The story of Gabby Agbonlahor may end with his legend, which should place alongside McGrath, Withe, Mellberg and Mortimer, lying in broken tatters. He’s saying his goodbyes to the club and its fans, but Villa have denied that Gabby will be leaving his broken legacy behind.
Maybe there is a slight glimmer of hope that this gunslinger might go out blazing, firing on all cylinders. Who knows.
I met a traveller from an antique land,
Who said—"Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The skill that mocked them, and the feet that sped;
And on the pedestal, these words appear:
My name is Agbonlahor, King of Kings;
Look on my Works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal Wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."