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  • One hand on the trophy, our twentieth.

    Our noisy neighbours had choked at their first success in over four decades. Improbably, we'd snatched it again.

    In a pulsating minute and a half, a loping Bosnian and darting Argentinian broke our hearts.

    "The point is not that it couldn’t have been written, but that it wasn’t. A match can’t be a work of art because there is nobody playing God. When you watch a play or a film, even a film directed by Tarantino or Hitchcock, you are aware, somewhere in you, that there are many, many people who know the ending – not just the people who have seen the film before you, but the people who willed it, wrote it, shaped it. Whatever your definition of art, then surely there has to be manipulation, at least. But the glory of that afternoon was that all was chaos. Nobody in the world knew how it would turn out, and nobody – not the coaches, not the players on the pitch, not the referee, not the hundreds of millions watching around the world – could shape anything." Nick Hornby.

    … there'll always be another season. Another chance to win.

    Time to start everything anew. Love, life, career and The Season.


    Sound from Agüero vs QPR, The goal that won the league

    (I remember texting my then girlfriend that I was more nervous in the last minutes of the game than when I asked her on that first date… and moments later screaming "motherfucker!" as Dad walked to see Agüero score the winner)
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