Woke up super early buzzing for this matchup, kettle already whistling before I’d even wiped the sleep from my eyes. My ritual’s simple: strong brew, slightly burned toast, and the laptop warming up on the kitchen table. Checked the starting lineups buzzing around Twitter – Son starting got me proper chuffed, mate.
The Build-Up Madness
Cracked open the Premier League app first thing, scrolled back to last season’s fixture stats between these two. Wrote down key numbers in my battered notebook – possession stats, shots on target, the usual. Noticed both teams were leaky at the back in recent games. Made a bold prediction: goals, lots of ’em. Scribbled “2-1 Spurs” right there in blue biro.
Kickoff & That Early Shock
Settled into the couch, stream finally loaded after buffering for what felt like years. Minute 12 hits and bang – bloody Olise curls one past Vicario like he wasn’t even there. Spilled tea on my shirt jumping up shouting “NO WAY!”. Absolutely gutted. Jotted down “Palace counter attack – weak defending left side” feeling proper miffed.
- Halftime: Stomped to the fridge for a cold drink, brain whirring. Spurs looked clueless in attack.
- Second half started slow, proper frustrating. Almost threw the remote when Madders skyed that sitter.
- Then boom! Minute 76: Sonny! Pure relief washing over me as he slotted it home. Roared “YESSS!” – woke the neighbour’s dog probably. Scribbled furiously: “SONNY SAVES US!”
The Gut Punch Finale
Thought we’d nicked a point, honestly. Defended like lions for 10 minutes. Then added time… minute 93… Andersen. Lost my voice screaming at the telly. Felt sick. Could barely bring myself to note it down: “Free kick routine. Defense sleeping. 2-1 Palace final.” Utterly crushed.
Spent the next hour replaying key moments on my laptop while the room went dark outside. Why didn’t they close Andersen down? What happened to our midfield shape? Shoved my messy notes, full of arrows and angry underlines, into my blogging folder. Stared at the final score on the screen feeling proper deflated. Needed a proper cuppa after that. Left the notebook open – reckon I’ll be staring at those entries feeling grumpy all week. Felt proper robbed. And yeah, my boss pinged me asking why the Monday report wasn’t done yet… blame Palace for that.
