Well that wasn't great was it?
It's 8am on Monday morning I was standing next to the sea watching the water engulf the land while the pebbles shimmied as they were briefly released. That end of holiday feeling was in my stomach. Ferry, motorway, overpriced services lunch and we were home. Over land and sea and Winchester.
The bags were flung into the house as Mrs Pitch slumped into bed. She is properly ill and out of action. She's our RVP. I'm not saying this family is a one (wo)man team but without her we aren't Champions League. I'm doing OK. The kids are clean and fed but we can't find fresh pyjamas. However, our RVP doesn't know how to set up an iPhone or what an HDMI cable does so we all have our roles.
So I left the house with my son under dressed for what was to become a bitter evening but then our RVP wasn't with us to administer coat advice so it was our own fault. We strolled to the game furnished with the knowledge that we had never lost to Wigan at home in the Premier League but also knowing they were cheated at the Chavs and had just beaten the mancs. This wasn't going to be easy but it's still only Wigan. A town who'd rather be watching rugby. A team, who only 12 years ago, were playing non league Cambridge City in the first round of the FA Cup. It's relegation threatened Wigan. It'll be OK.
I scanned the programme and the starting elevens were sent to my phone. Whatever next? We looked too strong for them on paper and that, as they say, is where we should've played them because on the snooker table pitch they were better than us. Over the 90 I thought they did enough or rather we didn't.
We started OK. A couple of chances past us by before Wigan carved us open with such ease it didn't feel real. Son of Feverpitch said to me at kick off that he hoped Wigan scored (when we were 5-0 up of course) so we could hear the noise made by the tiny away support. He didn't have to wait long but their muffled cheers were drowned by a wave of F's and C's and the odd ''Wankers' from around us. Before we'd stopped tutting and shaking our heads they had done it again. Imagine the language now! Two of the most pathetic bits of defending all season and it wasn't even ten past eight. We've seen some crap at the back this year but these win the prestigious Stepanov's award for me. Utter utter crap.
We woke up a bit but I still thought we were just OK. We pressed and got the goal we needed to spring us into action but it never really came. The odd shot here, the odd cross there but we ran out of ideas too early and really looked quite awful as the second half dragged on. If QPR was a flash in the pan someone forgot to flush it. The flash turned out to be a bit of a floater that stank the place out again.
We left in silence. There were boos for us and claps for them. We just shook our heads at the steward as a man in a wheelchair abused a bloke trying to get out of his way. The atmosphere had darkened. This race for 3rd won't be over until the fat left back sings.
It was a bad night but not disastrous. It leaves very little room for error now though. The comfy cushion is decidedly lumpy. Losing Arteta is a huge blow. The news we won't see Jack this season less so as I never thought we would. We need to learn from this (Again! AGAIN!!) and stick a final fling together. 3rd was a dream we've touched and to Almunia it now (Let it slip between our fingers - keep up) would be gutting. If we get 3rd and this helps ease QPR down then we will look back on this and laugh. If we don't then the evening will be as bitter as it felt.
Come on you Rip Roarers.
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