Brown Nose
Well-Known Member
I don't know if I can do this.
It's like I'm living someone else's life. I don't know what to say to the seemingly never ending stream of people admiring our achievements and willing us to win the league. And they really, really mean it.
I've tried being bullish, being magnanimous, false modesty, and so on. I now just say "I'm loving it" and hope they leave it at that.
And I am loving it. But I'm only pretending that I'm coping.
Ever since I was a kid, Leicester City has been a largely disappointing, and never really surprising, part of my life. Supporting them isn't about receiving wondrous praise or admiration. It's about dogged endurance.
We're not supposed to be doing this. Had we spent two hundred million to get here, there would be some sense to it. But we haven't done that. We've just done everything, and I mean everything, right this season with a side that engender a pride that is unnatural and beyond compare. As one friend put it this week, we're now "England's team".
I play poker and when you win a tournament, there is a sense of the bizarre about it. It's like you don't even have to play well, it just seems to happen, everything just falls into place. Football is nothing like a poker tournament though. Until now. Everything really is just falling into place. So far anyway.
This may well be making no sense at all. Maybe I've read one too many articles gushing praise or re-watched Saturday's goals one time too often. But this week, I'm not sleeping normally and the recurring thought " 53 points, 13 games left" keeps on going round and round my head.
Can I really cope with another 95 days of this? The players play like they haven't a care in the world. And they should be the example to follow. But none of them have been on this ride for the last forty years like I have.
Whatever the outcome on May 15th, I may well need some therapy.
It's like I'm living someone else's life. I don't know what to say to the seemingly never ending stream of people admiring our achievements and willing us to win the league. And they really, really mean it.
I've tried being bullish, being magnanimous, false modesty, and so on. I now just say "I'm loving it" and hope they leave it at that.
And I am loving it. But I'm only pretending that I'm coping.
Ever since I was a kid, Leicester City has been a largely disappointing, and never really surprising, part of my life. Supporting them isn't about receiving wondrous praise or admiration. It's about dogged endurance.
We're not supposed to be doing this. Had we spent two hundred million to get here, there would be some sense to it. But we haven't done that. We've just done everything, and I mean everything, right this season with a side that engender a pride that is unnatural and beyond compare. As one friend put it this week, we're now "England's team".
I play poker and when you win a tournament, there is a sense of the bizarre about it. It's like you don't even have to play well, it just seems to happen, everything just falls into place. Football is nothing like a poker tournament though. Until now. Everything really is just falling into place. So far anyway.
This may well be making no sense at all. Maybe I've read one too many articles gushing praise or re-watched Saturday's goals one time too often. But this week, I'm not sleeping normally and the recurring thought " 53 points, 13 games left" keeps on going round and round my head.
Can I really cope with another 95 days of this? The players play like they haven't a care in the world. And they should be the example to follow. But none of them have been on this ride for the last forty years like I have.
Whatever the outcome on May 15th, I may well need some therapy.
