After the 2-2 draw against Walsall I was too angry to even contemplate writing anything about the match but after a few weeks of soul searching (and wins against Leyton Orient and Preston) I’ve realised it’s not the Owls that I’m annoyed with, it’s myself. I’d had an epiphany.
So why am I annoyed with myself?
I’d already pencilled into my diary the date of the play-off final in preparation for Wednesday’s ineptitude. I was comfortable that Charlton and the Blades had games in hand and would probably be guaranteed automatic promotion. And then prior to the Wallsall game look what happened…we were equal on points with United.
This is when my heart starts beating faster, my hands are clasped tightly in prayer and I begin to believe we might not have to play two legs against Notts County. It’s even worse when you find yourself in second position waiting for your closest rivals to fail. Love thy neighbour has never had such little meaning in Sheffield. I was ready for us to take their place and sacrifice the Blades to the agony of being the third place team that never gets promoted.
The fury resonates because Wednesday gave me hope. To be completely honest it was Sheffield United that gave me hope by throwing away their potential 11 point advantage (not the first time this has happened is it Tevez?) If United had continued to win and so had we, I would have accepted their automatic promotion with good grace and a commiseration Kit Kat. Chunky as opposed to the original, I find they have more chocolate on them. You know, like Club biscuits used to be until the chocolate fascists took over.
And then came the Wallsall match. When I left church on that bitter March evening I was angrier than Cain trying to shaft his brother. Where were we? We didn’t turn up. I had people at home telling to be calm because we’d got a point. A POINT AGAINST WALLSALL!!!! The buggers had already taken three points off us on Boxing Day. If we’d beaten them both times this season I wouldn’t be sitting here discussing our play-off chances and eating commiseration Kit Kats.
Hope is what happens when you forget about reality.
My chalice of faith in Sheffield Wednesday has always been half empty. You’ve probably noticed that by now. Wednesday have let me down more times than a Home Bargains inflatable paddling pool.
I do believe in Wednesday and they have my undying devotion but if an opposing team haven’t scored for twelve matches or they haven’t won in seven, I always have faith that The Owls can bring that run to an end. This was proved by Exeter earlier this season.
Sheffield Wednesday have been extremely charitable this season in their results. Teams, that on paper The Owls should have beaten easily, have very un-Christianly not laid down before us and anointed our Puma footwear.
Against Stevenage the midfield and defence parted like the Red Sea to let in five goals. We went to Bury and gave them a 2-1 win and all our first born males. The Under 9’s SWFC team can’t function now because Bury have the male children stored in a warehouse somewhere.
Charity starts at home Wednesday, but I’m really hoping is that it starts at The Galpharm on Saturday.
Look, there goes that hope thing again, I just can’t help it!
Happy Dead Jesus Day to you all.