The start of the week was disappointing. I shouldn’t have deluded myself that it was going to be different. Every time I build myself up and look forward to it and every time I get let down. You would think over the years I would have become immune to it but no, it still hurts. I don’t suppose I was on my own in feeling dejected but there is little comfort in the safety of numbers. Enough about Valentine’s Day. It’s over rated anyway.
West Ham. My my those East End boys had a comfortable stroll to give the much revered Ron Greenwood a fine send off. You would think that given our position we would have put up more of a fight. We didn’t even throw a windmill right haymaker. As a fan it is bizarre to watch your team play so apathetically against a team who are comfortably safe with outside dreams of maybe making a European competition although their fans are only whispering it.
The manner in which Harewood and Ashton chased every back pass, every defensive crablike shuffle and also harassed every midfielder within shouting distance was an example to our players. They played as if they were the ones in trouble who badly needed the points. They played with passion, honour, commitment and desire. Our insipid eleven went through the motions. The Blues looked a relegated side rather than one with hope and the sheer bloody mindedness needed to stave off the threat of relegation. It was embarrassing.
No one was capable of passing the ball. No one made a thunderous tackle that would inspire the comrades to raise their game. I doubt one of them could have trapped a bag of cement.
Can the players not see that relegation can be avoided if they put in a bit of effort? At one stage my West Ham co-commentator praised Gabbidon for a neat header back to Shaka Hislop. I pointed out that if the picture was framed it perfectly captured the reason why we are in the brown smelly stuff. The whole of the West Ham half was visible (whole half?) and yet there was not a single Birmingham City player in view. Not one. And yet when the Blues were trying to make clearances the Hammers chased like their lives depended upon it and often we were forced to simply hack the ball up field and concede possession.
For the first goal some comedy pinball resulted in the ball being beautifully cushioned into the path of Harewood by Cunningham. One touch, bang, one nil. Ten minutes in, away from home and already the game was lost. Oh come on it was! Bruce seemed to think that the second goal killed the game. Hmmm maybe it simply made the game safe. One thing is for sure and that’s the fact that once again we didn’t look capable of scoring. In my book that means that one goal against such impotent opposition is enough.
The handball was a farce. I know Latka is new to the English game and therefore we can forgive him some naivety, especially after a couple of fairly impressive performances. But even if you have just emerged from the Amazon rainforest you would know that Marlon Harewood is not going to drop backwards and Hugo Sanchez the ball into the roof of the net from the edge of the box. So why punch it?
I don’t get it. From Brucie’s charades simulation of the incident he didn’t appear too enamoured either.
All round it was dismal and embarrassing. I have started to admit that we are probably going to be relegated. Purely because when you look at the commitment of the troops you have to question whether they have the stomach for the battle. Our only hope is that one of the players emerges as a leader and role model and spurs the others onto seriously examining their attitude and desire for this club. We would all hate to be relegated but most of us fans have been there before and we’ll be here long after some of the undercommitted have gone.
The FA Cup adds a minor distraction. I still dislike the competition. I know it’s the greatest cup in the world and some team from the Lickey Hills could win it if they had a bit of luck but it's not our thing. Stoke wait like a giant banana skin. Their fans can only see one result. Most of our honest fans can also only see one result.
The hammers have hammered us, the Black Cats have still to cross our path. Can our luck change? I hope so, I really hope so. Read some Churchill and some Henry V and let’s have something to cheer about.
Keep right on. Thanks for the card. To Darren love Darren. At least it was from someone I love!
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