Our Euro 2004 qualifiers - OK, all a long time ago, but wasn't it the biggest choke in sporting history? That and Paula Radcliffe. Enough to make your correspondent change his Christian name to Melon.
But even amid the acid bath football - during 2003/04 an acid bath would have been less painful - there were some life-enhancing moments once you'd got over the heartache (that took five months). This is just a reminder of the, er, good times, so you can pump yourself up for the World Cup fiascos to come.
Best quote: Scene - Maesteg posse in a Milan pizzeria, the day after the worst day of our lives.
Pete Clement: Oi, Andrew, give us your mobile phone, butt. I want to phone home.
Andrew: (coshed by police the previous night after trying to stop his sonbeing duffed up by Italian ratbags): You gotta be bloody joking. Last timeyou used my mobile phone, you called Azerbaijan to find out the under-21s half time score. No way.
Pete: Listen, give us your phone or you'll get another hammering!
Drinkers of the Millennium: Group prize - Bala. This is an away trip in-joke really, but does this need any explanation?
Individual prize: Step forward Charles Bukowski wannabe Mark Ainsbury who tried to drink Baku dry, succeeded and would have slurped the Caspian dry too - and extinguished the world's sturgeon population - had he notcollapsed just in time. Sturgeons are safe this week as he is not going back.
Best trip: Most would say Baku 2002 but for me it was Russia by a mile. The headfucks' headfuck. Home of Headfuck Inc. It was the closest you get to living in the dinosaur age. You're the peace-loving veggie-eating, isn't-that-a-lovely-sunset? diplodocus and everyone else is Tyrannosaurus Rex (not the band) lurking round the corner waiting to mug you, hit you, snarl at you, chase you up the road. And that was just the ladies. It was croc-eat-croc and the sense of living for every microsecond was palpable. It was thrilling, manically intense, horrible and hilarious. I couldn't talk when I came back, I'm sure I've got Gulf War Syndrome. Can we play you every week (but not at home)?
Vengeance: The website will be mounting a guerilla attack for the next visit to Wales by Italy. Not to swap knuckle knowhow with Venetian villains and Milanese maggots. That would be uncouth and anyway they'd probably have an iron bar tucked down their trousers. Nope, we're gonna be Sopranos-subtle, storming the PA booth to drown out the Italian national anthem by putting on that splendid Dead Kennedys record, "Fuck the Pope."
Best moment: Well it has to be Simon Davies's goal in Finland, the moment you simultaneously couldn't contain your joy and knew we were in for a white knuckle ride that would end in tears. It started in tears too, because goal caused the fan next to me to cry his eyes out cos he knew what was coming next. So, in a way, it was also the worst moment.
A personal plea: To Ivana from Belgrade - the sort of woman who, on meeting her, sparks a frantic search of your pockets for stones so that you can start building a shrine to her. If you're reading this, love, I still haven't washed the socks I wore during that glorious drink-drive escapade across Belgrade when your Skoda nearly skidded into the Danube. What a way to got that would've been. Rwy'n di garu di.
Best story: This has already been in Awe - Dylan Llewelyn's wonderful book which you should buy (£7.95 at www.gwales.com). But for non-Welsh speakers, here we go: Billy Bollocks and Tommi Twp visited Macedonia before the match in Serbia. After a night's drinking they started to trudge home. Realising that their destination was the other side of an expanse of water, tired Billy Bollocks (not his real name), started to think of acquiring transport to ease his weary legs.
So he decided, as you would, to borrow a boat to get back quicker. He borrowed a boat, started it up and was almost immediately picked up by Macedonian police and given the third degree, night in clink etc etc. Lucky not to get a hammering given the sort of recent history the Balkans has endured.
Meanwhile Tommi Twp (not his real name) decided not to borrow a boat. Instead he slumped in the nice, comfortable, alluring mud for a rest. He woke up in the morning with a hand the size of a balloon and, Duw Duw, it was rather painful. On arriving in Belgrade the pain was excrutiating, requiring a hospital visit. Where they told him: "You have been attacked bya scorpion." What a way to go that would've been - Death by Scorpion on Wales trip.
Euro 2004's top fan: Wayne Price of Carmarthen. Someone who plays League of Wales football for Carmarthen and then skips games to watch Wales. I like it. Plus we all played with a League of Wales star in the fans' match in San Jose (and still lost 5-2 to a team fielding two, albeit very canny, women). Someone who decided that the only way he can afford to go to Moscow was to sell his car - well that's beyond dedication, that's worship. In fact, he didn't have to sell his car in the end. But the fact that he was prepared to do so earns him the top fan accolade.
Was it worth it? After 20,000+ miles (if you include the US trip to California), watching Wales meant three days in aeroplanes, a sore wallet
and an achey-breaky heart for months. By results alone, the answer is no - 2003's four away trips produced no Welsh goals. Despite ordeals galore - the murderous Milanese, Baku's barmy cabbies, self-centred Yankee wankers, bent Russian coppers, Serbian neo-Nazis - it was worth it - I'm not quite sure why.
Every last minute of it was a privilege.
Cadwch y ffydd