The net ruffles. Oh no? Did Almunia deflect that wide? It hit the side of the net right? The camera cuts to Cristiano juking teammates and smiling arrogantly. You know the smile - this is what I do, I'm That Boy Ronaldo. My face goes numb.
Here comes the replay. Maybe he'll save it this time. Nope, he doesn't. My first instinct is that it looks save-able and I feel worse for betraying Almunia. If it was save-able he would have saved it - the man carries us.
Down 2... 3 on aggregate... we need four now. Oh my gosh, its over. I never thought about what would happen if they scored 2! I consider everything in these situations, how am I unprepared at the worst of times to realize now its over? This moment, doing the math and realizing its over is miserable. It's also precisely why I consider all situations, so that I never feel these moments.
It's the twelth minute. This game never even started! That insufferable drunk Tommy Smythe says something about pride. Arsenal is now playing for pride - something like that. This makes me wonder if pride even exists in situations like this. I'd much rather just call it like its a golden goal and shake hands now in the 13th minute. No I decide, there is nothing to play for in situations like this. Pride is a false emotion.
The league is decided. FA went bust. We sort of overachieved in the Champions League. That's misleading - we definitely overachieved in the Champions League. Let's remember where this season started. We lost Flamini and Hleb, Fabs busted his knee, Clichy was out, we kept Adebayor. We certainly overachieved. The most positive aspect about this whole season is that we signed My Light, Arshavin. Next year is going to be the year. There's always next year Suleiman.
Arsene Wenger cobbled together starting lineups with spit and duct tape and Denilson and somehow the team dragged its ass over the finish line in third or fourth.