I woke up at 5.45 This morning with the same two feelings I've had for 50 years - its Saturday with the whole weekend to look forward to and there's an afternoon out in the pub and on the Deepdale to go with it.
A few pints with the mates, a stroll to the ground with the usual chat - optimism and black humour combined - the ups and downs of a game involving the club you love - the long walk home from the pub usually with a long face, but sometimes with a spring in the step. Open the door and the wife looks at me and says 'lost again, ok I'll talk to myself for the evening'. Beer and TV in silence usually with an occasional viewing of the football league show on the rare occasions we win, before bed.
Wake up the next day, and I'm looking forward to the next game, the next day out with pub, mates and the buzz of the day. I don't ever want to lose that experience from my life and become a sad and embittered old man sat at the bar cracking weary jokes about how bad North End are. I've told the missus that if I ever become like that to put the rat poison in my tea.
When Saturday Comes just sums it all up for me. It's your choice, mate.