BTH
Well-Known Member
I’ve used the poet Robert Browning’s quote a few times over the years, more in desperate hope than genuine anticipation, but yesterday a minute's success really did pay the failure of years. The fact that there is still something tangible to be won to really, really live up to this quote can wait for a few weeks at least. For the time being we can live off yesterday afternoon… for many, I suspect, the best of their lives – for most, one of them at least.
But after the goal and the final whistle and somewhere among yet another Poznan and the back-slapping, the hugs and the kisses, I had to take a few seconds to reconsider that line and ask myself exactly what it meant and who or what had been repaid.
The answer surprised me because it wasn’t for all the abuse we’ve received from cocky rags this week and every week for even wanting to support another team. Nor was it for the de rigueur ‘bitter’ taunts from the bitterest bastards of all. It wasn’t for all the sneering buggers at school and at work who weren’t, aren’t and never will be remotely interested in football, but opt for the rags anyway… well, ’cos they’re the best aren’t they? It wasn’t for all those gobshites who can never get a ticket. It wasn’t for their happy clapping day-trippers from Dublin and Malta. Or Singapore and Malaysia. It wasn’t for Charlton, Crerand, Buchan, Robson or Neville. It wasn’t even for that brave mob on the forecourt who surrounded me and Nigel all those years ago because they had the numbers. It wasn’t for their 5-0 win and Kanchelskis’ hat-trick. It wasn’t for that Cantona goal. Or for that imaginary shove on him that only Alan Wilkie saw and the consequent penalty. It wasn’t for Keane’s ‘tackle’ on Haaland. Or Owen’s last gasp winner. Or Rooney’s. It wasn’t for the infuriating bias we’ve endured from The Mirror and the MUEN. It wasn’t for Rod Stewart and Mick Hucknall. Nor was it was for the MIBs or Pete Boyle,
I could go on and on and although it may have paid each and every one of them back in varying degrees, this was our day at last and if it was in my gift to do so, I would dedicate it instead not only to the 3,007 of us who turned up in the Auto Windscreens game against Mansfield in 1998, but most of all, to my best mate Eamon, and to Steve Kay and Stephen Hewitt who all died young and so were not there to see it.
This one’s for you.
But after the goal and the final whistle and somewhere among yet another Poznan and the back-slapping, the hugs and the kisses, I had to take a few seconds to reconsider that line and ask myself exactly what it meant and who or what had been repaid.
The answer surprised me because it wasn’t for all the abuse we’ve received from cocky rags this week and every week for even wanting to support another team. Nor was it for the de rigueur ‘bitter’ taunts from the bitterest bastards of all. It wasn’t for all the sneering buggers at school and at work who weren’t, aren’t and never will be remotely interested in football, but opt for the rags anyway… well, ’cos they’re the best aren’t they? It wasn’t for all those gobshites who can never get a ticket. It wasn’t for their happy clapping day-trippers from Dublin and Malta. Or Singapore and Malaysia. It wasn’t for Charlton, Crerand, Buchan, Robson or Neville. It wasn’t even for that brave mob on the forecourt who surrounded me and Nigel all those years ago because they had the numbers. It wasn’t for their 5-0 win and Kanchelskis’ hat-trick. It wasn’t for that Cantona goal. Or for that imaginary shove on him that only Alan Wilkie saw and the consequent penalty. It wasn’t for Keane’s ‘tackle’ on Haaland. Or Owen’s last gasp winner. Or Rooney’s. It wasn’t for the infuriating bias we’ve endured from The Mirror and the MUEN. It wasn’t for Rod Stewart and Mick Hucknall. Nor was it was for the MIBs or Pete Boyle,
I could go on and on and although it may have paid each and every one of them back in varying degrees, this was our day at last and if it was in my gift to do so, I would dedicate it instead not only to the 3,007 of us who turned up in the Auto Windscreens game against Mansfield in 1998, but most of all, to my best mate Eamon, and to Steve Kay and Stephen Hewitt who all died young and so were not there to see it.
This one’s for you.