Looking back on last week’s Preamble is like stumbling on an old email from a departed ex – “Can you bring home milk? Will you be on the bloody laptop all night again?” – that kind of thing.
I read over the entry with a heavy heart, pondering what might have been in that “sliding doors moment”.
It’s all hugely frustrating. Having put myself in a position to challenge for a top 100 rank, I need to find a balance between holding some strong differentials, while covering the mass-owned damage dealers. Sadly, last weekend, I got that balance all wrong.
Ushering Son Heung-min out of my squad was never going to be an easy decision. As he swapped places with Dele Alli, the latter’s cheeky smile and 13 goals in 15 Gameweeks was re-assuring, but I was aware of the South Korean’s ability to deliver big.
Watching Spurs dismantle Watford was a bittersweet experience.
There was relief that the two sides had stuck to the script and that, after some early resistance, Walter Mazzarri delivered on his promise and rolled over to the Spurs tide.
However, watching Son accumulate his 19-points while my captain Christian Eriksen weaved pretty, but ultimately pointless patterns, was excruciating.
It took me back to that evening with Alexis Sanchez back in Gameweek 14 – as he tore up West Ham’s “defence” and then gloated about his 23-points by taking post-match selfies with the ball-boys.
I recall that incident very well: the excited eight-year-olds beamed gleefully as the Chilean joined them for some spontaneous Instagram action. Meanwhile, a distraught 45-year-old desperately fought back the urge to flip the table, while wondering how he could possibly function as a human being for the rest of the week.
At least on this occasion, I managed to scrape together a respectable tally, limiting my red arrow to a minor blip. All thanks to Andy Carroll.
His performance last weekend was a season highlight.
The way he sat, biting his fingernails as West Ham held on to their 1-0 lead over Swansea City was glorious to watch. As he sat back and ran his fingers through his locks, not even offering the slightest indication that he’d warm-up, let alone enter the action – filled me with joy.
Andy stayed on the London Stadium timber. Josh King came off my bench. Nine points later, my frustrations over Son were somewhat quelled.
As an indication of my gratitude and affection, big Andy will be following Son out of the door – carefully, so as to not tweak that troublesome groin muscle. He’ll be sold to make way the prolific force that is Christian Benteke.
A wound-up Geordie up against an abject Mackems defence, or a misfiring Belgian who has scored in just one home game all season, facing a resurgent champions. I’m playing Fantasy Football roulette with my Easter Sunday.
