I'll be cracking open a couple of my lucky cassowary eggs to make a monstrous morning omelette. The snake-slaying genes that run through the yolk of said ova should inject that underbird feeling in me and have me turn up at the game with a sense of indefatigability coursing through my feathery, unpoisonable-legged veins.
1. It is a big game against one of the division's fancied teams.
2. There will be a big crowd that, due to the kickoff time, should be well lubricated.
3. There'll also be a decent sized away following.
4. The floodlights will be on (or, at least, will come on).
1 + 2 + 3 + 4 (should) = a great atmosphere.
And, in the face of all this injury adversity, I do fancy us to sneak an unlikely win.
Bring. It. On.
(I'm even going to use a smiley. And I never use smilies.)
It's bound to be a complete letdown. I've planned a whole day of celebrations around this match, knowing that it's my 1,000th Albion game....
It won't crash*
(* - not until the humiliating defeat at Yeovil anyway)