Waiting On A Sunny Day

There are two things in this world that have the complete, ironclad, no-holds-barred, bona fide ability to wreck my day: the weather, and the Albion. Today they both combined in some sort of two-pronged attack on my well-being, as I watched my Baggies sink to a dismal home defeat against Blackburn while it royally pissed it down outside for the first time in quite a few weeks, ridding the streets of the last few traces of snow. Joy to the world, the rain has come. And it's brought a merry old relegation battle along with it. Buggeration.

Of course, any budding meteorologists out there will no doubt have sussed that for me to be complaining about rain whilst voluntarily living in the north west of England is a little like the Pope moaning that he can't go out on the pull these days. You knew what you were letting yourself in for, mate. It's not like the North Lancashire Tourist Board regularly depicts palm tree beaches and hula dancers in its literature. And obviously, the same thing applies to the footy: if you didn't want to watch your team make things as massively difficult for themselves at every possible juncture as they humanly could, why on earth did you decide to support West Bromwich Albion?

It's not just being a glutton for punishment, although sometimes I wonder whether that's a large part of it. Like a drug that snares its user at first try, leaving them desperately hoping for another hit just like it, you're prepared to take as many of the bad times as necessary in order to feel that exhilaration when things finally get good again. You remember that sunny day we had back in July? Oh aye, that was a good 'un. Can't wait for next year's. You remember when Albion won the play-off final in '93, beat Bradford and Palace to go up in '02, pulled off the Great Escape in '05, snatched promotion with Brunty's goal in '08? Yep, and at the time it was worth all the more for having sat through the miserable days of defeat, the numerous relegations, financial uncertainties, and unbelievable mismanagement.

And see, aside from trifling matters like money and self-respect, that's exactly what keeps me from jetting to Barbados or jettisoning my support for the Albion. What use is a warm, sunny day when the last 364 have been just as beautiful? What satisfaction is winning a match if you haven't been on a losing streak?

At least, that's what I tell myself after a few pints when I'm listening to the raindrops rattle off the window, having finished crying over the match highlights. One way or another, the summer just can't come soon enough.