You spend all week looking forward to the game. You get up at 7.30 in the morning to watch it. You see your side go 2-0 up and start looking forward to rest of the weekend, being able to bask in the warm glow of victory.
But then you watch your team throw it all away in a tortuous second half - your team's bitterest rivals coming from behind to claim an unbelievable victory. You try to console yourself with the fact that you're not actually at the game having to witness such horror in the flesh. But its just as painful watching it on the other side of the Atlantic. And as the anger fades, the resignation sets in, that the rest of your weekend is ruined, knowing that your masochistic brain will replay the events of the match over and over, taunting you with alternative scenarios of what might have been. The cruelty of football...
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