I keep screaming this (literally screaming) at family and friends and coworkers. Eventually, I’m going to start screaming it at my students. In spite of being ill and grouchy, every time I’m about to be angry with someone, I just shout, “LEICESTER WON THE PREMIER LEAGUE!”
And all is well.
I don’t live in Leicester. I’ve never visited Leicester. I don’t have family or friends in Leicester. I don’t even actually support Leicester (although my team sold them Demarai Gray this January, so now I feel I have some license to support them).
The fact is, I’m kicking myself for not betting on them, for not buying a kit when I said in October that they’d be fine, that they’d probably be in top half. By December, I was convinced they’d be top for. By mid-January, I’d declared them champions.
I mean, I was still biting my nails as I watched the last ten minutes of Chelsea v Tottenham, pacing my classroom, alternating between checking the time and checking the score. Declaring them champions isn’t the end of the stress. It’s the beginning.
But now that it’s real, now that all the people in my life I confided in and maybe annoyed with all my Leicester talk have to concede that I was right, I find that taking back all my harsh words this season about Eden Hazard and screaming at strangers that Leicester won the league is not enough.
I need to scream at complete strangers online about it, as well.
Why does a Birmingham City supporter set up a football blog about all leagues and football but mainly the Premier League? Because we don’t get the Championship League on tele here in the US, and because I said Jack Butland would play for England before anyone I knew had heard his name.
And yes. I’m still crying over his ankle. If my tears could heal, he’d be running marathons.
I plan to write…everything. Everything I find interesting, relevant, or requested. Mostly, I’ll probably wax lyrical about Birmingham City players who make the Premier League, the antics of various managers, why I could never support Chelsea, what’s wrong with van Gaal’s hair, and why Quique needs his magical scarf at every match.