We're no longer Premier League, but we're not yet Championship. It's like being dumped by a girlfriend and kicked out of her flat, forced to sleep on a mate's sofa, because you've got nowhere else. And then you have to go back to her flat a week later to collect your things. And you're hoping that when you see her, it's all just been a big misunderstanding, you're gonna get back together. But, she's not even there. She just left the door unlocked for you. So you take extra long getting your things, loitering in the hope that she will come back, and that when she sees you, it will make her reassess, give you another chance. And you won't make the same mistakes again. You'll change. You'll do whatever she wants. So you loiter... An hour passes... Hour and a half. You've got everything you came for. What are you doing? Wake up. You take one last look at the photo of her and you laughing together, still up on the wall. You fight back the tears, but reality sets in. It's over. F*ck off back down to the Championship, and sort yourself out, mate. It'll be alright in time. It's for the best.
