Post by Mike Giggs' Munchies on Feb 16, 2013 16:05:02 GMT -5
Today (16/02/13) will forever be remembered as the day that Peter Hewett (known as Alan Partridge on these forums) committed suicide after 21 years of glorious life.
Earlier in the day I was bored and young Peter suggested a game of what is colloquially known as 'FIFA'. I accepted his challenge, and the first game we played saw Anzhi (Myself) battle against Ajax (Peter). I raced into a 2-0 lead before the 60th minute before the 'connection was lost' - I suspect that he actually quit the game out of frustration. We decided to play a second match, and this time I was Santos whilst he chose PSV. I once again held a 2-0 lead when the connection mysteriously disappeared, and it seemed clear that Peter was quitting in an attempt to save his pride. He blamed his loss on his defence being 'too slow' and so he decided to choose one of the quickest teams in the game for our third match - Juventus.
I chose to counter this threat with FC Bayern Munich, and I dominated a match where he was lucky to only lose 4-1. The boy did not quit in this match (perhaps he knew that his ruse had been uncovered), and to his credit, he took the loss like a man. He then chose to be Arsenal in the next game, whilst I stuck with Bayern. This was a total mismatch, and the score ended up a horrifying 6-1 in my favour - I was honestly disappointed I conceded at all.
After this we decided that the ultimate test of skill would be playing as identical teams, so we decided to pit Real Madrid against a cloned version of itself. I won this final 'FIFA' duel 3-2, and was crowned champion of the 'FIFA Friendlies Season' after the minimum number of games required.
Peter was understandably bitter about this loss, and as such he decided to sulk for a while. However, later on I convinced him to play a game known as 'Football Manager' with me, in an attempt to cheer him up.
We accessed a file which we had previously played, and found that we were playing each other twice in succession - in the League Cup on Wednesday, and in the Premier League on Saturday. We decided to create a gentlemanly agreement whereby we would play what we considered our '2nd XI' for the League Cup game, before fielding a first choice eleven for the return match in the Premier League.
What came next was perhaps my darkest hour.
I lost Michael Carrick to injury in the opening 10 minutes, before Peter's Manchester City side raced into a 1-0 lead courtesy of Edin Dzeko. However, my team swiftly equalized and after that the two teams sparred with one another, each unable to deal a fatal blow to the other. 90 minutes were completed in what felt like 90 seconds, and we were into extra time at the Etihad Stadium.
Dzeko quickly scored a second, and then broke my heart by scoring a third. I managed to salvage a 2nd goal in the 117th minute, but Rooney missed what commoners refer to as a 'sitter' in the 120th minute and Peter emerged victorious.
I told my boys that the result was simply unacceptable, and resolved to come back even stronger when Peter's mob made the short trip down to Old Trafford on Saturday.
Before the game I had a quick word with Gareth Bale - the boy had been performing well below my expectations and I told him in no uncertain terms that his form would have to improve if he wished to remain under my tutelage.
What happened next is simply indescribable - to put it into words would be to do it an injustice. As such, I shall simply direct you to a picture of the event - as the old saying goes, 'a picture is worth a thousand words.'
I rightly praised Gareth after the game, along with my whole team, and I basked in the adulation of the press after I left the dressing room.
The details of Peter's final moments are sketchy. I left the game, pretending to make food, but in reality I was allowing Peter to stop playing without humiliating himself further. I did not see what happened next, but the Police Forensic Team told me that they suspect that he grabbed some rope, turned it into a noose, and hung himself.
And so the worst (and last) night of Peter Hewett's sorry existence was complete. He will be sorely missed. Not.
Earlier in the day I was bored and young Peter suggested a game of what is colloquially known as 'FIFA'. I accepted his challenge, and the first game we played saw Anzhi (Myself) battle against Ajax (Peter). I raced into a 2-0 lead before the 60th minute before the 'connection was lost' - I suspect that he actually quit the game out of frustration. We decided to play a second match, and this time I was Santos whilst he chose PSV. I once again held a 2-0 lead when the connection mysteriously disappeared, and it seemed clear that Peter was quitting in an attempt to save his pride. He blamed his loss on his defence being 'too slow' and so he decided to choose one of the quickest teams in the game for our third match - Juventus.
I chose to counter this threat with FC Bayern Munich, and I dominated a match where he was lucky to only lose 4-1. The boy did not quit in this match (perhaps he knew that his ruse had been uncovered), and to his credit, he took the loss like a man. He then chose to be Arsenal in the next game, whilst I stuck with Bayern. This was a total mismatch, and the score ended up a horrifying 6-1 in my favour - I was honestly disappointed I conceded at all.
After this we decided that the ultimate test of skill would be playing as identical teams, so we decided to pit Real Madrid against a cloned version of itself. I won this final 'FIFA' duel 3-2, and was crowned champion of the 'FIFA Friendlies Season' after the minimum number of games required.
Peter was understandably bitter about this loss, and as such he decided to sulk for a while. However, later on I convinced him to play a game known as 'Football Manager' with me, in an attempt to cheer him up.
We accessed a file which we had previously played, and found that we were playing each other twice in succession - in the League Cup on Wednesday, and in the Premier League on Saturday. We decided to create a gentlemanly agreement whereby we would play what we considered our '2nd XI' for the League Cup game, before fielding a first choice eleven for the return match in the Premier League.
What came next was perhaps my darkest hour.
I lost Michael Carrick to injury in the opening 10 minutes, before Peter's Manchester City side raced into a 1-0 lead courtesy of Edin Dzeko. However, my team swiftly equalized and after that the two teams sparred with one another, each unable to deal a fatal blow to the other. 90 minutes were completed in what felt like 90 seconds, and we were into extra time at the Etihad Stadium.
Dzeko quickly scored a second, and then broke my heart by scoring a third. I managed to salvage a 2nd goal in the 117th minute, but Rooney missed what commoners refer to as a 'sitter' in the 120th minute and Peter emerged victorious.
I told my boys that the result was simply unacceptable, and resolved to come back even stronger when Peter's mob made the short trip down to Old Trafford on Saturday.
Before the game I had a quick word with Gareth Bale - the boy had been performing well below my expectations and I told him in no uncertain terms that his form would have to improve if he wished to remain under my tutelage.
What happened next is simply indescribable - to put it into words would be to do it an injustice. As such, I shall simply direct you to a picture of the event - as the old saying goes, 'a picture is worth a thousand words.'
I rightly praised Gareth after the game, along with my whole team, and I basked in the adulation of the press after I left the dressing room.
The details of Peter's final moments are sketchy. I left the game, pretending to make food, but in reality I was allowing Peter to stop playing without humiliating himself further. I did not see what happened next, but the Police Forensic Team told me that they suspect that he grabbed some rope, turned it into a noose, and hung himself.
And so the worst (and last) night of Peter Hewett's sorry existence was complete. He will be sorely missed. Not.
