They live in a mansion. Drive around in BMWs, fuck the best girls on weekends, and eat healthy every day. The day before the match, they sleep very well in a five-star hotel and scratch your dick around for 24 hours doing absolutely nothing, playing ping-pong, pool, and PlayStation. They play soccer every day of their lives. Their boots? Six thousand dollars, five thousand dol—I don't know what they cost, let's say three thousand dollars, four thousand dollars. They are bandaged by a kinesiologist. They’re eat well. They’re trained well. They wear socks that don't cut off circulation, shorts designed so they don't scrapped your balls, and a shirt that sticks your body and does not sweat, that costs 800 dollars, i don't know how much that soccer shirt costs. The ball is perfect, perfect! 120 €. Inflated with a barometer to 8 bars. The pitch doesn't have a single defect. The goal is 7.20 x 2.40 meters. You get applause when you walk out into the pitch. AND YOU MOTHERFUCKER, YOU CANT CONTROL A BALL. YOU GO TO SHOOT ON GOAL FROM THE PENALTY SPOT AND YOU BLAST IT INTO NOWHERE. YOU TRY TO PASS TO A TEAMMATE STANDING A METER AWAY, YOU MAKE THE MOTION, AND YOU BOTCH THE PASS. SON OF A BITCH, THAT MIGHT HAPPEN TO ME WITH THIS BIG BELLY. BUT NOT TO YOU.