So, today. Far from the first time in my life that I've felt like football as a sport has danced a jig around me and then kicked me in the reproductive organs with clogs on, but this particular scrotum-booting will definitely live long in the memory. It's got all the hallmarks of a classic: an early 2-0 lead pathetically surrendered; the false elation of what we naively thought would be the winning goal, seconds before stoppage time was due to end; the thrill of thinking that we might make our triumph complete with a fourth goal, until our attack broke down and the opposition came back at us, with the referee still not blowing for full-time; and then, finally, the real testicle-masher, as they went and equalised with the last kick of the game a full minute after time was up. A crucial match against relegation rivals pissed away through sheer incompetence.
Happiness on a scale of 1-10: FUCK OFF, SCALE. FUCK OFF, HAPPINESS.
- Nikon D3100