"Met de handen in het haar zitten," as we say in The Netherlands.
The week started so well: thirty-eight minutes against Villa playing my best football of the season. And then it all fell apart. I had a horror miss from the edge of the penalty area and then in the second half shanked an easy one into the crowd. After that I just couldn't keep it together. Fortunately, the papers focused on my deft touch to Yossi to set up the first goal and the gaffer was still taking plenty of heat about the Americans, so I dodged the bullet back at Melwood.
I had a lot of time sitting on the bench at the weekend to ponder my future. Is it rotation or have I been found out? The gaffer seems to have finally had enough. When the binman came on to replace the plumber at 2-1 down, I got to thinking about what I would do if the dream ended tomorrow. It's fortunate that Andriy is now out for six weeks or I could have been down Breckfield Road Job Centre to find out. I thought the Kop overdid it a little with the standing ovation after the game, but it's great that the Havant players get a taste of the adoration I receive applauding all four stands after each game.
My sister called after the game. Apparently, Jan Molby said on Five Live that every time I touched the ball I looked "like a player who'd never score another goal." I don't need that kind of feedback. I took her off my Facebook friends as punishment.
Maybe Keegan would appreciate my work ethic....
Tot de volgende keer
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