I think it was Coventry away when I last troubled the matchday thread, grandly concluding that whilst the world would become a better place, we'd still be going down. A month or so later, and I'm here to be argued with on both counts, from an STFC perspective at least, more optimistically.
I've enjoyed the last week: all the hashtags, the calls for unity, the weather forecast, the bloody hope. I've been the one checking the ticket sales every evening, booking the train for Charlton, reading every last comment on the Adver site and generally suspending everything I've thought for two and a bit years, every concern that returned with interest in that pre-season friendly against Swansea.
I'm proud too, proud of the way that the Trust in particular, have been proactive in reminding us that it's our club, and we're the ones with the power to make things happen, especially given that Power is manifestly not making things happen. Yes, it's absurd that our club is managed this way, head bangingly frustrating that such obviously mutually beneficial ideas are shunned, and that the exciting opportunity of running an engaging community club is made to look so darn begrudging and miserable. In that spirit, I for one, am humbly grateful for all those standing up - in a positive way - to say together we can do this better.
And irrespective perhaps of the result today (we might stay up, it's more than likely we won't), that's my reflection: the sheer passion, will and again and again, hope, that we share is reason enough for positivity. On a smaller scale, I didn't know Whits, but can't help but be moved by the evocative stories: of reconnection, of belonging, of believing, of random away days in distant northern towns and uncertain minibuses and generous hostelries and random faces in photographs. And time and time again, it's not the result or even the opposition that's remembered, it's that hope, togetherness, belonging.
Which does remind me that I popped by to offer my thoughts on today's game.
There is quite obviously a sense of expectation in the air, that the miserable winter we've endured can somehow be forgotten with an afternoon of sunshine and three precious points. And then, we can dream of living again. The atmosphere is incredibly supportive - we are here desperate to be able to forgive our players, our coaches, our owner everything - the recruitment, the naivety, the half-arsedness, if only they can give us that win.
My first frown comes a couple of minutes in with Connor Thomas taking an extra touch before crossing, and my very last one when Branco does likewise before setting Brophy away. The extra touch of course is the tell-tale sign of nervousness, and this is what characterises our first half. Add up those extra comfort blanket touches and there we have it, 45 minutes without a sniff of a chance, never mind a goal. Today though, that concerns me less than usual. My coach head is saying 'stay in the game' - giving it a lash if 0-0 in the last 15 might be our best hope. I've made it this far without mentioning the opposition, and whilst 'hate' isn't a favourite word of mine, it very much gets a mental airing today. We have a lamentable recent record against them, with Lewington reffing every game, and the continually small perceived injustices fuelling a rational dislike even further. I shan't give them too much airtime, suffice to say that I thought they were comfortably one of the best teams we've faced this season. Such is our luck - we spend a week building the WHOLE REGION into a crazed frenzy - and just when we need just one of this season's hapless Division 3 sunbathing no-hopers to pop by, we get this club stealing, fast improving and actually quite good lot instead.
I'm prepared to scream for anything today - I know it wasn't handball, but if you don't ask you don't get, and I'm only helping the one with the whistle try to make the right decision. Unfortunately, Dean Lewington is doing the same, and thus Ince is booked, and they get a jammy penalty from a dive by a player who was miles offside. You get my drift. But where there was a will, there wasn't quite a way, the referee was scandalously unwilling to even things up or to give us any favour throughout. So we had to do it ourselves.
And for those who haven't seen many games, we have been much, much worse. And most teams we have played have been similarly indifferent. Today though, Ince was bang out of sorts, and try, try and try as he might, it felt nothing would come off for the deeper Obika. Credit though to Williams for making decisive changes early. The switch to a three enabled Nathan to influence the game and for us to play with more width and creativity. Gladwin and Brophy were given plenty of time, although neither had much impact. Most surprisingly, following the excellent Conroy's injury, Barry had more joy, a cameo in which he was constantly involved and especially in and around the final third.
Yes, they had about 500 one on ones, and hit the bar or post about 27 times, and Vigs called on 32 more miracles, but I don't think anyone could really begrudge our point, ground out in honest endeavour and especially so in a pulsating last 10 minutes. So here's to more positivity, looking forward to four more games, more demanding that our team do it for Whits, for all the other great fans in the sky, for themselves, and for us, humbly passing through as supporters of our wonderful institution.
And you're right - there was more history, stories and soul in my retro shirt alone than in their entire club.
How is it that there are hacks at the Adver who actually can't spell stealing a living as journalists and I have to come on here to read writing of this quality?
