You enter an opulent hallway lined with golden walls that, on closer inspection, don’t appear to be made of actual gold. As you make your way to the far end of the room, you pass rows of people staring gormlessly ahead. They’re looking at the Premier League, resplendent in its glory and seated on a throne of money. Today, it’s wearing a replica West Ham shirt and sips from a goblet branded with a Wolves logo.
“Ah Ipswich Town. Or as We call you, plucky little Ipswich Town.” The Premier League says in a tone much cheerier than you’ve been used to the last few weeks. A few people in the room laugh. “Come in, please, come in. You know the Championship, of course.” It gestures towards an jittery younger man, stood off to the side obscured by shadows.
“Oh I know Ipswich Town.” The Championship says excitedly, stepping forwards to stare at you with wide eyes. “You were a lot of fun last season. Are you looking forward to returning …”
“Not yet, Championship.” The Premier League interrupts, a little too quickly. “Nothing is decided yet. There’s still … yes, there's still drama in the Premier League! Greatest of all the leagues in the world!” The room erupts into frenzied applause. The Championship looks nervously at its feet and mutters something. An old woman, sat in the front row with an empty smile, gets your attention.
“Do you actually think you’ll win?” She cackles. “Do you actually think you’ll beat the Arsenal?”
I don’t. 3-0 Arsenal.
“Ah Ipswich Town. Or as We call you, plucky little Ipswich Town.” The Premier League says in a tone much cheerier than you’ve been used to the last few weeks. A few people in the room laugh. “Come in, please, come in. You know the Championship, of course.” It gestures towards an jittery younger man, stood off to the side obscured by shadows.
“Oh I know Ipswich Town.” The Championship says excitedly, stepping forwards to stare at you with wide eyes. “You were a lot of fun last season. Are you looking forward to returning …”
“Not yet, Championship.” The Premier League interrupts, a little too quickly. “Nothing is decided yet. There’s still … yes, there's still drama in the Premier League! Greatest of all the leagues in the world!” The room erupts into frenzied applause. The Championship looks nervously at its feet and mutters something. An old woman, sat in the front row with an empty smile, gets your attention.
“Do you actually think you’ll win?” She cackles. “Do you actually think you’ll beat the Arsenal?”
I don’t. 3-0 Arsenal.

