Black Wednesday

I’m writing this and wishing I was somewhere else. Anywhere with a telly and selling alcohol, ideally. But it wasn’t to be, and like many football fans I have found myself a victim of the grand overlords of Sky TV. This Saturday just gone, April 12th, I had originally intended to attend Plymouth Argyle’s scheduled match at Sheffield Wednesday, our 43rd Championship fixture of the season and potentially (certainly at the time of organising the trip) decisive in our play-off push. I booked my train tickets from my home in Gloucestershire four weeks in advance to avoid the ridiculous cost of on-the-day public transport, and waited for match tickets to go on sale. Alas, it was at this point that Rupert Murdoch’s media machine – generally about as interested in covering Argyle as a vegan is in eating veal – whirred into seemingly aimless action and had the game moved to Monday night for live transmission to subscribers. At the same time when my return travel, already purchased, was due to occur.

Thus here I am, tapping away on my laptop while almost anything could be happening at Hillsbrough. The bleddy train even went through Sheffield on the way down, but with it being nearly 9pm I considered jumping off, watching the rest of the game and spending the night in the station to be a little pointless, especially given recent events.

I’ve been somewhat absent from this site for a couple of weeks, for two reasons. Firstly, my University course has been rather more hectic and difficult than usual, but, far more pertinently, Argyle have managed almost entirely extinguish our greatest ever hopes of reaching the top flight of English football. First there was the embarrassing 3-1 loss at struggling Coventry, with the Greens 3-0 down before the much-maligned Steve McLean grabbed an admittedly impressive consolation. This left us needing, realistically, four wins from our last five matches going into the home tie with Charlton. I travelled down full of hope and expectation and, despite a dire showing by both teams, Jermaine Easter’s second-half goal looked likely to be the difference between them. Then Luke McCormick had one of those spells where everything goes wrong, twice fumbling in his own six-yard box and giving visiting striker Leroy Lita a pair of tap-ins. Heartbreaking.

Since then the crushing, numbing disappointment of losing to two poor sides has got the better of me, and I’ve attempted to hide from football – frequenting the BBC Sport website less often, shunning Focus and MOTD, skipping the sports pages. Still, the ‘beauty’ of the Argyle White Membership I have is you get six home match vouchers to use throughout the season, and I’ve got one left. So I’ll be there for the Preston game on Saturday, when Argyle will in all likelihood have little to play for but pride, and possibly a highest-ever league finish in my lifetime. That, at least, should whet the appetite for another crack next season.

RICH PARTINGTON