Had a lovely dream last night. My little club, purveyors of 4-5-1 and boring football, 'guests' in the premiership following the heavy spending of a doting millionaire, were offered the chance to play the biggest club in the world.
The biggest club in the world, managed by Satan, with fans all over the known world, even Manchester - England, agreed to the game and the stage was set. Out they came that Saturday afternoon, clad in blue and white, blinking in the bright sunshine and 70,000 strong din of a prawn fuelled mob.
Lovely things dreams. In them you can experience your team playing attacking football. Players with pace pride and aggression.
You can experience a free a low, curving free kick beating all the defenders and dropping into the far corner.
You can experience so called superstars failing to hit the target again, and again, and again.
You can experience so called superstars throwing themselves to the floor in a vain attempt to win penalties, the ref ignoring them again and again.
In dreams your team won't give up even when the evil empire equalise.
Your team then score the winner, almost breaking the back of the net, and silencing the barbarian hoard.
As if this was too fanciful an image, the devil himself turns into some jovial smiling little scotsman, telling the reporters that your team played well and had more chances than his team.
Bought the paper later and sank to my knees... Christ.. it really happened.