In this fan club, we trust our players, even before qualifying for the Queen’s Cup final (by the way, I suggest changing the name of the competition because Letizia is not there nor is she expected to be, her contempt is absolute).
The first thing I did when entering the stadium was to hang our flag. Derbies raise many passions, and I saw that in the stands. The audience was mixed and committed, and when the game started, it was already drizzling.
I am screwed, like everyone today, and my escape is to write and get the anger out of my chest.
We were foolish to think that we could move on even knowing that we were playing against the whole universe. The pre-match was already warning us: on their field, on Thursday instead of Wednesday because it suited them better, with tickets rationed, the press acting as their cheerleaders, and to top it all off, that hanging banner that at the last minute served to heat up what was already boiling. The match was just a formality to add the icing on a series of infamies and blunders that ended in scandal, a victory that they already had closed beforehand, like so many others.
