We're leaving together, But still it's farewell, And maybe we'll come backTo earth, who can tell? I guess there is no one to blame, We're leaving ground, Will things ever be the same again? IT’S THE FINAL COUNTDOWN. der der der der der der der der der THE FINAL COUNTDOWN!!
Those aren’t my words of course they are the immortal words of Europe from there smash hit 80s classic the Final Countdown which indeed it is as this Sunday is the weekend we have all been waiting for.
You don’t need me to tell you where we are this weekend and who are opponents are and I’m fairly certain you all know where the ground is. I am also a little tentative about recommending a post match tipple this weekend as I still remember the gut wrenching pain of last years Cup Final defeat.
Should we be triumphant it really doesn’t matter to me where my first pint of mild comes from but should we lose I will not dwell on the disappointment I will dust myself down ready for another crack next weekend in the County Cup Final.
The main purpose of my column this weekend is simply to wish the players good luck as they are the only people who can make our dreams come true. Forget last week and every thing that has gone before. Leave nothing in reserve this weekend and you will be triumphant and when this happens I and the Millions, and R.A.D means Millions of Weltons fans will be chanting your names. I leave you with the inspirational words of the great Rudyard Kipling.
IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings,
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and si new
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Cup and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Ron Eaglen champion, my son!