Michael Sterling stood outside a large house with huge iron gates. He checked the address on his phone. This was it. The home of the legend.
Arthur Milton stood next to him holding a soggy umbrella.
"Boss," Arthur whispered. "Are you sure he is home? Maybe he is at a rave. Or drinking blue liquid in a field."
"He is thirty nine years old Arthur," Michael said pressing the buzzer. "He is probably watching daytime television."
A voice crackled through the intercom.
"Who is it? If you are selling solar panels I have enough energy!"
"It is Michael Sterling," Michael shouted at the metal box. "From Barnsley. We come with an offer."
There was a silence. Then a buzzing sound. The gates opened slowly.
Jamie Vardy opened the front door. He was wearing a grey tracksuit and holding a can of energy drink. He looked older than the posters. He had wrinkles around his eyes. But the eyes themselves were bright and dangerous.
