bricktop
Well-Known Member
In 3 days time i will be making the trip to Wembley for the Play-Off final. In my footballing supporting life it will be about the 7th or 8th showpiece event that i have attended, and on each and every occasion, i have come away bitterly disappointed, that although I'd hoped we would come away delighted with a famous victory, instead I've come away with a horrible, nauseous feeling of that we have blown it again.
The best bit about the day is getting there, and not meaning the trip down there, but the game that seals qualification to attend a showpiece game, be it a Cup Semi-Final or Play Off Final, and the sudden dawning on you that yeah, we have reached Wembley and one game stands between us and promotion to a higher division, or yeah, we are now one game away from a Cup Final. You dare to dream.
The fortnight before the game usually builds up slowly but surely, as you check you have got enough money to go, and make financial adjustments to ensure that you have got enough spending money (and this in my case means having enough money to purchase enough alcohol to sink a battleship should we be successful), then you go down and have to queue for tickets, and feel a little tingle of excitement when you get your tickets, and that big day seems just that little bit closer. You make your travel arrangements, be in on a train, in a car, on a coach, but you arrange all this with your friends, and decide on where you are drinking before the match.
The worst feeling up to this point is the night before the match, as work provides a distraction, as does functioning in day to day life, the normal run of the mill diverts your attention slightly, but you still are thinking about the match, and sometimes you allow yourself to get carried away, with what will it be like if we win, its only natural because when your a football fan, deep down you believe that this will be the day that you forget about the past, break the jinx's and throw off the shackles of negativity and depression over previous glorious, and more pertinently inglorious defeats.
Your head hits the pillow the night before, and you close your eyes, yet you can't sleep, your mind is racing, what will it be like?, will we win, a lot of your excitement revolves around your friends, and a good day out, and you dream to think what it will be like to win, and share and celebrate the victory with them. Your mind is racing, dreaming, hoping and thinking that tomorrow could be the best day of your supporting life.
You wake up the next morning, and your buzzing, you might not have had much sleep as your head was spinning faster than you wanted it to do with your dreams, but your up and about and bouncing around your house, getting ready for the match with all the hope, expectation and excitement that you have got, and this, this is the day that you finally achieve something, you have your day in the sun and boy, your going to love it today, and you now know this will be the best day of your life, bar none. Nothing could go wrong, nothing could spoil it, and this is going to be day that you'll remember for the rest of your life.
You leave the house with a spring in your step, and go and meet your mates, and your all up a bit earlier than you'd ideally like, but you've all got the same spring in your step, the same hope in your heart, and you all feel the same way about the football team who you love and adore, who have let you down in the past, but the team you've always found forgiveness for, the team you can forgive for breaking your dreams in the past, because today will be different, today will be day that you leave the boulevard of broken dreams, and in a few hours you'll be travelling back home victorious, proud and with something to shout from the rooftops about and nothing will stop you.
Before the match you go to the pub, it is packed, absolutely rammed full of like minded individuals, all singing, all wearing the red and white, all massively proud of your club and every one has got a spring in their step, and a smile on their face. There is old timers who have followed the club for 50 years or more, and the little kids looking a bit overawed and overwhelmed about the big day at Wembley, the lads on the piss, the girlfriends who have come to their first match in ages because it is a big game, a good day out, but what everyone wants for, and what everyone hopes for is success and you feel that fuck it, yeah, today is the day.
Before the match, you walk up to the ground, enjoy a bit of good natured banter with the opposition supporters, sing the club songs, and soak up the atmosphere. Your nerves reach breaking point as the match approaches, and you get in the ground, walk up the gangway and see the pitch, see the red and white, hear the songs which sounds like a wall of noise, and you think this is it, this is our day, this is gonna be it.
The match kicks off, a sloppy pass here, a mistimed tackle there, and the opposition are all over you, they are better than you, more up for it than you, and all you can feel is helplessness, pain, hate, hate, hate. Nobody is singing, nobody is smiling, its like you are sat in a car waiting to crash and there is nothing you can do to stop it from happening, and you know it is going to happen, and there is nothing. It is impossible to get up and sing, it is impossible to feel anything other than disappointment, hate and despair. The opposition score, you are a goal down, and you try your hardest to think positively, that this will be your day, that you will get back in to the match and you will go on and win it, but you can't, you hamstrung by your own worst fears, nightmares, and you don't want to be here, but would rather be anywhere but here, watching this shit, feeling the pain.
The full time whistle blows, and you've lost, you've blown it again. The old timer shakes his head, and has that look of a weather beaten man who has been there and seen it all before because he probably has, whilst the little kid who is there for the first time is crying, his tears smudging his red and white face pain, and it hurts you, because he feels the same as you, yet you've felt this pain before and this is his first time, and he has never known pain like this before. You all feel the same hurt, the same pain and the same mutual loathing, and it fucking hurts.
The trip home is morose and subdued, nobody wants to really say anything, nobody wants a laugh, and you sit there on a train that takes fucking forever to get back home, armed with a load of cans, and nothing to do to drink, drink to forget, drink to wash the pain away, and there is now nothing else to do than get pissed. Your phone bleeps with gloating messages from friends who support other clubs, but they don't register and you don't respond, because really you emotions might get the better of you, and you might act in a completely different way to the normal, sane, rational person that you are. You get home, and all you want to do is go home, get in bed, and go to sleep and forget.
Another game, another set of hope and dreams shattered, and you might as well have been better staying in bed, cos for all the good it has done, your skint, and you've fucking blown it all again
The best bit about the day is getting there, and not meaning the trip down there, but the game that seals qualification to attend a showpiece game, be it a Cup Semi-Final or Play Off Final, and the sudden dawning on you that yeah, we have reached Wembley and one game stands between us and promotion to a higher division, or yeah, we are now one game away from a Cup Final. You dare to dream.
The fortnight before the game usually builds up slowly but surely, as you check you have got enough money to go, and make financial adjustments to ensure that you have got enough spending money (and this in my case means having enough money to purchase enough alcohol to sink a battleship should we be successful), then you go down and have to queue for tickets, and feel a little tingle of excitement when you get your tickets, and that big day seems just that little bit closer. You make your travel arrangements, be in on a train, in a car, on a coach, but you arrange all this with your friends, and decide on where you are drinking before the match.
The worst feeling up to this point is the night before the match, as work provides a distraction, as does functioning in day to day life, the normal run of the mill diverts your attention slightly, but you still are thinking about the match, and sometimes you allow yourself to get carried away, with what will it be like if we win, its only natural because when your a football fan, deep down you believe that this will be the day that you forget about the past, break the jinx's and throw off the shackles of negativity and depression over previous glorious, and more pertinently inglorious defeats.
Your head hits the pillow the night before, and you close your eyes, yet you can't sleep, your mind is racing, what will it be like?, will we win, a lot of your excitement revolves around your friends, and a good day out, and you dream to think what it will be like to win, and share and celebrate the victory with them. Your mind is racing, dreaming, hoping and thinking that tomorrow could be the best day of your supporting life.
You wake up the next morning, and your buzzing, you might not have had much sleep as your head was spinning faster than you wanted it to do with your dreams, but your up and about and bouncing around your house, getting ready for the match with all the hope, expectation and excitement that you have got, and this, this is the day that you finally achieve something, you have your day in the sun and boy, your going to love it today, and you now know this will be the best day of your life, bar none. Nothing could go wrong, nothing could spoil it, and this is going to be day that you'll remember for the rest of your life.
You leave the house with a spring in your step, and go and meet your mates, and your all up a bit earlier than you'd ideally like, but you've all got the same spring in your step, the same hope in your heart, and you all feel the same way about the football team who you love and adore, who have let you down in the past, but the team you've always found forgiveness for, the team you can forgive for breaking your dreams in the past, because today will be different, today will be day that you leave the boulevard of broken dreams, and in a few hours you'll be travelling back home victorious, proud and with something to shout from the rooftops about and nothing will stop you.
Before the match you go to the pub, it is packed, absolutely rammed full of like minded individuals, all singing, all wearing the red and white, all massively proud of your club and every one has got a spring in their step, and a smile on their face. There is old timers who have followed the club for 50 years or more, and the little kids looking a bit overawed and overwhelmed about the big day at Wembley, the lads on the piss, the girlfriends who have come to their first match in ages because it is a big game, a good day out, but what everyone wants for, and what everyone hopes for is success and you feel that fuck it, yeah, today is the day.
Before the match, you walk up to the ground, enjoy a bit of good natured banter with the opposition supporters, sing the club songs, and soak up the atmosphere. Your nerves reach breaking point as the match approaches, and you get in the ground, walk up the gangway and see the pitch, see the red and white, hear the songs which sounds like a wall of noise, and you think this is it, this is our day, this is gonna be it.
The match kicks off, a sloppy pass here, a mistimed tackle there, and the opposition are all over you, they are better than you, more up for it than you, and all you can feel is helplessness, pain, hate, hate, hate. Nobody is singing, nobody is smiling, its like you are sat in a car waiting to crash and there is nothing you can do to stop it from happening, and you know it is going to happen, and there is nothing. It is impossible to get up and sing, it is impossible to feel anything other than disappointment, hate and despair. The opposition score, you are a goal down, and you try your hardest to think positively, that this will be your day, that you will get back in to the match and you will go on and win it, but you can't, you hamstrung by your own worst fears, nightmares, and you don't want to be here, but would rather be anywhere but here, watching this shit, feeling the pain.
The full time whistle blows, and you've lost, you've blown it again. The old timer shakes his head, and has that look of a weather beaten man who has been there and seen it all before because he probably has, whilst the little kid who is there for the first time is crying, his tears smudging his red and white face pain, and it hurts you, because he feels the same as you, yet you've felt this pain before and this is his first time, and he has never known pain like this before. You all feel the same hurt, the same pain and the same mutual loathing, and it fucking hurts.
The trip home is morose and subdued, nobody wants to really say anything, nobody wants a laugh, and you sit there on a train that takes fucking forever to get back home, armed with a load of cans, and nothing to do to drink, drink to forget, drink to wash the pain away, and there is now nothing else to do than get pissed. Your phone bleeps with gloating messages from friends who support other clubs, but they don't register and you don't respond, because really you emotions might get the better of you, and you might act in a completely different way to the normal, sane, rational person that you are. You get home, and all you want to do is go home, get in bed, and go to sleep and forget.
Another game, another set of hope and dreams shattered, and you might as well have been better staying in bed, cos for all the good it has done, your skint, and you've fucking blown it all again
