Hope

Sunday August 22nd 4pm……….

……and we'll take to our newly seasoned-ticketed seats for the first time. Me and the Missus (except we're not married) / Partner (makes us sound like we joint-own a carpet company) / Girlfriend (c'mon I'm 51 not 15). First game of the season and the pitch will be a perfect green baize carpet, freshly watered, patiently waiting for the imminent stampede of studs. We'll probably be well-watered too; a couple of pints of real ale before the acid, chemical blast of hastily sunk pre-match Carling. We'll no doubt eye-up our neighbours, fellow supporters who we will share a few hours of banter with each alternate weekend until next May, me in my ridiculously expensive replica shirt. Come six-o-clock I'll either be tugging at the heart-placed emblem with glowing pride or wishing I'd spent the forty-odd quid on something far more useful, not that forty quid buys you much these days. The Missus/Partner/Girlfriend will be scrutinising the far touchline and stand for celebs, I'll be scouting for girls in tight tee-shirts and occasionally, surreptitiously routing in my breast-pocket for my hip-flask – no alcohol to be consumed in view of the pitch. But at this point, before the players are fan-fared on to the pitch, before the whistle is blown, the new season stands before us, and we are expectant, full of hope.