There's nothing like it. The pounding in your ears, the stadium is so loud, yet still it's muffled by the pounding of your heart in the ears. How can you possibly look forward to and dread something so much at the same time.
Imagine it, in the stands we needed fans and smelling salts to keep from swooning at the intensity. Players, playing with that urgency that borders on panic, that passion that is almost manic, all heart but a leavening of brain.
Apparently we're written off, beaten dockets. Brats, ovepaid. No heart. No chance. No courage. Why bother?
Irrelevance before death. The worst way for proud men to go.
It's not the final it's "only a semi" and maybe for them it is only a semi, but sport at its most moving and most visceral doesn't have to involve cups or medals or bragging rights. It has to do with a group coming together and sharing experiences until such time as those shared experiences turn them into something else.
They say that United are all heart and we're nothing but a recipt. The product of a rich greedy man with a cheque book.
You saw us against Liverpool, no heart, no passion, no bother, everyone turning in on eachother. Mini tantrums all over the pitch. No general, no glue.
You saw United, every single player playing for eachother, outplayed Chelsea tactically so much, so much so that if you didn't know any better could have been Wigan. So many leaders, so many people willing to put their hands up. Follow me, I'll lead.
They don't fear anyone. Why should they.
That's what seperates the teams.
So we can either accept that we've lost, or hope and believe that the players will find it within themselves, and play, play for us, earn the ridiculous money they're paid.
Time for all to give some, and some to give all. Time to show simply who gives a damn.
I can't wait. Whatever happens, take it on the chin and take it in our stride.
Looking back at our history, who would have imagined we'd get to where we are.
Teams, if they are lucky, have defining days like this one.