It is a strange thing, it really is.
Seeing us fall down the league with all the grace of a drunk scoundrel floored after his eighth super-strength lager hurts. It hurts because none of us can see any single, identifiable reasons that absolutely explain it. It hurts because players we know to be better than they’ve been recently suddenly look lost at this level. It hurts because the spirit that has embodied this team doesn’t seem to be stepping in to save the day again. It hurts because a manager who we’ve had every reason to love is just not delivering right now and its causing some friction (not a split yet, but friction nonetheless) amongst the fans. It hurts all the more than it normally would because we’ve gone from sublime to ridiculous since the new year quicker than it has taken most new years resolutions to wear off. Icarus and the sun can’t help but spring to mind.
Yet, somehow, there is an eerie comfort that I am drawing from the sheer disbelief, the sheer ridiculousness and the sheer inexplicable reverting to panic stations that feels like Palace are back causing me stress and anxiety on a random Monday when I’ve got plenty of more important things (like my job) to be concentrating on. It is in these moments that I just know, somewhere deep down we’ll do something remarkable and that the next time a full time whistle blows and we’ve won a game of football that the feeling of unbridled joy will be raucous. It makes little logical sense, but somehow, normal daily life seems a little bit more, well normal.
Don’t get me wrong, I want this despicable run to end. I want to feel like the club is pursuing a path that has us considered a good team. A team that synonymously fits with the term ‘top flight’ and a team that we can perhaps end up following where controversy and incredulity are not commonplace, but distinctly unusual. That’s not to say that we achieve nothing and plod along not being noticed at all, but if we’re going to do a push for Europe or a fall towards relegation, that we do it the normal way. Without trying to both in the same season would be a start.
Somehow I feel that this is going to serve as a phase that we somehow get past and not look back for a while, but that’s more a feeling within my bones than anything logical. But then, we don’t seem to do logical. Ever. Somehow that is perhaps the most logical way to look at things when we struggle to make head nor tail of it. It is a strange thing, it really is.
Seeing us fall down the league with all the grace of a drunk scoundrel floored after his eighth super-strength lager hurts. It hurts because none of us can see any single, identifiable reasons that absolutely explain it. It hurts because players we know to be better than they’ve been recently suddenly look lost at this level. It hurts because the spirit that has embodied this team doesn’t seem to be stepping in to save the day again. It hurts because a manager who we’ve had every reason to love is just not delivering right now and its causing some friction (not a split yet, but friction nonetheless) amongst the fans. It hurts all the more than it normally would because we’ve gone from sublime to ridiculous since the new year quicker than it has taken most new years resolutions to wear off. Icarus and the sun can’t help but spring to mind.
Yet, somehow, there is an eerie comfort that I am drawing from the sheer disbelief, the sheer ridiculousness and the sheer inexplicable reverting to panic stations that feels like Palace are back causing me stress and anxiety on a random Monday when I’ve got plenty of more important things (like my job) to be concentrating on. It is in these moments that I just know, somewhere deep down we’ll do something remarkable and that the next time a full time whistle blows and we’ve won a game of football that the feeling of unbridled joy will be raucous. It makes little logical sense, but somehow, normal daily life seems a little bit more, well normal.
Don’t get me wrong, I want this despicable run to end. I want to feel like the club is pursuing a path that has us considered a good team. A team that synonymously fits with the term ‘top flight’ and a team that we can perhaps end up following where controversy and incredulity are not commonplace, but distinctly unusual. That’s not to say that we achieve nothing and plod along not being noticed at all, but if we’re going to do a push for Europe or a fall towards relegation, that we do it the normal way. Without trying to both in the same season would be a start.
Somehow I feel that this is going to serve as a phase that we somehow get past and not look back for a while, but that’s more a feeling within my bones than anything logical. But then, we don’t seem to do logical. Ever. Somehow that is perhaps the most logical way to look at things when we struggle to make head nor tail of it. It is a strange thing, it really is.
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