A great sadness overcame me after the Manchester trip. I had built up such high hopes that this season could be the one where we might cause an upset. Instead, we lose our heads and the match in humiliating fashion.
I felt I took Harry's strategy to new levels against United, but it did not pay dividends as I had hoped it might. Stevie had clearly tired of giving me as many opportunities as he did against Inter and opted instead to pass the ball straight to the opposition. I'm not sure if the chance of them losing possession in dangerous areas was any greater than the chance of me doing something useful in dangerous areas, but I took the hint and Stevie and I have not spoken since.
It is not within my nature to give up like this, but the dark nights are getting to me. The gaffer talks about the "dark mondays"; I have dark Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays too. Sometimes I cry. I'm not ashamed to admit it: real men, cry. Every missed opportunity brings a tear, which annoys Gertrude because she constantly has to change the pillow cases in the middle of the night.
So it was a big effort to raise my head for the derby. And I'm not sure what to say about the game: we controlled it absolutely; we won; my Katwijian ball control provided Fernando with an assist; and yet...
...when I got home from the match, Gertrude had left me a whole new set of pillow cases.
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