Hope is a cruel, cruel thing
25/04/05 | by Nick Miller

So we’ve won one. Maybe Megson should take the team to a Greek restaurant before every game. Smashing stuff seems to help. Being a filthy exile, I was in Manchester on Saturday afternoon, my enthusiasm for another journey southwards having evaporated somewhat after the Highfield Road capitulation. I even went to the shops at 3 O’Clock, my arse groove on the couch unoccupied, Jeff Stelling and 'Champagne' Charlie Nicholas not squawking at me from the corner of the lounge as they usually are.

Not having lived in Nottingham for a few years now, the ritual is for my long suffering Dad to keep me posted via text messages and over the season I have come to dread the buzzing of my phone on Saturday afternoons. So have my housemates, with the vibrations usually followed by an impressive volley of expletives and on more than one occasion resulting in said mobile flying across the room.

However, at around 4.20 this fine day I was back in front of Soccer Saturday and the fearful buzzing came. This time, there was a pre-emptive swear-fest – if we’ve scored, the sods are giving us false hope; if Burnley have scored then we’re still bloody useless.

After the game, I found myself looking at the table with an unconscious interest – explaining to the non-football types in the room what the possible permutations for survival are. I couldn’t help myself. I knew the words coming out of my mouth were unlikely, but still possible.

I probably wouldn’t have noticed this, if it wasn’t for the horrific, soul crushing sentence to come from my good friend on the other couch: “I can see hope in your eyes.” And there was. For no good reason, there was a glimmer – faint though I know it is – of optimism. If we win this and they lose that then we could still do it.

I know logic forbids such heresy, but there is still some mathematical chance of us remaining in this division and my general upbeat demeanour means that I cling onto such things.

I wish we would have lost. I wish that it would all be over. This is just a long, drawn-out version of the game in Preston this season. We put in what I thought at the time was a pitiful, pathetic performance (of course I know better now – we’ve done far worse since) and trailed 3-0. Suddenly, Marlon King had one of his all too infrequent bursts of energy, pinged in two cracking goals and we thought: "We could get point out of this". Of course, we didn’t, and after ‘Tank’ Rogers (the nickname takes on an altogether more appropriate angle after the events in Via Fossa) shoved someone into the corner flag as we chased a precious point, we lost.

False hope. Terrible thing. That is what Krissy Commons gave me on Saturday. While it is theoretical for us to escape with a pair of heroic performances, coupled with some pathetic ones from Crewe, Brighton and Gillingham, make no mistake – we’re down.

At least that’s what the logical, rational, realistic side of my brain is telling me. It’s the same bit that tells me that my chance of playing in the Garibaldi Red has passed, and that the new Star Wars film probably won’t be as good as The Empire Strikes Back.

However, we all have that little voice that tells us "You could get fit: you were a half decent player at school", and "The trailer looks amazing – George Lucas is back on form". 

So here’s hoping for next Saturday. The trouble is, I’m not sure which way I’m hoping. Do I want the misery to end and to lose, or do I want to take it to the last day? I’m not sure I could cope with the tension, but on the other hand...

One last thing: lots and lots of sympathy to my friend the Morecambe fan. For those of you who haven’t been following the Conference this year, Morecambe had a pretty ordinary first two-thirds of the season, then a recent spurt in form left them in the third of four play-off spots coming into the last game.

If they beat the mid-table, nothing-to-play-for Tamworth then they would be on their way back into the League. They drew 0-0, rivals won; Morecambe finish a point from the play-offs. More false hope. Sorry Kate, but at least you’re not a Red.