#michael owen

[player1064]

1st September 2001: Michael Owen scores his third goal of the match (Germany 1-5 England, World Cup Qualifiers)

[k-ky]

A character study of 2000’s English players

[michaelowenfever]

[adreciclarte4]

Michael Owen by Lee Malone

[notjustagame7]

Michael Owen introducing himself 🥶

[cumpletesoccerfanatic]

Michael Owen, David Beckham, Roberto Carlos, Raúl, Zinedine Zidane, Luís Figo & Ronaldo

[danleydon]

danleydon.com

[2000sfootball]

michael owen winning the 2001 ballon d'or while playing with liverpool fc.

[fitfootballers]

Throwback Thursday - Michael Owen 🔥

[imvges-football]

>>>

[player1064]

Footy RPF Fictober, day 4 - that night at the hotel

also available on ao3

been losing my MIND today (and every other day) about michael owen having a massive unrequited crush on carra. so. here's this. enjoy!

---

Jamie’s pretty sure that Mo’s finally lost his mind.

And okay, okay, this is Mo he’s talking about – he’s always been a little bit weird, but ‘a little bit weird’ is not the same as ‘yelling at the new manager in front of the whole team because he’s tried to change roommate assignments’, and that’s exactly what he’d done the other week.

(He’d won that argument, for what it’s worth. So now Jamie’s sat in their shared hotel room watching La Liga coverage while Mo’s taking a phone call in the bathroom. Which is also a little bit weird, now that he thinks about it.)

Except – except. It had been his agent calling him, Jamie had seen the name flashing on the small phone screen. And Liverpool has always been the kind of club where the manager is king.

It’s probably nothing to worry about.

Mo walks back into the room after about ten minutes – shuffles, really – and he stands at the side farthest from Jamie and he stares down at his hands and he waits. He always does this – he thinks he’s being polite, not disturbing Jamie mid-whatever he’s doing, but it ends up doing quite the opposite. Jamie’s never had the heart to tell him.

He sighs and presses the remote to turn the TV off, then he turns to look at Mo. “Go on, then.”

Mo looks at him, and his eyes are sparkling, he’s biting back a smile as he says “Madrid want me.”

They’d just got back from the Euros a month or two ago, where Madrid had felt like a dirty word, like you couldn’t even say it for fear of creating another fracture in the already disjointed United gang.

And Jamie thinks: they bought Beckham when they knew they didn’t need another right-winger and he’s been playing like shit in centre-mid all season. And he thinks: Madrid already have Ronaldo. They have Raúl. They have Morientes. And he thinks: you’re just the shiny new toy they want to add to their collection and never, ever use. And he thinks: you’ll never come home again.

So he says all this to Michael, and Michael’s eyes go dark, and Jamie knows he’s said the wrong fucking thing.

This stupid, stupid boy. Jamie tries to fight his case, of course he does, but Mo – Mo is Mo. And Jamie is Jamie, and Stevie is Stevie, and just ‘cause Liverpool runs stronger in Stevie’s veins than football does it doesn’t mean that it’s the same for Mo. Just because Jamie can argue with Stevie ‘til he tells Chelsea to fuck off doesn’t mean Michael will ever listen to him.

Mo thinks he deserves better than what Liverpool can give him. He probably does. And now he thinks that Jamie thinks he can’t cut it, which means that now he’s going to try and prove him wrong.

“Like you wouldn’t go,” Mo spits out at one point during the ensuing argument, and it stops Jamie right in his tracks because – well – because he’s right.

Jamie and Michael are completely different from each other except for all the ways in which they’re not. Pride, ambition, obsession – never any of the good bits, that’s for sure, but it very suddenly hits him with full force that he has to let Mo do this, even if he thinks it’s a giant mistake. He has to let Mo do this.

He sits back down on his bed and slumps forwards, tries to will his heart rate to slow down, for the red in his skin to fade away. He grabs his water bottle and takes a few long gulps, then he runs his hands down his face and he looks back up at Mo and he says, “Jesus Christ, Michael.”

Mo’s bottom lip wobbles. “Jesus fucking Christ, Carra.”

“Yer gonna be a galactico.”

“Yeah.” Slowly, a tiny little hint of that sparkle starts returning to Mo’s eyes. “Yeah, guess I am.”

Jamie groans. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Michael breathes, and then Jamie makes the mistake of meeting eyes with him and suddenly –

The first thought that forces its way into Jamie’s head is Mo’s a good kisser, and then it’s why the fuck is Mo kissing me, and then it’s why the fuck am I kissing Mo back. Mo’s scrambled onto his lap and has his face cupped in his small hands, and the next thought Jamie manages to string together is eh, what the hell, and then he’s sinking back into the cushions and pulling Mo down on top of him.

His hands of their own accord reach up to spread across Mo’s back, and he leaves one firmly planted there while the other slips down, over his waist, his hips, until it comes to rest on his thigh. Or hold his thigh. Or grip his thigh so hard it’ll probably leave a bruise. Whatever.

Mo shifts his hips, just a tiny bit, but the movement sends a jolt right up Jamie’s spine. And none of this is like Mo, not even a little, and that’s when it finally, really hits him that –

“Fuck,” he breathes against Mo’s lips. He opens his eyes, tries to search for some kind of answer in Mo’s. “You’re really leaving, aren’t you?”

Mo stares right back at him for a long, drawn-out moment, then he squeezes his eyes shut and he nods.

Jamie nods too, more for himself than for Mo (whose eyes are still squeezed shut like he’s scared of what he might see if he opens them again). He takes a moment. He thinks.

He grabs the hem of Mo’s shirt and tugs it up over his head, runs his hands over the smooth skin of his back. Lets Mo get at his shirt, lets him look at him. Lets himself look at Mo. And then he kisses him again, and this time there’s a finality to it that makes it all feel just that little bit more urgent.

[k-ky]

后来我总算学会了如何去爱，

可惜你早已远去消失在人海。

后来终于在眼泪中明白，

有些人一旦错过就不再。

[a2zofthebeautifulgame]

"Within like 5 magical touches of the football Michael Owen had us in the palms of his hands. From picking up the ball along the halfway line and finishing it off emphatically..Owen was something else. He runs off celebrating with arms wide open for the entire world to embrace him. Neither Football nor Owen werent as quite as good since."

[boomkloppthesoundofmyheart]

his face is lovely as well

[lisbs]

[arutai]

Michael Owen by Lee Malone