On this corresponding match week last year we drew with Bournemouth 2-2, fighting back in the second half after going two goals down. We were in 13th; had 34 points; +14 GD; and were 17 points clear of "relegation".
We would go on to win the Europa League Final. Meaning Champion's League football.
But the defensive injury crisis which was now, finally, over had shown just a how fragile our squad was. We could not have been given a more timely or obvious warning about the dangers of fighting on multiple fronts with a lack of requisite quality or depth in our team.
We were warned.
And yet here we are. Another injury crisis. On our second manager of the season. Four fucking points off the relegation zone. Winless in 11. Leaking goals for fun. Struggling to score at all. A completely demoralised playing group.
Every single choice made by this club since that night in Bilbao has been a catastrophic failure. Every appointment; every signing; every LACK of signing when it was clearly needed; all of it has been a complete disaster from the second the final whistle went and Son held that Cup aloft.
And we were warned. That's the bit that hurts the most. We were warned and we didn't listen and we made those choices anyway and it's all led to this. The fucking hubris of it all is off the scale.
It's all self-inflicted. A long drawn-out slow motion fucking calamity.
If we somehow get out of this, an entire Royal fucking Commission needs to be held into making sure we never ever make these mistakes again.
Rant over.