Manchester United 1 – 0 Wigan
What a game. As my eyes blurred while watching the game via three “live” gamecasts (espn.com, manutd.com, uk.yahoo.com) the expected result took much longer to develop than my heart and nerves wanted it go. Bless you, you little red caveman. We may not have you next year, but I will remember your goal as the moment where I startled my officemates by screaming and pumping my fist as if I was suddenly burned by my computer.
The next twenty-five minutes I sat in agonizing pain as United went guns blazing. The only reason I knew this was that the commentators (remember 3 gamecasts) were all in agreement with this event. O that, and the many little dots that kept popping up representing shots taken. I sat there gripping my desk, sweating in my air conditioned office, urging them with every fiber of my being as the pushed for the winner.
And then it came. The most beautiful blue dot on the screen, followed by the commentary, “Goal – Carrick”. I know this is not as exciting as seeing the play develop, but it was all I needed. I lept, yes lept out of my chair, flinging it behind me with a crash. Eighteen fist pumps later, I tried to resist the burning desire to run down the hall screaming and tearing off my clothes. I furiously texted the good news to Jacob (good news for me, not sure if it was for him), but he needed to know.
“Michael Carrick struck an 87th-minute winner to sink Wigan 2-1 and move Manchester United to within a solitary point of retaining their Premier League title.”
Next stop, premiership title. Third in a row. Beat Arsenal (or draw), win the title. Old Trafford better be rocking. I will be up at 4:45 AM to watch it, at my local pub, with my friends, and a Guinness.