“Mentals” – the beauty of the game.

There’s something a bit special about those few seconds that follow the ball hitting the back of the net. Whether it’s a dramatic last-gasp winner, a wonder goal from 30 yards or an equaliser in the dying moments; the “mental” that ensues is a truly exceptional thing. If you could bottle that moment of pure ecstasy, you’d be a very rich man indeed. Whelan’s winner in the dying minutes at White Hart Lane, Beattie rising high at the back post to give our 10 men the 3 points over Man City, Charlie Adam’s belter from 20 yards out to secure victory over Manchester United; just 3 examples of some of the better “mentals” we’ve experienced in recent years. When the touch paper is lit, all bets are off. Anyone within a 6 foot radius is in danger of receiving a bear hug, regardless of them being a complete stranger. It’s one of the scarce occasions that public displays of affection between men are an acceptable occurrence. The pure elation as thousands of fans erupt all at once; as emotions go, they don’t come much better.

 

The bigger the goal, the more intense the “mental”. My personal favourite came during the 5-0 trouncing of Bolton at Wembley in the FA Cup Semi Final. We had already found ourselves 2-0 up on the day, courtesy of goals from Etherington and Huth. Feeling a bit shell-shocked and still coming to terms with the scoreline, Jermaine Pennant put Jones through one-on-one with a great slide rule pass. As Kenwyne slotted the ball home the Stoke fans went ballistic and the mental that followed was off the Richter scale. We were 3-0 up in an FA Cup Semi Final at Wembley. To say it was surreal would be an understatement. Grown men falling down rows of seats as the scenes escalated into pandemonium. By the time things had started to settle down I found myself on the floor, in the aisle, around 6 steps down from where we were sat. It was at this point I noticed my Dad and my Father-in-Law strewn out across the concrete steps too. Three grown men, in a crumpled heap, displaying zero amount of dignity or self-respect. I have absolutely no recollection how we ended up where we did. The adrenaline had taken over and for the life of me I recall nothing about those 60 seconds of my life. The only memory we had were the bruises we carried with us the following day.

 

Those moments of pure elation are what keep us going back for more. That quest for the next moment of exhilaration. They say in Golf you forget all your dreadful shots and just remember that one beautiful strike. The one you hit so sweetly; the one that floats majestically through the air before nestling a few feet away from the hole. The principle is basically the same for football. You can sit through the most mundane 90 minutes you’re ever likely to witness. Throw in a last minute winner though and everything that went before is instantly forgotten. You’re immediately looking forward to the next match.

 

In December of last year, Mourinho’s Chelsea rocked up at The Britannia Stadium, with The Pensioners representing a side we had yet to beat since our return to the top flight. What transpired was an entertaining, end-to-end match, with the scores tied at 2-2 as the game reached its dying embers. As the clock ticked over into the 90^th minute, Assaidi broke away with space opening up in front of him. It would have been so easy to play for the corner, kill off the game and secure a very decent point. He only had one thing on his mind though, and that certainly wasn’t time wasting. The Morroccan was flying down the left flank and jinked inside onto his right foot, leaving Ivanovic for dead in the process. 25 yards out, he readied his right leg for a shot with just seconds remaining. He couldn’t do it surely, could he? One of the best keepers in the league prepared himself for the effort as Assaidi unleashed an unstoppable thunderbolt goal-bound in front of The Boothen End faithful. Those few seconds as the ball travelled through the air seemed like a lifetime. Thousands of Stoke fans crept to their feet in muted silence as they followed the trajectory in hope of its final destination. As Petr Cech launched himself full stretch towards the far corner, the ball arrowed sweetly past his outstretched fingertips and smashed into the top corner of the net. A flash of beautiful artistry from a cultured right peg was instantaneously followed by a moment of absolute carnage and mayhem in the stands. All inhibitions were temporarily suspended and the Stoke City brethren celebrated like a crowd of raging banshees. As moments go, it summed up the beauty of the game to a T – the pure perfection of an unadulterated mental.