Tomorrow is Sunday. Prayer is inevitable. Perhaps Liverpool folk will hope that Manchester City hit the woodwork three times and are struck by a gentle case of gastroenteritis. Maybe City people will wish that Liverpool miss two penalties and lose to an own-goal in the 93rd minute.
This is football, it's the last day, it's crazy, it's tense, it's bloody good fun. In this unforgiving faith it's apparently permissible to find pleasure in someone else's tragedy. Hell, if Brighton score against City, Liverpool will adopt them.
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