It's a funny old game, nine against eleven, and last year; two of our boys lost their lives on their journey home. So today, in their memory you play our signature song; Hi ho Sheffield Wednesday.
Your fifteen thousand three hundred and thirty five supporters and our four thousand one hundred and fifty four travelling fans; they raise together in a humane and emotional tribute.
No wonder then that the unshaved stubble stands (on end) to attention here again now, as I watch the raindrops fall on to my windscreen, with my eyes softly focussed, slowly and thoughtlessly towards the endless oncoming traffic.
Later. I ponder about the American guy, sat across from me in the coffee shop; he is here tonight to talk to our cohort; about all things literary and publishing; I wonder; will he mention this commentary on our beautiful game.
