The way the season ended last year may have been one of the most heart-breaking ways I have ever seen a season end. The rollercoaster that he second half of the season turned into, I honestly did fear would be the end of me. They say it’s the hope that kills you, and as we gained points on City until, at last, overtaking them, gave us hope. However, much like Carlos Tevez and modelling, winning last year’s league trophy just wasn’t meant to be for the Reds. And that hurt. A lot. Not so much because we didn’t win it, just because of the how they did win it. City had the better team last season they should have had it wrapped up long before they actually did, but they had to take it down to the final day of the season, which took us from cheering to crying (I admit that actually was what happened in my case) in a manner of minutes.
Which is of course football related, as nothing else is going to get me going quite like my team. I am absolutely bricking it. I can’t remember the last time I felt this sick during the final match of the season, although I’m wagering it’s been a few years.
Between having abuse shouted at me by classless Chelsea fans (yeah, I wear my green and gold in London, so f’ing what [I did tell them to go fuck themselves, of course I added a please in there as I'm just that kind of girl]) and being on a over crowded train which is way too warm and full of people who do not know the meaning of the word deodrant I’m feeling pretty sick, and that’s just my nerves.
I hate that it’s down to the last match of the season almost as much as I hate it’s not in our hands. Depending on Wigan to get a point or more at the Bridge whilst cheering our boys on to win may just become too much for me today, especially as I’m already losing my voice and feel like shit.
If there is a God, please please please let us win it. Only football can make an Atheist turn desperate enough to pray.
Come ON United, and go on the Lactics. Pretty please.