It’s matches like this that convince me I need to find a better way to spend 90 minutes drinking wine. What a steaming pile of gash - a complete absence of desire.
Sunderland are lying on their backs and pleading with us to be fvcked…and still we go “well, actually, the wife wouldn’t like it so would you mind if I just spent an hour or so in the room doing nothing then went home riddled with guilt?”
And I love not having commentary - but fvck me, could someone in the crowd make a noise? Even if it’s just to shout “sit down” or “does anyone know the time of the last train to Newcastle?”
Abysmal.