The bottom of the barrel is pretty crowded.
Most people are closer to rock bottom than the top of the mountain.
We all end up there, bent sore on the back of a belt of losses. There’s rarely one strike in a lashing.
They come thick and fast and sting like hell.
A whipping from fate knocks our confidence. Nothing works quite the way we want it to. The ball won’t go in the back of the net.
We plug away through the mire because that is all we can do, even though every step grows heavier with the weight of the last.
We struggle because we know it only takes one win to turn things around.
One glimmer of hope. One chink in the clouds.
And the future looks a lot brighter.
A single win starts the beginning of all the great winning runs of history.