I'm not sure that I can handle it.
Gnawed nails, tense shoulders, apprehensive stomach....I'm not even hungry, and normally, I would love pottering around the stove to prepare some pasta.
I wish this match was over and that we had won by something approaching 3-0.
But then, I also wish there was truth in the Tooth Fairy tale, or in Father Christmas.
What can I say?
This is pathetic: I am trying to tell myself that I'm not ten years of age any longer, liable to burst out bawling crying, sobbing on my way to hide in the hedges (as Other Brother once did, surprisingly late in his teens when Manchester United were defeated in a significant match).....
If Arsenal were - let us say - third in the table, with Champions League qualification more or less assured, without the slightest hope of claiming the title, I think I would be more relaxed about this evening.
But, we have led since (almost) the start of the season, - the hard way, leading from the front for what seems forever - and there is a (genuine if slightly fading) hope that we might yet claim our first title since 2004, which is (now) almost twenty years ago.
As
@Sal09 (I think) says: It is the hope that kills......