Why I love… Troy Deeney

Troy Deeney

Troy Deeney is the sort of bloke you could see turning up a minute before kick-off on a Sunday morning, fag in mouth, mug of tea in hand, with the smell of stale booze emanating from every pour like cold air evaporating off a hot head.

No warm-up would be needed as Jagermeister coursed through his veins and his digestive system went to war with a full English. He’d trudge around the pitch, barely able to keep the bile at bay – but with the ball at his feet he’d a class apart, banging in five goals to win the match.

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