On Saturday, any fears I had about Franck Queudrue inflicting a mortal blow on our survival hopes were vanquished when the aforementioned chap seemed more intent on assisting us with some wayward defending rather than twisting the knife.
However, I have to admit that the affliction I owned up to continues to plague me.
Last night I had a strange experience.
I`d just witnessed a blue shirted player hammer home a spectacular thirty yard strike and wheel away in celebration. I could see crest fallen, white shirted players slumped on their haunches, tears in their eyes knowing that they were beaten.
I could hear the stadium announcer gleefully announcing that there was to be only one minute of stoppage time; the crowd were taunting the crestfallen with chants of,
“Going Down, Going Down, Going Down”
Then I could hear that damned bell being rung by the home faithful and it dawned on me, I was at Fratton Park, the player scoring had been none other than our old friend Papa Bouba Diop, we were on the brink of relegation.
Sitting nervously in my seat I waited anxiously for the other scores to filter through on the radio I was listening to,
Derby 0 Reading 2 – aaahhh!
Birmingham 1 Blackburn 0 – aaahhh!
Well not really, in previous dreams I`ve made passionate love to many a beautiful woman, I`ve won the Lottery and I`ve won the Football Pools but in real life – sod all like that has ever happened!
Dreams are just dreams are they not?
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