Does a whole generation matter less than a moment of football roguery?
I was beginning to think there was no getting over the result of the match the other night. What a sickening feeling that was when we all realised we had been cheated out of a possible place in the World Cup finals.
Possibly the most blatant handball in the history of the game, at least in its televised history. There were no blurred images, no possibility that our eyes had deceived us. And suddenly we were out. Robbed. The better team, as objectively as possible, beaten by an inferior team on the night.





