Oh wow. That resonated.
Just once, to be assured. To be a bigger side in the division and to comfortably play like it. To be a Leeds or Burnley of last season. To be the side that are resolute, strong, good spine to the side, well organised, hard to beat, creative, and threaten to give sides a good pasting.
Just once.
I agree, Kozzy. I also accept that part of the roller-coaster journey of being a Blades fan means your lawn is eternally strewn with dog turds that you are either gonna tread through the house straight into your bedroom shagpile and never be rid of the Caramac-coloured stain and foul, sour stench or chop up with the Flymo in disgusting explosion of semi-digested Chappie and flatworms, most of which ends up between your toes in your flip flops. You see the grass, its green and lush but hidden in there, next door's Cockerpoo has shuddered out some classic king kong's thumbs that await your fate. So it is with United.
How many times have we had this conversation on here about the upcoming programme ... the next six games, say ... where we might go third, possibly into the autos, we could win four of those, I'd take a draw there, there's at least twelve points out of that lot, someone produces a graph and we all start to believe just because 'we believe'.
Then we either file into Bramall Lane full of hope, or scam your way round the UKs stupidly restrictive sports broadcasting laws to watch United start really well, five ventures into their box and two corners in the first ten minutes and on the quarter hour, someone goes down and the trainer is on and ... we switch straight off. Gone is the forward motion, suddenly they are breaking out and have our usual back four back pedalling. There's a shot on goal and if it doesn't go whistling in it ends up out for a corner in the Shoreham end and we spend the rest of the half nervously passing it from Burrows to Tanganga to Reiderwald to Bindon to Coops to Seriki to Coops to Binden to Seriki to Reiderweld to Peck to Binden to Peck to Burrows to Peck ... and never get out of our half. Just before half time we manage to scuff a goal off one of their defenders thanks to fancy footwork from Brooks who just wants to show any club watching what he is worth and come out second half like Wilder has swapped everyone's heads round. Yellow cards a plenty, not a shot on goal, desperate substitutions bringing on the 'never-will-score-as-long-as-there-is-a-hole-in-my-arse' Cannon and Campbell to do absolutely nothing creative or dangerous, whilst the opposition smells wafts of blood in the water and pushes us up back to the Bramall Lane end where we cough up goals so basic and so easy and so preventable, they form part of every defensive coaching brief in the division in the following week.
'Want to know how NOT to defend? Watch this ...'
The last time we actually went out and killed the opposition stone dead was ... when, exactly? Further question, when did we last do it consistently when you felt ...
optimistic ... about the game ahead as Greasy Chip Butty fades away and the whistle goes?
