Those who know me in real life- the guy behind the curtain, not this Bokolis- know that I am a supporter of AC Milan and Liverpool FC.
I acquired Liverpool first, in 1983. While football was watched in my household, all the budding anarchist in me understood was that Liverpool had some crazy fucking fans that wreaked havoc wherever they went. Liverpool's great successes had nothing to with anything.
My introduction to AC Milan came later, out of a desire to see someone take down the Swamp Rat.
Aside - That prick punching a ball into the net spawned generations of cheating South Americans; so much so that you can't play a game with them unless you are willing to cheat as much as they do. I had to watch all those games because I had to "tape" them (the kids these days DVR; back then, we taped shit) for my old man to watch when he came home. I'm still shocked that, when he goes on his subsequent run through the England squad, nobody saw fit to rip out his fucking kneecap and play keepie-uppie with it.
The footballing world was all over his dick, and it sickened me. When I watched Milan destroy Napoli at the San Siro, and as I watched Ruud Gullit- still my favorite footballer of all time- play during the 1987-88 season, ultimately winning the Scudetto, they became my team.
My dual support was relatively harmonious. In fact, it was the Milan crowd who sang "You'll Never Walk Alone" during (an Italian version of) a moment of silence just after Hillsborough. So, until 2005, I never had to choose.
Even though I'd've preferred Milan to win that Champions League Final- I didn't openly root for either- I knew that Liverpool needed it more. When people asked me how did I cope, I smiled and said that it was quite a show, wasn't it? Of course, in 2007, it was an easy decision to root for Milan.
All that said, my heart is with Stevenage FC. I told a buddy of mine, who knows my allegiances and whose wife happens to be from Stevenage, fuck Liverpool, fuck Milan; if I came into a boatload of money, I would build Stevenage a stadium.
I picked this team up as an adult- their first go-around with Newcastle in the FA Cup as a non-league side, back when they were Stevenage Borough, in 1998- and have been in love ever since. I'd tell you about those matches- not only didn't Shearer's header cross the line, but they hosed us with the offside in the first leg- but this fucker's already going to run long.
I know it seems strange to love a team you've gone over a decade without seeing play. Stevenage toiled in the Conference for years. The finally won promotion to the League in 2010- which at least got me some highlight clips here and there- and managed a play-off spot in their first year.
In between, they exacted revenge on Newcastle, beating them 3-1 in the FA Cup. The toughest hit they took in that one, other than Joey Barton's screamer, was the shot that Scott Laird took by one of the Boro supporters. Somebody was banging somebody's bird, I guess.
Thankfully, I was in Spain around the time of the League Two Playoffs, so I was able to watch the second leg against Accrington Stanley...amongst a bunch of middle-aged Stanley supporters, of course.
If I remember it correctly, Boro were 2-0 up after the first leg at Broadhall Way, and the plan was to take the air out the ball. That is pretty much what they did. I mean, ahd-damn was this game ugly. The pitch was a mess and the football was somewhat less than flowing. Stevenage mustered absolutely no offense and Stanley was rather impotent to take whatever chances they had. Stanley eventually had someone sent off. Stevenage then came out of its shell and put away the tie with a late goal.
Boro went on to defeat Torquay by the lone goal at the theatre of pisspots- while its residents were off getting pasted by Barcelona- in the final.
Stevenage have looked much sharper than I saw last season. They showed their honey badger mentality in League One, conceding the second fewest goals in the league and giving as good as they got from Spurs in the 5th round of the FA Cup.
That deep Cup run and a frigid, snowy european winter compacted the fixture list, compelling Stevenage to play 14 matches (12 league) in 47 days. The club only won two of those matches- they drew 8- and drifted down to mid-table, but rallied to win 4 and draw one in their last 5 matches to claim the final playoff spot on goal difference, largely on dealing out four pastings of 4 goals or more.
They now go against Sheffield United, two weeks after having last played them. The Blades have been in a downward spiral, which denied them automatic promotion (to the benefit of the rival Wednesday, who were on the receiving end of one of Stevenage's pastings, with the Boro supporters serenading the early-departing Owls supporters with "Is there a fire drill?").
The previous match was typical Stevenage honey badger style; going into a larger park with larger crowds than seen at Broadhall Way. United even fucked with the ticket allocation and distribution so that many Stevenage supporters did not acquire tickets, leaving a sparse visitors' section at Bramhall Lane. Bush, Blades, bush; are you going to pull the same stunt for the first leg?
Stevenage, as is typical, soaked up the early pressure and built up their own as the match progressed. They were rewarded when a counter led to a fortuitous deflection that squeezed through a defender's legs and past the Blades keeper. They kept up the pressure after the goal. A run down the left by Laird and some soft defending led to another fortuitous deflection, with Laird's shot deflecting off a poorly positioned defender and leaving the keeper stranded.
Sheffield United were fucked now, and were compelled to dust off their old weapons to salvage the match. They first brought on Richard Cresswell and Ryan Flynn on 55 minutes. Cresswell, as footballers go, is a big man. Let me tell you, he had this look on his face, like he was absolutely certain he was going to score. It wasn't a cocksure look; I've played in enough matches to sense when a guy is psyched out and when he knows he has the goods. He just fucking knew. It took him all of 10 minutes to direct a cross just inside the post.
Soon after, the Blades brought on James Beattie, ex-England international. They ratcheted up the pressure and leveled when Beattie nodded on for defender Lowton to fire home.
Boro, in true honey badger form, are too crazy to know when they are being threatened. All the while, they were pressing for a third. Robin Shroot (Shoot! Shroot) had a gilt-edged chance that he spurned. United also came close, but the match ended in a draw, consigning both sides to a play-off reprisal.
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