Sunday, May 18, 2014

Dunfermline v Cowdenbeath

The atmosphere was building, the crowd has high, the anticipation levels off the scale. Then in the first minute Cowdenbeath scored a scrambled and opportunistic goal and it was as if a bullet had hit the heart of every DAFC fan in the stadium. We died, the team died. From death there is no recovery, whatever the major religions of the world may say or preach or try to convince you about. You are dead. The rolling cloud of doom smothered us even more and by the end we were three nil down and truly humiliated by our apparently lesser but clearly superior Fife neighbours from a few miles away across the motorway and tracts of industrial wasteland. They may as well have invaded us from Mars or North Korea with nukes and Brillo Pads. When you're fucked, you're well and truly fucked. Now we are resigned to a fate of lower league obscurity, abject poverty and media indifference for yet another year. I knew it was a bad day, even before half time the cafe in the main stand had run out of hot food. If you can't plan for that (catering for a hungry crowd of 8500 on a Sunday afternoon) you might as well give up.

  1. only a fool thinks he (she) can change the world.
  2. the greatest civilisation ever, founded by wolves.
  3. a crowd of 8500 but only 8000 pies :-(

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