When I was hurtling through a wall of frozen West Midlands drizzle on Saturday afternoon and feeling the steady seep of wheel flicked puddle making its way through trouser, boxer, and sock, it didn’t quite feel like I was sitting on the cusp of making history – player and fan being inseparable in my mind when it comes to footballing achievements.
Just one more win and Coventry City would have dropped zero points in 450 minutes of football. To put this into context, during the 2016/17 anthrax season, there was a point when it took us 2,070 minutes to secure 10 points. That’s 23 games, 5 months, and God knows how many managers, or, if you’re into nature, a bit of autumn, the whole of winter, and a smidgeon of lovely spring. And (cheers Chesterfield) we still didn’t finish bottom.
Saturday was one of those when even touching all 6 of the hangover Horcruxes wasn’t enough to save me. Shit, shower, shave – then Lucozade (the weird red one), 2 bananas, and 2 packs of salt and vinegar McCoys. I still felt like I had a concentrated dollop of Dengue fever. I squelched down into my seat, wondered for a few minutes whether it’s even possible to dry off when it’s about 1 degrees, and then realised that the possibility of a defeat was extremely real.