There are football matches, and then there are life experiences. The weekends match was very much the latter, the kind that makes you stare into the middle distance afterwards, questioning not just tactics, but your own decision-making process that led you here in the first place.
From the off, we looked hesitant, sloppy, and oddly surprised to find ourselves in possession of a football. Passes went astray, touches bounced off players, and any sense of urgency was filed away for later, presumably for the next match.
Horsham didn’t need to be spectacular. They just needed to be organised and awake, which turned out to be more than enough. Every time we threatened something vaguely positive, it fizzled out like a damp firework. Defensively, we had the structural integrity of a deckchair. Not so much opened up as politely invited to fall apart. Up front, we huffed, puffed, and mostly kicked the ball straight at people in different coloured shirts.
The second half promised a reaction. It delivered more of the same, just with added desperation and fewer ideas. By the final whistle, the overriding emotion wasn’t anger, it was acceptance. The kind only long-suffering fans truly understand.
Fair play to Horsham. They knew what they were doing. As for us? Another afternoon reminding ourselves that supporting Scunthorpe United is less a hobby and more a test of emotional resilience.
