I listened to the Wigan-West Ham game on the radio this afternoon. It sounded like the faintly unhinged sort of match you sometimes get at the season's end, when desperation mixes with fear and every chance is a last chance.
What came over really strongly was how much the fans cared. I know Wigan get derided for their attendances, but you could hear in the fevered moans at 2-0 down and the explosion of euphoric release at the end a genuine depth of feeling.
I can't remember the last time I sensed that sort of emotional connection at a Rotherham game. Even at Wembley last season, we trudged out disappointed, but no-one seemed disconsolate. (By contrast, I still remember the gnawing sadness and the silent train ride home after we lost in the play-off semi against Leyton Orient over a decade ago now).
I wonder if this is the price for coming so close to the brink of extinction. That, faced with the real prospect that the club would cease to exist, we all hardened our hearts against it that little bit, to shield ourselves from the potential blow. So now, the joys are less vivid (because we know how it feels for it to suddenly count for nothing) and the sorrows less cutting. But, the experience is less than it once was.
I wonder if it's just us (or just me)? Or whether fans of other teams who've flirted with disaster feel the same way once they're saved and things settle down a bit?
