Late last night, in a godforsaken corner of the Steel City, and after a season of blood, sweat, toil and tears, Sheffield Wednesday’s play-off dreams were ended in exceptionally cruel fashion as they were beaten on penalties in the pouring rain, right in front of their own Kop.
True Wednesday fans will know that I have been in their position and that I know exactly what it feels like. The pain, the distress, the the heartbreaking effect of suddenly broken dreams.
They’ll also be aware that I’m unable to feel any sympathy for them, both contractually and because I actually find it quite funny. And I’d expect nothing less from them should the situation be reversed.
Experts told us that it was never meant to be this way.
But it turns out that the experts were wrong.
The sun is shining, the birds are singing.
What a wonderful day it is today.
Well, that was suitably depressing.
Same time, same place next year, I guess.
Think I’m still in shock, so more may follow, probably involving swear words and general anger.
My god, that Mike Dean is a complete twat.
Ooh look! It’s started already!
So today is the big day when the red half of Sheffield and the claret and blue whole of Burnley descend on Wembley Stadium in London for the Championship play-off final – a match worth anything up to £60 million to the winners.
I did want to go, I did look at flights, I did not think I could afford it. So I’m watching on TV.
My dad and my brother are going though. Lucky bar-stewards – they’re almost through Nottinghamshire on the M1 already.
The plan was for them to park at Watford and catch the metropolitan line through to Wembley Park. Which would have been great, except for the Bank Holiday engineering work which means that line is closed.
Cue a mildly concerned sms from my Dad and cue me swinging into action.
First, check the reports of engineering work on the real-time interactive tfl tube map. They’re true. Moor Park is utterly buggered.
Then, use the regular tube map to choose an alternative route.
Use Skype to call Dad on his cellphone and suggest Hillingdon as an alternative. He asks for a postcode for the station, which I google and find, then sms him via Skype as we chat. He types it into the satnav and they have instant directions.
5 minutes from that first sms: sorted. All from 6,000 miles away. I heart technology.
Now, COME ON YOU RED AND WHITE WIZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAARDS!