I suspect – actually, can guarantee – that many of the critics haven’t even read the book. They should. It isn’t a celebration of defeat, but a perceptive all-round analysis of what happened during the campaign and much more.
We elevated ourselves into a position of contention, be it on the outside edge of the inside we so desperately wanted to gain access too. It's been a throbbing five year session with no climax.
This is our first full season in our shiny new ground, meaning it is the first time season ticket holders have had to shell out shiny new prices...
What is his tragic flaw? Is it like Julius Caesar’s hubris at not being able to see his own friends wanting to stab him, or Othello being blinded by jealousy of his beautiful wife, or even Lear’s comically foolish arrogance. Was this the mechanism of our downfall?
If it's stick how do we get back to some resemblance of our former self? We don't. The past is done and this team at its very core needs to be disbanded and reinvented...
Hundreds of players and managers have come and gone since then, and I’ve sat and stood in many a stand in many a ground, but TGB has remained a constant part of the matchgoing experience.
Surrendering is profoundly anti-Poch behaviour. The future is now a journey into the unknown. What will happen next?
The defeat was a crushing one. The way the players just gave up was as good as telling the world, we don't care enough to play for the manager anymore.