From Despair To Where?

THERE is a tale. Possibly an apocryphal tale but a tale nevertheless. Colonel Tom Parker, fairground huckster, shyster, illegal immigrant, lousy gambler and – quite crucially – manager to Elvis Presley walks into Graceland on the hit of Elvis’ death and says to the gathered, devastated, mourning family “This changes nothing.”

This changes nothing.

THIS changes nothing.

This apparent throwing away of the league, this sacrifice of a three goal lead while hunting for a better goal difference, this waste, this depression, this physical illness that’s gripping so many of us, this ‘last minute against Arsenal, 1989’ – all of this changes nothing at all.

Yes, it’s in City’s hands but it was already in City’s hands. We needed to score a stupid amount of goals or we needed either Villa or West Ham to take a point or more from City. Now we quite simply need Villa or West Ham to take more than a point from City. Or a point each would do, let’s not be overly greedy here.

But that’s impossible isn’t it? Yeah, ’cause nothing else impossible has happened this season has it? Nothing mental. Nothing at all. When was the last time something unexpected happened in this league? Quarter to ten last night. Before that it was Sunday afternoon at Stamford Bridge. Do we really need the whole list?

Can you imagine how ‘Big Sam’ feels at the moment? Can you imagine how his ego is being stroked by the chance that the story on the last day will be about him, how the script is about how he proves the fans that booed him wrong by having West Ham prevent City from winning a league that appears to be theirs?

Last night was horrible, inexplicable, heartbreaking. It’s done. Put it behind us. All there is now is Newcastle.

This? All of this?

This changes nothing.

Pic: David Rawcliffe / Propaganda