For some time now your average, bemused-by-all-the-results Lesta City fan was under the impression that ‘to lose’ was a sausage hailing from the Midi-Pyrenees of France. Not since 29 April had the mighty Foxes experienced defeat and even then we all know that was nothing to do with the quality of Chelski and more about TLF forgetting to wear her lucky shirt.
Reality of course, as any fule kno, is that sooner or later this small, perfectly formed, undefeated-in-10-Premier-League-games balloon, festooned as it is with the old occasional grumpy outburst aimed at the media and more recently some urbane Italian comedy moments will go POP. The lucky shirt can only do so much. As I previewed the home game against Arsenal I did think that the pin was hovering mighty close to the very thin skin of said balloon.
I know football is played on grass not paper but a quick squizz at the sports pages reminded me of the multi-million pound and pacey talent that was about to grace Filbert Way with its presence and as a result hope was in short supply. I like to call it managing my expectations.
And how wise that was although I don’t think it was necessary was for the ref Craig Pawson and his assistant to intervene on behalf of the Gooners; they really didn’t need the help. Which isn’t to say that Lesta were humiliated. In fact we took the lead, had two near misses before Arsenal had even scored and never gave up. Reality is though that they possess a layer of sophistication (thanks for that, the brilliant Amy Laurence of The Observer) that we do not, which means that while our football is energetic, clever and robust when it needs to be, theirs is, to quote from my childhood, betterer on every level. On Satday it was a £35 million layer of sophistication to be precise in the shape of Alexis Sanchez who had chosen his trip to the east of the Void to rediscover his form. At one point we were speculating on how many they would score. I went with 6, Simon went with 7, Arsenal had the decency to stick to 5. Funnily enough for all that it was hard to be gloomy; a sunny day, a ‘whoosh’ of a game (thanks for that Tinkerman), we lost to a better team and finally the lucky blue shirt could answer the call of the washing machine.
As one old lag commented on the way to the exit, “That’s football ‘ent it meduck.”
40 Degree Wash Fox