Once in a while, you can have that weekend which defies all odds, which, for some unknown reason, transcends all expectations. Sadly, this last one wasn’t like that.
It was all planned. I fully expected to be in the Scud on Friday night, having drinks with the lads. I just happen to have had a couple too many, I think, and woke up with a rollicking hangover on Saturday.
Of course I expected Liverpool to win the Fah-kup, I really did. Just the fact that we had to come back thrice, that 90th minute shot by Stevie Me, and Reina saving 3 penalties, that kind of shit caught me off guard.
And of course, no-one would have expected to see me, of all people, at Platinum Lounge, “celebrating my success” (whatever the fuck that means) but there I was, out on the town till 3 in the morning.
For that, at least I can blame Vusa.