Walk On.

It's the hope that kills you.

Twelve years since the last time and thirteen since the absolute pinnacle, this one hurt. And hurt very very hard indeed.
There's plenty to be said and no doubt there will be in time. About the fucking dirty shit who did what fucking dirty shits do, about how European footballing royalty did what they do and about how having a brain in your head and bones in your hands are always essentials for being a goalkeeper.
There's plenty of noise already being made by the empty vessels who always clang loudest at such times; determined to revel in the misery of others because their own existence is so dull, esteem so lacking, imagination wanting.

The sun will still come up tomorrow and the world will continue on its way and eventually the hurt will fade and we'll walk on with hope in our hearts, even if it's the hope that kills you.

But we'll never walk alone. You'll Never Walk Alone.