As West Ham was playing Forest in the cup, I was moving my mother into sheltered accommodation. She's leaving the flat she's lived in for 58 years and now often doesn't recognise as her home. In the brickwork by the front door, there is a gouged crossed hammers from my childhood (as well as WHUFC). I think I got told off for doing that, but not much, as Dad was the person responsible for taking me to West Ham.
My eldest daughter was assisting in the move (as was The Controller [and her mother] who assisted and project managed at the same time) and was able to source the progress of the game on her phone to hear Radio 5 Live Extra's commentary.
We were winning immediately and then predictably were behind. What wasn't predictable was that we came back, took a lead and held on to win.
And during all of this I was ferrying bits and pieces around and trying to be sure my Mum was happy. I can't say I gave the football much thought, but I did make sure to tell her we'd won, which she thought was good. As she did whenever Dad and I came home and we'd won, but she did rather come from the 'it's only a game' school when it came to losing. Just like The Controller.
And on days like Sunday, it does rather give it a perspective.
But it's still good to win ...
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