Lou:
Aged 10, I stood at Craven Cottage and gave my heart to the right and white. I watched Macari draw magic from the likes of Bamber, Rambo, Digby, Calderwood... Mesmirised. Town won, I didn't sleep that night.
Ossie:
Aged 13 I cried for the first time under the twin towers. Tears... of joy shared by waves of Ossie's red and white army. I buried myself under my quilt that night shaking with joy. Dreams of Alan Mac and deflections... and facepaint on Wembley Way. Seven days on my parents drew back the same quilt - sodden with tears of a different kind. Dreams shattered by unreasonable men in suits.
Glenn:
Aged 16 and Hoddle, Maskell, Taylor and Bodin took me on a roller coaster ride. Justice delivered. No tears under the towers but the sweetest of dreams that night... of one touch football destroying Mark Hughes, Ian Wright, Alan Shearer, Sir Alex, King Kenny... and Joe Kinnear! Joy unbridled.
Ups and downs came and went, Gorman, Macca, Quinny, Todd, Iffy, Wisey, Luggy, Maurice and Danny carried my hopes, made me smile, punch rain soaked air, reaffirm my love again and again... but curiously never dream.
Paolo:
Last night I dreamt... of red and white, of smiling faces from a dimly lit Town End, of glorious laps of honour from exhausted heroes in red and white, draped in our scarves, flags... and curly wigs. The buzz in the CGH as the Guinness flowed, pool balls cracking in the background, drinkers pointing to framed icons yet to be superceded by the classes of two decades.
I'm sure you're quite puzzled... but I've this sense - not a feeling - that we're about to emerge... with not just promotion but pride and passion. With skill and flair mixed with West Country air.
I'm off to bed to dream again... like my 13 year old self.
