Man, sometimes the stupidest challenges hit you when you least expect them. You know how it is. You’re just chilling, watching some current season garbage, and someone—usually a loudmouth friend who thinks he knows everything—brings up some random historical fact that you know you know, but the details are just fuzzing out. That’s exactly how I ended up spending two entire evenings trying to reconstruct the exact standings of the 2014/15 Barclays Premier League season.
My buddy, Liam, he calls me up, talking about how awful one of the current relegation candidates is, and I threw out a comment about how at least they weren’t as bad as that awful Hull side that went down in 2015. Liam immediately scoffed. “Hull went down in 2015? Nah, you’re mixing that up with 2014. It was QPR and Burnley, definitely, but Hull stayed up that year, surely.”
That was it. That challenge. I absolutely hated being wrong, especially about something I used to track religiously. I knew Hull had been one of the unlucky ones, but suddenly I couldn’t picture the bottom of the table clearly. The process started right then and there—no internet allowed, initially. This was going to be a pure memory recall test.
The Messy Process of Mental Reconstruction
I grabbed a pen and a pad of paper and started listing what I could definitely remember. I started from the top, just to build momentum, like cheating on a test by answering the easy questions first.
I listed:
- Chelsea won it, obviously. Mourinho’s last good run.
- Man City was second, a good distance behind.
- Then the big scramble for Champions League spots: Arsenal, Man United. I think that was Van Gaal’s first decent finish.
That was easy. But the bottom? That’s where the memory gets murky. I chewed on this for a full hour, pacing around my apartment. I knew QPR was a disaster. I could visualize Charlie Austin scoring goals for a completely useless team. So, QPR, definitely 20th. That was etched in my brain.
Then Burnley. Burnley was always yo-yoing. They finished 19th. That felt right. They were consistent, but consistently lacking the firepower to stay up. So, 19th: Burnley. Now I needed number 18. That third spot is always the killer, the team that almost made it. Was it Aston Villa? No, Villa survived that year, thanks to Tim Sherwood, maybe? Southampton finished high up, surprising everyone. West Ham was mid-table.
I kept circling back to Hull. I remembered Steve Bruce pulling his hair out. I remembered them losing to Man United on the final day, and that being the nail in the coffin. Liam was wrong. I was sure of it.
I scribbled down my hypothesis, just to visualize it before I let myself touch the verification machine (my old laptop):
My Pre-Verification Bottom Three:
- 20th: Queens Park Rangers (QPR)
- 19th: Burnley
- 18th: Hull City
I finally gave in. I opened up the browser—just one quick search for the final table. I needed to rub it in Liam’s face the next morning, and I needed hard proof, not just fuzzy memories of specific match days.
The Final Confirmation and Why It Matters
I clicked the first reliable source. I scrolled. And I slammed my fist down on the desk when I saw the results.
I was right. Liam was absolutely, spectacularly wrong.
The 2014/15 Premier League Final Standings confirmed exactly what my memory had been screaming at me. Hull City, yes, they were relegated. They finished 18th with 35 points. QPR was last with 30, and Burnley was 19th with 33. The margins were tiny—Newcastle finished 17th with only 39 points, only four points clear of the drop.
Now, why did I remember this season so vividly that I could spend two hours arguing with myself about relegation spots five years later? This is where the story gets real. It wasn’t just football; that season defined a huge transition in my life.
In 2015, I was working this unbelievably stressful job in project management. We were trying to launch this new piece of software, and everything was collapsing. I was pulling 70-hour weeks, barely sleeping, and my home life was a total mess. Every Saturday and Sunday was supposed to be my escape. I’d buy the paper, turn on the TV, and just forget about the office.
I had a massive bet going with a group of colleagues that year. Not money, just pure bragging rights—the loser had to dress up as a mascot for the Christmas party. I had bet big on QPR, foolishly, thinking Harry Redknapp could pull off a miracle, or at least they’d be mid-table. I got burned, hard. QPR’s complete inability to play away from home meant I was losing that bet by October.
Every time QPR lost, or Burnley confirmed their descent, or that Hull team failed to convert a crucial chance, it was a tiny, stupid reminder that even the things I turned to for relief were collapsing around me. I remember watching that final game for Hull, hoping for a miracle that would save my dignity in front of the office sharks. When they drew 0-0 against Man United and went down, I felt like I had lost my last sanctuary.
So when Liam challenged me on Hull, it wasn’t just about the team. It was about that awful, grueling year where the only thing I had to look forward to was failing to win a mascot bet. That season, 2014/15, was the background music to one of the roughest patches of my professional life. I had to get it right, not for Liam, but for the version of me who needed that small victory back then. And I did. Those relegated clubs? QPR, Burnley, and Hull City. I finally nailed that memory shut. Now I just need to figure out what outfit Liam is going to wear when I see him next.