Spring, a time of new beginnings. As the axis of the earth increases its tilt relative to the sun (Prof TLF), daylight lengthens, temperatures rise and fresh buds bloom. The season of rebirth brings us chocolate eggs, bunnies and lambykins gambolling (responsibly) across the fields.
More importantly it also brings us the last 7-9 games of the season which are often accompanied by that highly infectious and brutal disease; Hope. Regular readers will remember that TLF had to do battle with a particularly nasty bout last year; after a miserable March (and February, and not too clever January and Decembers to be honest) Lesta City’s performances went up several notches and before you knew it people were being optimistic and stuff. This doesn’t sit well with TLF. I prefer a good dollop of mashed despair served with a pessimism jus. And then if it does finally work out then marvellous, crack open the bubbly but when it doesn’t (and in my experience it usually doesn’t) then you haven’t wasted your time on jollity and wotnot.
This year the medical threat is greater than ever with a potential epidemic of DH (double hope) threatening to descend on TLF Towers.
Lesta City, Cinderella-story-you-couldn’t-have-made-it-up-pundit-defyingBLAHBLAH are, at Easter atop the Premier League. People are hoping they might win it. The Mighty Saints after a wretched spell have found some form under new gaffer Ian Allinson, with four wins in the last five games. There is hope that we might just avoid relegation.
HA!!!!!! See how easily it sucks you in; pernicious and malignant it sneaks up on you, sounds all convincing and before you know it…BOSH! You start being all optimistic. Well not me suckers and this year TLF has a new weapon in the armoury. Oh yes. Like those adverts where Listerine holds back decay and wotnot from your teeth and Vicks makes you breathe more easily, I give you, laydeez and gents…
Not only does it have more letters but like a combined mouthwash and decongestant for the emotions it shields you against optimism, protects against hope and keeps you clear of belief. It came to me after the Newcastle game when us amateur punters were talking through Lesta’s next few fixtures
“I’m worried about Palace. We never win there,” said Tim.
“I’m worried about West Ham. They are on a roll,” quoth TLF.
“I’m worried about Sunderland away. They will be desperate,” said Simon.
“I’m just worried,” said the wise old man in the next row.
And he’s right.
• I’m worried that any minute now the pigs will stop flying, the weather forecast for hell will not suggest a frost and all this jollity will end as Lesta freefall their way out of the Top Four (and who thought I would ever type that?).
• I’m worried that if I pace round the kitchen for most of Satday afternoon again like I did last week Mr TLF might just throw something at me.
• I’m not celebrating the international call up of so many of Lesta’s players. I’m too worried about injuries on international duty derailing the starting 11.
• I’m worried that all the teams near the Mighty Saints will win their games in hand.
• I’m worried that by Easter Monday Hemel will still be in contention for the play-offs and have everything still to play for.
• I’m worried that meeting at 9am in the pub before that game could lead to a very messy Bank Holiday Monday.
If you cruise around the interweb you will find website after website devoted to positivity and a whole host of quotes advising against worrying. Ghandi, Churchill, Shakespeare, Seneca and Abe Lincoln, to name but a few; they all get in on the act.
Clever folk? Absolutely.
Football fans? Absolutely not.
RWF (Resolutely Worried Fox)