In the Lap of the Footballing Gods

I had intended to calm down and reflect upon today’s events before putting finger to keyboard, but after several hours of staring into the middle-distance – haunted by the horrifying, paralysing, gut-wrenching images that I now suspect have permanently scorched into my retinas – I think I may as well write this now, because I may never fully get over what happened today.

Improbably, unbelievably, yet undeniably, the South Coast Derby bragging rights have once again been snatched away from Southampton in a cruel twist of fate; overwhelming euphoria was sucked out of me and replaced by a sickening feeling in my stomach – all in the space of a second.

A ridiculously sweet strike from David Norris in the 93^rd minute silenced what had previously been a stadium absolutely rocking. Flares were going off, some fans were on the pitch, but most importantly, I had thought, Pompey would be going home with their tails between their legs knowing that they had surrendered us a massive three points. Instead, they were the jubilant ones and I sat with my head in my hands for a good ten minutes after the final whistle.

These are the margins, the highs and lows of football as dictated to all of us Believers by the footballing Gods. 

Southampton dominated the first half this afternoon. Billy Sharp broke the deadlock with a neat finish to spark the first of the day’s wild celebrations. Soon after, however, Chris Maguire arrowed home a shot off the underside of Kelvin Davis’ crossbar. Saints threatened again through Lallana, Lambert and Hooiveld, but somehow the scores were level at the break.

Portsmouth ‘keeper Ashdown made two superb saves to keep the home side out early in the second period; first he kept out Lallana’s stunning volley, next he reacted brilliantly to stop Fonte’s close range header. It seemed as though Southampton would continue to turn the screw until the pressure told, but as the half wore on it was the visitors who were growing into the game. Perhaps it was the absence of Morgan Schneiderlin, withdrawn after a vicious early challenge from Varney, that affected the Saints, but they were no longer in control of the midfield, or the match.

Frustration grew amongst the fans as Southampton’s play looked more and more aimless; Lambert – clearly not fully fit after missing last week’s trip to Blackpool – carried little of his usual threat, while Guly’s performance was so lacklustre that his substitution was called for and then applauded by the home fans. With just minutes remaining, Lallana was sent through by Fonte but inexplicably decided to try to round the ‘keeper rather than shoot. He ran the ball out of play and went over Ashdown’s dive, almost apologetically appealing for a spot-kick.

As the game entered stoppage time Lallana whipped a corner into the near post, a flick-on sent it across the six-yard box, and Billy Sharp poked it past Ashdown and into the bottom corner of the net. Indescribable levels of jubilation swept the ground not once but twice as the referee overruled his assistant’s flag and awarded the goal. Four minutes were added, but Portsmouth looked spent; they had never seriously threatened all game and it would take something very special now to deny Southampton a wonderfully significant Derby-day victory.

To my disbelief, they found that something special. In the dying embers of stoppage time, Norris struck an unstoppable volley past Davis and the day’s, and possibly the season’s, complexion changed.

An appalling way to spend an afternoon, I’m sure you will agree. But I think, as I read smug and premature comments from supporters of teams affected, that I see some light at the end of the tunnel. Yes, of course! There are other football matches, still.

I have only one day to wait until my next foray into the realm of the emotional rollercoaster – Southampton’s bid for promotion. Crystal Palace away, a travelling contingent of just under 6,000 Saints fans, and no better way to spend Easter Monday. A win there and I might, just might, bring myself to forgive the footballing Gods for the unspeakably unjust events they conjured up today. I may not understand Their judgements, but I have a little faith.