Det er noen som har det morsomt på TIA, her er en til =)
In Mundo Deportivo today, in the latest part of our explosive serialisation of his autobiography, Phil reveals how he found out he was staying at Anfield.
I was driving around the Wirral for fun when Kia called me. It was a sunny day, and I needed to take my custom Lambourgini out and get away from my 18 bedroom mansion, to help me forget all my problems. I had been feeling lonely in North East England for some time, with only fifty members of my extended family living in the area on my income, and just half the Liverpool team made up of my countrymen. I had also been having a difficult relationship with Jurgen Klopp who had asked me to play in a different position for almost two games, and had sometimes subbed me off as early as the 88th minute. It was impossible to think that Klopp didn't have a personal grudge against me.
A few days earlier Barcelona had been in touch with Kia to say they wanted me to join their side. Although officially, they hadn't. It's important to say that, apparently. This was my big chance to escape my £150k a week, three hour working day Liverpool hell. Barca had just sold Neymar, and were willing to spend a whole quarter of the fee on me. I couldn't let chance this slip, or I could have found myself trapped at Liverpool for a whole one more season.
My diamond encrusted custom Samsung Galaxy rang on the dashboard. Even though I was driving, I decided to answer. Normally I wouldn't dream of answering the phone while at the wheel, but the police would surely understand this was an important call I had to take. My future was in the balance.
"Hello, Mr Jaroobchian" (Kia liked me to call him this)
"Phil", he replied. His tone was sombre. "Are you sitting down?"
"What's wrong" I asked, fearing the worst.
"It's Liverpool", he continued. "They're refusing to sell.
I nearly swerved off the road, except I didn't because I'm a brilliant driver. However I knew the call needed my full attention, and it was irresponsible to drive while holding a mobile, so I pull into the nearest Asda and parked in a disabled bay.
"They're taking the piss, Kia", I yelled down the phone. I was trembling with anger.
Kia explained Liverpool's position. The offer from Barca had come too late in the window to replace me and the offer was nowhere near my value. I couldn't believe they had done this to me. Since I had reluctantly agreed to move to Liverpool from Inter Milan's reserve team to save them from relegation, I had worked tirelessly for the team, remunerated only by a salary package so enormous the sums of money had become functionally meaningless. How dare they deny me my dream move for the selfish reason it would completely ruin their season for the players, the staff and all their fans.
Over the next 3 minutes I agreed to Kia's plan. I would hand in my transfer request. Fortunately Kia, being the best agent, had written this all in an email and he just needed my Hotmail password, which I happily gave him.
"Just get me out, Mr Jaroobchian", I said. "Only, don't go too far - it's a World Cup year, and I don't want to risk my starting place for Brazil".
"Yeah, yeah. Leave it to me - and you don't talk so much, right", Kia said. Me and Kia are alway having amazing bantz like this. "Got to go. That's Barca on the phone. Although, officially, it isn't".
The wheels were in motion. Although not literally. I was still parked.
Next week: Phil reveals the details of his Liverpool Hell; how he survived playing a game for more money a week than most people see in a year, living in a palace, and fucking a model every night.