I, like many others, think about this match every couple of days. I actually wanted to stay in and watch it because I couldn't get myself up for it, but my fella said (these actual words) "but what if we do a madness?" and dragged me to the pub. There's a reason I'm marrying him.
Firstly, when Robbo shoved the back of Messi's head, a little spark ignited in me.
The first we celebrated, in a sort of "yes, come on, this isn't done yet and look how early we've scored" kind of way.
Our second, more of a celebration, louder, more primal.
Our third, I don't remember what happened entirely but I do know I screamed like it was a horror film and I felt like I was floating all the way up into the sky and beyond. My mate nearly broke his leg celebrating cos he was stood on the bench and fell off and twatted it on the table.
Our fourth, my body felt like jelly and I just sort of slumped to the floor. Got home and cried my eyes out, and again on the way to work the next morning, and again on the way home from work that night.
By the time the final came around, I was calm. I was so, so calm. Before Kiev I was bricking it, I got on the ale at about 11am and I was still terrified. Madrid, I was zen. Maybe it helped that we scored so early, but at no point in that match did I worry that we wouldn't do the business. The business was already done at Anfield. I was genuinely more nervous when we were playing Wolves the other week