
Another Saturday, another horrendous test of nerves. As games go that was awful, and in a season where we’ve served up some absolute stinkers, that it ranks among the stinkiest is saying something. I can find nothing to redeem it beyond the result, but the result is, y’know, massive. So the temptingly obvious narrative to reach for is: don’t worry about the quality of the performance, just feel the points. Especially against a side we’ve struggled to beat at all in recent seasons.
And yet, and yet. I suppose it’s because of our unblemished 15-year run of Champions League qualification that this sort of run-in makes it feel like, rather than trying to win a prize, (I know: not an actual prize), it instead feels like we’re trying to avoid losing something that we’ve already got. Or in other words: when it’s this tight, as it was last year, the mood feels like we’re trying to avoid relegation.
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