UEFA Coefficients: The fanfiction

Because it needed to be done.

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France was furious. She'd recently won the lottery and used the money for a complete make- over- new hair, new teeth, new dresses, new everything- but the other leagues still were ignoring her. Many of her children, the ungrateful bastards, had moved out to Newcastle and London in search of jobs and money (bloody Hollande and his 75 percent tax rate). All she'd gotten in return was an ex- convict with a twitter addiction and an aging former underwear modell. Though he at least was good for a spot of publicity. Even her little sister, Portugal, garnered more attention than her, with everybody complimenting her on her natural loveliness. To make matters worse, both sisters had developed a crush on Italy and were vying for his attention.

"How could you betray me like this?" France had challenged Portugal when the two had last met. "Italy is the love of my life, for years I have been trying to get closer to him, and then you just come along and challenge me like this." Tears shimmered in her eyes.

"I am sorry sister," Portugal replied, not quite sincerely, "but I just couldn't wait anymore, for years I have stood by and watched you do nothing. I tried relationships with Russia, the Netherlands and Ukraine, but they were not what I wanted. I want to reach higher. I believe I can do better, and you will not stop me." At this point France had left the room, slamming the door shut behind her, not being able to take it anymore.

Then there was Germany, of course. Not only had he completely ignored her, even when he'd fallen on such hard times that he'd been forced to loan money from Romania, but had then started a drawn out and complicated  love- hate relationship with Italy. And everbody knew that Italy had his best times behind him! The transplanted hair and fancy clothes barely concealing the ravages of time, his whole infrastructure creaking. But then Germany- who was currently going through a hipster phase, scarf, horn- rimmed spectacles and low- slung skinny jeans included- had unceremoniously dumped Italy only to focus his attention on England next, still ignoring poor France. England! Who herself was going through a mid life crisis if sorts. She'd been at the hight of her powers, but recently she was starting to question herself after having already lost top spot to Spain.

France sighed and flopped down on her bed. She would show them all, she swore to herself, for now she had a knight in shining armour, who would win the tournament for her.

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At the same time, Romania was hosting a party for leagues that had fallen on hard times in his basement. Scotland sat next to him, moodily munching on a piece of haggis and listening to him whine. "I used to be a star," Romania complained. " Up and coming. A big future ahead of me, they said. And now look at me. I don't even get invited into the jungle camp, and they take every Z- list celebrity they can get." "Ay, I know what you mean. I never used to be a huge star but still got my fair share of attention. And now? Nothing." Scotland agreed sadly while examining a couple of coffins stacked against the wall at the far side of the room. She could have sworn she'd seen one of the lids move but put it down to too much vodka.

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Meanwhile, Spain was looking down at them all and quietly laughing to herself.