"You've just won the fucking league! What's the matter with you?"
I was stunned, a sort of smile playing on my lips and the whiskey glass cradled in my hand. Worried about the lump on the missus' head, still hardly able to believe what I had just witnessed, I didn't know what to do. Just a couple of minutes earlier, I had put on my jacket, determined to stay till what I was sure would be the bitter end, but keen on getting away from the place as quickly as possible after the final whistle. Dzeko's goal, I was sure, was too little too late, and there was no hope of pulling this one off. Every ball into the box seemed to either hit a QPR player or miss everyone, every shot was blocked or missed, and nothing would fall for us.
Update - 17/5/2012. Given my predilection for numbers, I'm a little shamefaced to say that it took an article in the New York Times to make me realise the significance of this statistic. There you go...) and 15 on target. For most of the first half, the 'Super Hoops' were reluctant to step outside their own penalty area, and yet here we were staring down the barrel of a gun, about to gift the Rags their 20th title in a way which would never be forgotten.
Now it will be remembered for all the right reasons. When the coach pulls into Corporation Street this evening, and the thousands of Blues cheer on their heroes, and for long after, the whole of football will be talking about how we won it in 2012.
In a City way.