B/R Exclusive: Excerpts from Gareth Bale's (Fictional) Summer Diary

Ryan Bailey@ryanjaybaileyFeatured ColumnistSeptember 20, 2013

B/R Exclusive: Excerpts from Gareth Bale's (Fictional) Summer Diary

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    Stu Forster/Getty Images

    How did you spend your summer? Gareth Bale spent his becoming the most expensive footballer of all time—as the subject of one of the most protracted, tedious transfer sagas the game has ever produced.

    The Welshman has maintained radio silence while treading the path toward his destiny at Real Madrid, but thankfully, a trusted and possibly made-up B/R source has managed to acquire several pages of his personal diary.

    Here follows some choice cuts...

16 July 2013

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    Dear diary,

    Happy birthday! Well, it's not your birthday, you silly sausage! Books can't have birthdays! It's mine, I'm 24. I spent the day in Swindon, which is a bit like Cardiff but with more roundabouts and tractors. My team played a friendly and I scored a great opening goal. Oh, you should have seen it, diary!

    I had to spend 30 minutes after the game explaining to Sandro that it was a friendly, and that the result doesn't count. A bit like the results don't count in that game where he tries to steal everyone's underwear and set it alight in a big pile at the training ground. He didn't get it, he just stared at me then got his guitar and started singing a Coldplay song. 

    I got some great presents for my birthday: mum got me some new cars for my Scalextric, dad got me another poster of Cristiano for my bedroom ceiling, and Aaron Lennon got me the eyebrow clipper I've had my eye on for a while.

    But I'm still waiting for that big present—the bid from you-know-who! (For the sake of clarity, I mean Real Madrid. LOL!)

    All right, before bed I need to check if I've got enough hair gel for the trip to Hong Kong next week. 



29 July 2013

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    Dear diary,

    I'm on a plane home from Hong Kong and I'm unhappy. Not only did I not play in the tournament, but the stewardess on the flight didn't let me have an extra dessert! If the PFA Player of the Year wants another slice of cheesecake, then you find another one! Honestly.

    Oh, and I'm not very happy with Mr. Villas-Boas and Mr. Levy. They told me they'd let me talk to Madrid if a bid came through—that happened ages ago but they're being all mean about it. I just want to ask Mr. Perez what Cristiano is like. Has he seen my free kicks? Has he ever read my Twitter? I'm dying to know!

    Anyway, I've got to go and meet my lawyer soon, we're trying to copyright my hairstyle.

    Heart-shaped hands,


7 August

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    Gonzalo Arroyo Moreno/Getty Images

    Dear diary,

    It's been nine days since I last spoke to Mr. Villas-Boas. He was coming towards me at the training ground this morning and I hid under a pile of coats until he passed. It totally fooled him. Haha!

    There's another new boy in our class today, his name's Roberto Soldado and he came over from Spain. With Nacer and Paulinho, it seems Mr. Levy is spending an awful lot of money for someone who hangs his teabags on the clothesline to reuse them.

    Either he's already done a deal with Madrid, or he's messing with me, like the time Brad Friedel told me Transformers aren't real. I've been to Universal Studios in Orlando, Brad, I've seen them! 



14 August 2013

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    Matthew Horwood/Getty Images

    Dear diary,

    I'm back home in Cardiff tonight as we're playing against Ireland. Mr. Coleman knows I'm "injured" (wink, wink, diary!) but he said he wanted me to come and be a "cheerleader." I don't know what he meant—there weren't any pom poms or anything.

    Not sure I can ever go back to Tottenham now. All the new boys are whispering about me, and Mr. Villas-Boas has moved my locker at the training ground out into the car park. My deep-V tees are getting soaked!

    My agent, Mr. Barnett, says Mr. Levy is making his life very difficult. At first, he told Madrid that I would cost €80 million. When they agreed to pay that he said I would now cost €80,000,005. It's been going back and forth like that for three months now.

    This is more frustrating than that time I played Scrabble with Heurelho Gomes. "Spongelty" is not a word, Heurelho!



27 August 2013

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    Hola diario,

    ¿Cómo estás? Mi nombre es Gareth! I learnt some Spanish today, isn't that fun? To be honest I've been a bit bored since Mr. Barnett told me not to go to training. 

    My order from theclothesronaldowears.com finally came through this morning, so I took a walk around town in my pink baseball cap and pink T-shirt today. If I'm going to be a big star at Real Madrid, it's important that I show my unique tastes and style. Mr. Barnett says I need to work on my image, you see. 

    The transfer is so close now I can almost taste it. I wonder if they have Thai Sweet Chilli Walkers Sensations in Spain.



2 September

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    Dear diary,

    Whew! What a day! I thought it would never come, but I'm finally here! Today I got to go on the pitch at the Bernabeu dressed in the white of Real Madrid. I even got the No. 11 shirt, so Mr. Ancelotti can't make me be a left-back! Unless he can make me a left-back?

    There were thousands of people there to see me, but I couldn't really understand them. They were singing something about "Mesut Ozil," I'm not sure who that is. 

    I was super nervous during the unveiling, the feeling in my tummy was a bit like the time I accidentally ate those bath candles. I even messed up my keep-ups a little. Oh well, at least I get to meet Cristiano soon.



11 September

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    Dear diary,

    It happened! It finally happened! I met Cristiano! In a car park!

    He gave my hand a really tight squeeze, he smiled and said something that sounded like "puta" under his breath very quietly. I'll have to look up what that means, it sounds exotic! 

    Then we started training. He slid in on me pretty hard during a passing exercise and later on I nutmegged him. I think he really respected me for doing that. I think everything's going to be great from now on.

    Best. Day. Ever.

    Double heart-shaped hands,


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