This weekend was great.
Most impotantly Everton beat Spurs. And we looked pretty good as well (ok ok so I only watched a bit of the second half, in a pub behind a tall bloke, and I what do I know anyway, but Twitter was full of praise for our boys in blue). This is good for 3 reasons:
1. When your team wins it just is good, even better when that is a top team rather than one of the irrelevant teams starting with B or W (I know, describing Spurs as a top team is weird, but better when you realise it means they’re above Liverpool, Chelsea and Arsenal)
2. It has pushed us into the top half of the table, which for some reason makes me feel infinitely better about life
3. It gives me license to poke fun at the numerous Spurs fans I know…
Aside from that, there was the great Manchester drama – Reds winning and Blues losing seeing them switch places in the table (let’s hope for a similar turn of events in Liverpool tonight) – the bf was hapy for the first time in 5 months.
And Sunderland won, not a pre-requisite for me to enjoy the weekend but a nice addition.
Plus Liverppol lost. Ha. And Chelsea just about beat a 10 man Stoke at home.
But the trouble with football is, just as soon as you’ve finished watching a joyous MOTD2, where all the results are just what you want to see, you’ve got to steel your nerve for the next big match.
And I am nervous about tonight. I can’t help it. Even though I am eternally optimistic (I always bet on the team I want to win, I still hold out a vague hope we will sneak up and finish 4th), big matches give me the heebie jeebies and I spend most of my time hiding behind the sofa (or bar stool), or with my face in my hands. Being a football fan is only pleasant if you win; until that point it’s just like waiting for exam results, or waiting to see if the ATM will supply you with cash at the end of the month, or if someone you fancy will text you back.
So, I’m going out for a burrito instead. Tweet me if we win.