#FPL OCD – Gameweek 8: I’d bear Sergio Aguero’s Children if it was physically possible…
Give John a follow on twitter at @JohnOC1991
Pinch me. I know it’s been a few days, but time is warped in dreams. Pinch me. Yes, I know I keep asking, but it can’t be real. It just can’t. This is the season of failure, the season of disappointment after disappointment, the season of ailing big hitters, of blank after blank, of trying to scrape together 45 points, a season with a top score of 58. I cannot have doubled that game week best. It’s all going to end, I’m going to wake up. Ok, I’ll enjoy the dream for a bit longer.
116 points. Where the bleeding hell did that come from? I had been ploughing through, knowing that it would improve, writing on here every week that things would change, but I didn’t mean this. I sat here a week ago rejoicing about consecutive scores of 55 and 58, thinking that the corner had been turned, happy to proceed with scores in the 50s, presuming that normal service had been resumed. I would have been pleased to sit here now with another 55-60 score, evidence that I had regained some stability, but 116!? From memory, it is my highest ever non-DGW score, possibly even my highest ever score in any week, and to come after such a mediocre start makes it all the more satisfying. I wrote last week that I believed that Aguero would soon explode, and it was that fear that prevented me from selling. Boy am I glad that I am a coward. I did contemplate De Bruyne for the captaincy, which in any ordinary week would have been a great choice, but when it came down to it, there was only really one man that would get the armband.
A factor that made this week all the more peculiar was that I missed the entire Saturday’s action. My fiancée and I had travelled to Bath for the weekend, on a trip to see her brother and friends of ours, and we spent the whole day in a pub with no Wi-Fi. The last I heard, Manchester City were 1-0 down, and it was looking like another bleak week for my side. It was after a few hours that one of the group, one who had not used all of his monthly mobile data on checking the scores when out and about in previous weeks as I had, made a passing comment about the football. “Did you see the City score? Aguero got 5”.
My pint crashed back down to the table, my prior conversation came to an abrupt halt. I processed what I believed I had heard, but knew I must be mistaken. “What was that?” “Yeah, Aguero got 5, they won 6-1”. Joy was etched across my face; I had become resigned to failure, and had almost forgotten about the football. The smile spread, turning to laugher. I repeated “Five? Five!?” over and over, those around becoming confused and, frankly, scared. Why was this Everton fan delirious about Manchester City? Before he could back away, I accosted my new hero, the wonderful man and his beautiful unlimited mobile data. “Do you know who got the other goal?” I was greedy, the rush of FPL points swirling around my mind. It couldn’t be, could it? “De Bruyne”. The news hit me like a freight train, the tears began to stream down my face, and I lost consciousness.*
When I came to, I begged for one quick use of this holy grail of mobile phones. The man obliged, fearing for his life, and I frantically typed in my FPL email address and password. I was blinded by a ray of light, a radiant beam of points. Well, actually, the 3 defenders had all blanked, and Mahrez had a 0 next to his name, which at the time I attributed to an admin error (they must have omitted the 1, 2 or 3 preceding the 0), but the rest. De Bruyne 15, Vardy 9, Mane 11, Butland 6, and…there he was. 50 points. 50 points from one player. Oh Sergio, how had I doubted you? Sergio, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Ser-gi-o: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Ser. Gi. O. He was Serge, plain Serge, in the morning, standing five feet eight in one sock. He was Kun on the training ground. He was Aguero on the dotted line. But in my arms he was always Sergio. I promise we will never part. Take the armband Sergio, it is yours.
There I sat, on 99 points by Saturday evening. 99 points in one day, with Sanchez and Martial still to come. I missed the Arsenal v Utd game as well, travelling back to London when it was played, but I managed to get Wi-Fi before the end of the 2nd half. Sanchez had scored twice, and I was fully in dreamland. A GW rank of 15k, and an extraordinary jump from 289k to 26k (even to 21k on Saturday night). I said last week that I could build from 289k, and begin to challenge the top 10-20k. I thought that ascent may happen over 20 GWs; I have somehow managed it in one. It is a reminder of how quickly and drastically things can change in this game, and a beacon of hope for those struggling. No matter how far adrift you are at this stage, you can recover. Aguero (C) gained 50 points (including bonus) in 20 minutes. 20 minutes. Add in De Bruyne and that’s pretty much 65 points from a 20 minute period in a single game. One spell of brilliance can change the whole season.
Now I have to recalibrate my hopes once again. Suddenly, a top 1k finish is back on the table. Timing my WCs and chips will be key, but I am firmly back where I want to be at this point of the season, and the challenge becomes different as I edge closer to the leading pack, no longer drowning in the mid table morass. This week, I will either save a FT or address my defence, probably looking at something like Huth to Souare. I would like Payet, and maybe even to dip my hand back into the Walcott fire, but I am happy with my attackers and do not wish to ditch any. I will assess again after the internationals, but for now, I will bask in this fortnight dream a little longer. Sergio Aguero, my 5 goal captain hero.
*Dramatisation, may not have happened
Written by @JohnOC1991
John went to University, finished his degree, and got a good job in the City of London. He is now in the process of throwing it all away in favour of FPL, a game with no notable rewards for success. He firmly believes this to be the correct decision.