Berbatov – pornography in football boots.

Last Thursday I stayed up till 3am for the final time. On Sunday, I watched ‘Final Score’, for the final time. And I woke up this morning feeling empty and without purpose. The calender no longer has any important events on it. Just three long months with nothing.

The end of the football season always hits me hard, because it’s the end of a relationship, ten long months of constant stress and worry and arguments and moments of ecstasy and (especially for a Spurs fan) long periods of woeful depression. But it’s always there. You know that however terrible you feel, it all starts again from 3pm on Saturday. And you know that however fantastic you feel, make the most of it, because it ends at 2.59 on Saturday.