Sometimes, the worst thing you can do is look at the league table. The very worst. In fact, because I care about you, lovely reader, don’t look at the league table. This morning, unnaturally early, Latest News gave what was supposed to be a brief, fact-checking glance at the Barclay’s Premier standing of the Redmen. There was a column to be written and it’s only polite to be passably informed before wittering away at you.
Fifteen angst-ridden minutes later, a full-blown existential crisis had taken hold. No writing was getting done but then what was the point of anything, really? Why does this type of thing always happen to us? Moving towards minute twenty, the disillusionment was replaced by a stultifying ennui. What was the point, anyway? It’s always the same, isn’t it?
Thankfully, your scribbler’s pathological distaste for missing deadlines shook him from this morbid torpor and more productive ideas returned. You see, the trigger for the dark introspection had been the stark contrast between what might have been and what actually is.
The fact is that whilst Liverpool are in fourth place, the minimum acceptable finishing position for many of us, Arsenal, serial Champions League place attainers, are only two points behind with a game in hand. Manchester United are three points adrift but also have a match less played.
After checking the rear-view mirror, a squint forward, fourteen points forward, sees Chelsea laughably distant und uncatchable in pole position. Tottenham, who were supposed to have ‘done a Tottenham’ at this stage, are four points ahead in second and Manchester City, who have been pilloried for their flakiness, are three points in front of the Redmen with a game in hand.
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