I love my boys. I was so proud of every single one of them on that pitch this morning. No matter that we were outrun, outperformed and outclassed by the better team. The anguish on Rooney’s face opened the floodgates further. The veterans Giggsy and Scholes. You’ve seen disappointment before, but I still hate seeing that look on you.
T-Boy said, I cannot depend on external events to ride me out of my sadness. But you know, one of the things that does make me smile, is Manchester United. Sir Gaffer. Sir Matt. Sir Bobby. Duncan Edwards. Alex Stepney. Peter Schmeichel. The King. Manchester. The inspiration that is the Theatre of Dreams. The history. The legacy. I can’t recall a time when I didn’t scream my lungs out for Manchester United.
People laughed today. It’s only a game, they said. One of my best friends says that, but I know her, and she knows me, and she knows when to back off. When I hear that from others, I think, you know nothing. They compare it to the non-football teams they support, who suffer defeat almost every other week. Well, sorry, we’re not quite a team who tend to take being defeated every other week lying down. I bet you even Southend United FC don’t do that.
I didn’t say anything. I just sat at my desk, sniffling quietly again, saying little. Why should I? Yes, I know external events shouldn’t dictate my happiness, but I guess I was searching for something to carry me through the next few days. Maybe this is it – not the most ideal, but I’m learning again, ever so slowly, to believe.
Haz told me to go ahead and love my damn football today.
I do. Every day. Fiercely.
