So, back to our attempts to build a competitive team. Having won a few auctions for players we could actually afford - Zidane, Davids, Rui Costa and several other aging former superstars with over-inflated wage demands and creaking legs - we set about molding them into a well-oiled tactical machine.
After several hard-fought friendlies spent honing our tactics and deciding on our strongest line-up, it was time to face off against Miles Jacobson once more. Grabbing an early lead, we jigged around the room before sending him a falsely modest message via the in-game chat system - for “Yeah, we got lucky there,” see, “Mwahahahaha, revenge will be mine!” or some such crap - only to look up at our monitor once we’d finished typing to find that his team had equalized. Damnit.
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