings, made it so special. It felt appropriate.

What’s your favourite football book?

It’s not a book, but FourFourTwo! I used to subscribe when I was younger. I’m not a big reader otherwise. I should be, but I’m not.

What’s been your worst experience at a game?

I was playing in a charity match at Celtic Park. I got the ball and turned to my right, then Gobby Agbonkhor come through the back of me and I tore my medial ligament. A combination of the impact and me being very unfit meant I ended up throwing up all over Celtic's stodium, which I know will please a lot of Rangers supporters.

Have any footballers been to a gig?

Paul Pogba came to a One Direction show once, that's the one that stands out - he was really sound. I won’t lie, I don’t think many footballers listen to One Direction songs.

What’s the strangest place you’ve ever met a footballer?

I was in this bar in South America and, purely by chance, Bryan Robson was there with a few friends. He was a bit drunk. We went straight over and he was nice, but it was one of those times where you think, “What is he doing here?!” [Laughs]

What’s the greatest goal you’ve ever seen live?

I was at Zlatan Ibrahimovic's debut for the LA Galaxy, because I spend some time over in Los Angeles. The LAFC keeper launched the ball upfield and it was cleared back to Zlatan about forty yards out. He watched it bounce and then smashed it over the keeper’s head - an unbelievable goal. I love him - I like a bit of s**thousery in my footballers, and he's always had that.

Who’s your current favourite player?

The obvious answer is Erling Haaland, because any fan seeing him rack up the goals this season has been totally in awe. Even if you support Manchester United, you watch him and think he's superb. But for me, Jude Bellingham. I’m so excited by Jude - he's been in brilliant form this season, even before the World Cup.

If you could drop yourself into your all-time five-a-side team, who would you be playing next to?

Well, I play at the back, so I want me and Rio Ferdinand. I'd pick Edwin van der Sar, he was a top keeper in his day, then in midfield I'd have Ronaldinho - I grew up loving his football. Up front, I'll go for Cristiano Ronaldo.

What’s the most important piece of memorabilia that you have?

I had a Doncaster home shirt as a kid that I associate with growing up. A few years ago, I bought the same shirt in my current size - it's special to me, and when I met Pele I asked him to sign it. That was the pinnacle.

[Thanks to TeamLouisMedia for the HD photo.]

links to fourfourtwouk’s posts about Louis on Twitter and Instagram

[egyptianking]

This is a European quarter final and we've treated it like an early fa cup tie, I'm baffled

[ouggi]

FT: Chelsea 3-2 Leeds

CHELSEA ARE INTO THE FA CUP QUARTER-FINALS.

[rashfordxbruno]

Matchday! One of the biggest games in the English football calendar takes place today, when Manchester United face Liverpool at Old Trafford.

United are looking to bounce back from the late defeat to Brighton & Hove Albion and end the Merseysiders' 100 per cent start to life under Arne Slot.

The teams met in the United States, as part of our 2024 preseason tour, with Slot's men winning 3-0, but atmosphere should be electric this weekend after two pulsating encounters at home to the Anfield outfit in 2023-24.

Following an unforgettable 4-3 triumph in the FA Cup quarter-final, a 2-2 draw in the Premier League followed, and it could be just as entertaining this time around.

Just win today lads, please.

[beingliverpool]

Why Old Trafford deja vu??

Manager Jurgen Klopp and his players will wonder how they failed to avenge the FA Cup quarter-final loss here last month as they paid the price for missing numerous chances, having overrun the hosts for long periods.

Liverpool only had a Luis Diaz strike to show for almost total first-half superiority in which they had 15 shots to none from United, whose manager Erik ten Hag was thankful for the visitors' wastefulness and saves from keeper Andre Onana.

[killa-trav]

Marcus Rashford and Scott McTominay of Manchester United celebrating the victory during the Emirates FA Cup Quarter Final match between Manchester United and Liverpool at Old Trafford; Manchester, England; 17.03.2024

📸; ROBBIE JAY BARRATT