East stand 102, When QPRs second goes in it's like a physical kick in the gut, I sit down and bury my face in my scarf. I look up at the clock, still plenty of time to go, we can still do this, come on!
But as the minutes tick away a growing sense of panic and anxiety takes over. I can't sit or stand still, fingernails and the skin around them shredded. I start to lose the energy to stand up with the crowd when we go on the attack, I just sit and look at the floor, listening to the frustration of everyone when it comes to nothing. 10 minutes left... 5 minutes...the board goes up, 5 minutes added time.
We've used all our luck up at Wembley in 99, it's not going to happen again, no way. I imagine the headlines, Facebook, the tweets, Jeff Stelling, Gary Fucking Linekar beaming his smug jug-eared face on MOTD (not that I would be watching anything, reading any papers, or going on the internet for days of course).
Then Dzeko leaps to make it 2-2. I let out a half-hearted 'come on!' Then a rumour goes around that Sunderland have equalised. Everyone is looking around with a hopefull look on their face, who said that, who's got a radio? A lad behind me phones someone "answer the fucking phone... whats the United score?...Oh, still 1-0"
Then, what happens next will stay with me forever. Time slowed as Aguero side stepped the challenge, 'he could have gone down there!' I think for a split second before... Bang! The net bulges, complete mayhem! A tangle of arms and legs jumping and bouncing, a deep primal scream coming from deep within, shins shredded on seats. The players celebrate in a pile in front of us.
I imagined I'd cry like a baby if we ever won the title. I was too shocked and exhausted to cry at the ground. The tears came watching it all again at home. It still hasn't sunk in completely. I still ache.
