I have a newfound respect for footballers. You see, after the debacle that was Saturday in Milton Keynes and the subsequent extended pub visit to commiserate, I played football on Sunday morning. It was my first game for at least four years and, due to the extended time spent in the Euston Tap on Saturday night, I ventured to Hackney Marshes feeling a little queezy. Four goals to one against and two hours later, I could barely breathe. It turned out that I had played left midfield for 90 minutes; been wholeheartedly dominated; failed to stick a single cross in the box and was well and truly beaten. In fact, I'm not entirely sure I made a pass to my own team all match. My Opta stats would have been horrific.
Therefore, come Sunday lunchtime, the fact we were dominated at MK was slightly better than it had been the night before. MK is, after all, a place where the Albion simply do not score. And at least we're still top. It's funny, the first two seasons of this fanzine all we knew was the failure to pick up three points. This season, a loss brings out the ultimate strop in all of us. That's why the blog posts disappear and the pleading for the end of the season grows louder. For all those hardened souls heading west tonight, congratulations. And if all else fails on the pitch, at least we've still got a few TSLR027s left to see you through the journey home.