Its three games to go and the situation is tight at the top of the table. We travel in convoy to Mablethorpe. It is a beautiful spring day and everyone is in buoyant spirits. What’s more the opposition only has 6 players. Huh, a walkover we think.
Disaster. They score first. No problem. We can recover. After all there are still 55 minutes to go.
Aargh. They score again. These are good little players. Their six are better than our seven who seem to have no idea what to do with the ball today. They just stand there looking at it. Hmm. This ain’t going to be so easy.
Three nil and it isn’t even half time yet! What is going on? This isn’t the team we recognize. We bring on a couple of subs to ring the changes.
Half time and the manager gives the lads a roasting in his team talk. More substitutions.
The second half starts and there seems to be little difference to the quality of our game. I start composing dramatic bits of poetry in my mind. “The season’s hopes dashed. Crashed on the rocks of Mablethorpe sea front. ” Not that there are any rocks in Mablethorpe. It is sand as far as the eye can see.
Fifteen minutes to go. We score. Hooray. A glimmer of hope, a chink of light. Come on lads, you can do it. Nerves are on edge.
Ten minutes to go. The game is picking up. We score number two. Hooray. Come on lads you can do it.
Five minutes to go. Number three. Sighs of relief all round. I begin to feel a little sorry for the opposition who have been by far the best side for most of the game despite being a man down.
Two minutes to go. Amazing. 4 – 3. Now an agonising couple of minutes whilst they pile on the pressure. The defence holds. The final whistle blows. We have all aged five years but the title hopes are still alive.
Well done boys.