Only just calming down. I don't think I'll be settled until next Sunday now.
I'd been dreading this for fucking weeks and, in all honesty, my mind was on another planet as soon as I woke up this morning. I was dawdling around Manchester doing some shopping, went and got brunch, walking about chatting with my lovely fiancée, trying to keep my mind off it. But my brain was not present at all. Thoughts were AWOL. I thought about buying some new shoes and went in four different shops in the Arndale but I couldn't settle on anything because my heart was going like a fidget spinner. I was begging for it to be 3pm just so we could get it out the way.
But then the game just made it worse. Fucking hell that was torture. I will admit, I fully lost it. The last time I lost my head like this during a game it was QPR in 2012. The idea of playing United in a cup final has been my worst nightmare for fucking years, but with a treble on the line... fucking hell. When Gundogan scored I celebrated but immediately thought "Shit, we've scored too early". And when United got that penalty I could only see it going one way. Goodness knows how the boys got back in front but thank god it's their job and not mine.
My heart was in my arse and mouth simultaneously. When United decided to play a bit of crossbar pinball I absolutely lost it. Nearly fell off the sofa shouting "No! No! No!" I'm normally way more relaxed about City conceding goals. It's never a nice feeling but it normally stings internally and I say something like "Well that's been coming". But honestly, I was so rattled by everything in this game that I was begging for it to finish. That last 10 mins, when United had Garnacho on Walker and then Akanji had to fill in, aged me by five years I'm sure.
No idea how to analyse the game. Couldn't even tell you if we played well. When the final whistle went I just sat there in stunned silence, head in my hands. I was honestly developing nervous tics during the game. I couldn't keep my hands off my head, just pulling at my hair. Biting my lips as well. I don't even hate United, but the idea of them being the team to stop the treble was all too fucking real and it got too bloody close for comfort. I'll be honest, I enjoyed about 2% of the game and it was the moments when Gundogan's goals hit the net.
My worst nightmare had a happy ending, though. And now onto next week. Sick bags at the ready.
I'd been dreading this for fucking weeks and, in all honesty, my mind was on another planet as soon as I woke up this morning. I was dawdling around Manchester doing some shopping, went and got brunch, walking about chatting with my lovely fiancée, trying to keep my mind off it. But my brain was not present at all. Thoughts were AWOL. I thought about buying some new shoes and went in four different shops in the Arndale but I couldn't settle on anything because my heart was going like a fidget spinner. I was begging for it to be 3pm just so we could get it out the way.
But then the game just made it worse. Fucking hell that was torture. I will admit, I fully lost it. The last time I lost my head like this during a game it was QPR in 2012. The idea of playing United in a cup final has been my worst nightmare for fucking years, but with a treble on the line... fucking hell. When Gundogan scored I celebrated but immediately thought "Shit, we've scored too early". And when United got that penalty I could only see it going one way. Goodness knows how the boys got back in front but thank god it's their job and not mine.
My heart was in my arse and mouth simultaneously. When United decided to play a bit of crossbar pinball I absolutely lost it. Nearly fell off the sofa shouting "No! No! No!" I'm normally way more relaxed about City conceding goals. It's never a nice feeling but it normally stings internally and I say something like "Well that's been coming". But honestly, I was so rattled by everything in this game that I was begging for it to finish. That last 10 mins, when United had Garnacho on Walker and then Akanji had to fill in, aged me by five years I'm sure.
No idea how to analyse the game. Couldn't even tell you if we played well. When the final whistle went I just sat there in stunned silence, head in my hands. I was honestly developing nervous tics during the game. I couldn't keep my hands off my head, just pulling at my hair. Biting my lips as well. I don't even hate United, but the idea of them being the team to stop the treble was all too fucking real and it got too bloody close for comfort. I'll be honest, I enjoyed about 2% of the game and it was the moments when Gundogan's goals hit the net.
My worst nightmare had a happy ending, though. And now onto next week. Sick bags at the ready.