TWAS Christmas Eve, and Liverpool FC striker Andy Carroll sat quietly by the fireside, with only the draught from the chimney gently rattling the empty Stella Artois cans around his feet to disturb him.

‘This is the life’ he thought, slumping further into the chair, as his pet cat tried unsuccessfully to mate with his ponytail, garrotting itself in the process.

‘Eighty grand a week, I only have to play the odd game and the rest of the time I can practice my Fifa 12 skills on the bench with Jay Spearing’.

But just then, as the warmth from the embers of Roy Hodgson’s contract on the fire induced a satisfying reverie, Andy became aware of a shadowy presence lurking by the side of his chair.

Glancing casually to his left, he was soon bolt upright, only to lose his balance as a bauble, dislodged from the Christmas tree, rolled to his feet.

As he stared at the ghostly football boots inches from his nose, his instinct was to launch a cumbersome tackle on the miscreant who had clearly unfairly challenged him as he sought to control the spherical decoration.

Yet his blood turned to ice as he beheld the apparition standing before him, a giant of a man dressed all in red.

‘Who are you?’ he stammered, reaching for another can of lager. ‘I am the ghost of Tony Hateley’ said the wraith, ‘and I have come to show you the error of your ways’.

‘Bah, humbug’ replied Andy, ‘I’m doing allreet thanks very much’. But with a wave of the phantom’s hand, Andy finds himself not snuggled by the fire, but in the stands at the Icantbelieveitsnotbutter@ St James Park Stadium, watching his younger self rifling a shot past a flailing keeper from 35 yards.