Good morning, Hank. It's Tuesday. So listen, in order to understand
what's about to happen, we need to freeze so that I can give you some context.
Woke up early in London, which is earlier back home, brushed my teeth,
had a cup of coffee in the hotel lobby while admiring my Wimbledon shoes
and then began the journey to Plough Lane. So 22 years ago, the football club
Wimbledon FC was stolen away from their community and moved
to Milton Keynes. This happens sometimes in American sports.
The St. Louis Rams become the Los Angeles Rams or whatever,
because American sports teams are franchises. But it had never
happened before in England, where sports teams are community assets.
Supporters of Wimbledon had to start over, this time with an amateur
team owned by its fans. At the beginning, they had no stadium,
no uniforms, no staff and no players. But together, they rebuilt the club.
They worked their way up the amateur divisions of English football
before becoming a full-time professional team in 2011.
And now we are in the same league as Milton Keynes, the lot who
stole our club. In 2020, Wimbledon opened a magnificent new stadium
at Plough Lane, a stadium paid for and owned by the fans, just like the club is.
But since making it back to professional football, Wimbledon
have not generally been good. In fact, no professional team in
England has lost more games in the last five years. A related fact,
only four of the 92 professional teams in England were profitable last year,
and we were one of them, because we have to be.
We have no rich owners to fund the teams, which now include a
women's side and many youth teams. But I don't care that we're
perpetually underfunded and suffering. I'm in love. And when you're in love,
you do weird things like fly to England with your friend Stewart just to
cheer on the boys against the franchise currently plying its trade in Milton Keynes.
Many have called this game one of the fiercest rivalries in football.
And the match was intense. I sang and shouted myself hoarse.
I was filled with dread. We'd never beaten Milton Keynes at home
in front of our fans. On the pitch, the Dons, some of whom have been
with Wimbledon since they were nine or ten years old, played their
guts out. But after 90 minutes that were exhausting even to watch,
there'd been twelve yellow cards but no goals. And then, in the
last minute of the game, our friend Lex happened to be recording what
they thought was the end of the game. But it wasn't the end.
[crowd cheering]
Here's how it sounded in the voice of
our longtime commentator Mikey T. [Mikey T.] Back now to Reeves,
once again, stead high and forward Brown, now with the opportunity.
Blair's going up in the center. Oh, and it's a chance for Curtis.
It's - go, go Wimbledon! It’s Ronan Curtis!
[crowd cheering] That ballboy is fine, by the way.
He later said it was the best moment of his life. I wasn't even in my body.
I was in some other place, some light soaked plane of existence
where all hope is rewarded. I mean, look at it, Hank. Look at the
20 years of shared commitment and effort that got us to this moment
and put it in the roof. The entire stadium was in ecstasy. Absolute breathless
joy flooded through me. I've never felt anything so wondrously simple.
Of all the unimportant things, football is the most important. After the game,
I celebrated with the Nerdfighters of Plough Lane, and then several players
made their way out of the locker room to be with the fans. And I met up with
the world's greatest left back, Jack Curry. And then later, Wimbledon's manager
and coaching staff showed up at the pub to take selfies and sing
with the fans. I don't need you to love football. I only need you to love
something that brings you together with others whose love is pointing
in the same direction. For me, that's football. But for you, it could
be crochet or Jane Austen or distance running. But to be
bound up with others, with friends and strangers alike, is the human condition.
And to be in community is to be, for me, anyway, more fully alive.
Of course, the game could have gone the other way. It usually will.
But every once in again, we are reminded that hope is truly
the thing with feathers. And we fall in love with the broken world
all over again. Hank, I'll see you on Friday.
[crowd singing]