Our knight in shining armour, the muslim ronin, defender of our shores, guarantor of fitting spectacles, missionary for guerrilla warlords and hero for our time will not be able to meet Keith Schembri to discuss football for a while.
It must be so hard to be a mid-level schoolyard bully finding oneself abandoned by all the big boys who promised to have one’s back in a skirmish. He’s alone now. His threats and snipes sound ever more hollow, emptier than that tinny sound his head makes when he shakes it too vigourously.
It’s hard to believe that these people lorded over us calling us puny, mocking us, insulting us with the worst word that comes to their mind, however inapplicable it may be for some: ‘nazzjonalisti’. Jaqq, hux?
It should be comforting to you, pitiross, then. Distracted as your buddy Keith Schembri might be right now, there are many people out here thinking of you today.
Here’s looking at you kid. Wink. Double click of the tongue. Grin.