|One Moment In Time|
|Written by Mark W|
|Wednesday, 20 February 2013 17:36|
It’s Saturday 16th Febrruary 2013 and the time is about 19.50. Latics are 2-1 down to Everton in the FA Cup 5th round.
We’ve played well enough, certainly haven’t disgraced ourselves in front of the TV cameras but we’re out of the cup. Despite the good performance, we’ve not created much in the way of clear cut chances in the second half and when that illusive chance finally fell to Robbie Simpson he fluffed it. Howard did well from the original shot but he should have buried the rebound. You always suspect that a chance will come but you simply have to take it at this level.
I shouldn’t be as upset as I am. We never had any right to expect to get anything out of this game. We are playing the 6th best team in the country based on their current league position. I am upset though. Not devastated, that would be overstating it but upset all the same. I dared to believe. We were 2 games away from Wembley and I let myself get carried away. Instead of looking forward to tomorrow afternoon’s quarter final draw, all I can look forward to is trying to scrape together enough points to stay in this league. I hate being in this league anyway. Perhaps we’d be better going down. New grounds to go to, new pubs to find… No, don’t be stupid. We’ve picked up a bit of unforeseen revenue from this cup run but relegation could prove terminal.
They’ve done well though, if we play like this we will stay up. They don’t play like this though do they? That’s the reason we’re in this situation.
Come on lads, last chance here. Swing it in and someone get their nut on it. Deano, what are you doing, don’t gift them a free kick by handling… Ohhhh my Goddddddd, Yessssssssssss. Shit, check the lino, his flag’s up, I know he’s put his flag up. No he hasn’t. We’ve done it, Ohhhhhh my Goddddddd. Who scored it? Was it Smithy again? Who cares? Get Innnnnnnnnnnnnnn.
By this point I’m two rows further forward than I was ten seconds ago. I don’t know how I got here but the cuts and bruises on my legs suggest I’ve been dragged over the sharp backs of the seats. I only realise that later in the night as I certainly can’t feel any pain now.
I’m screaming with delight but the overwhelming sense, ridiculously, is relief. All those feelings I had moments earlier have dissolved and been filled with pure euphoric relief.
Then it starts, I’m crying. Tears rolling down my cheek. Get a grip man, what are you doing? I don’t know why, but there’s nothing I can do. The whistles gone and I should be looking forward to Goodison but instead I’m blubbering like a baby. It’s not the first time. I was close after Liverpool and a right state both when we were relegated at Norwich and when we lost the Play-off at Loftus Road. It doesn’t make it any less pathetic though. The non-stop chanting I’ve witnessed from the small section of the Roachdale Road End is getting even louder and that’s just making me worse.
It’s twenty years since I’ve seen Boundary Park like this. This is what it’s supposed to be like. I love football.
|Last Updated on Wednesday, 20 February 2013 17:38|