No Way Out

Well there's a man I know, at least I used to years ago. I didn't really mind, he used to come round all the time. Of course he had to be fed, I had to give him a bed. He used to kip on my sofa, they used to call him a loafer.

Suggs sang that, it was fitting for a while as I showed hospitality to an East Midlands lad. He's back in Derby now (this lad, not Suggs) and to be fair, he's bloody 'full of it'.

A week before kick off my phone was restless, every day a text came through delighting in the Rams current good form and his predictions for the Saturday whilst poking fun at our less than satisfactory results, league position and hopes for both the match and the future generally. I didn't really mind, he used to come round all the time. Not any more, that kind of attitude wouldn't get him through the front door, even if he is right on every count.

He knew Derby would win the Wednesday before, I knew Derby would win the Wednesday before yet come Saturday I still obligingly arrived in SE7, spent a fair share of my weekly pay packet, and came away just as depressed as I was on arrival. I wasn't the only one.

The takeover by the rich 'septic' is off, the manager and the majority of the team don't have a clue as to who will employ them come next summer, the consumer, the customer is dejected, the owners have no interest and just want to sell what they see as a lost cause, the atmosphere around the place is one of defeat, if it wasn't football but just another business venture the towel would have been thrown in ages ago. If it were a horse it would have been shot, turned into burgers and would currently be residing on the supermarket shelf resplendent in a yellow reduced sticker.

Chris Powell respectfully, dutifully, and emotionally said his players gave not only him but all the fans everything they had. Unfortunately that just doesn't seem to be enough. Week in week out we play well but always lack two elements, goals and luck. If we could just find one of these the other would be sure to follow.

We conceded two against Derby, the first a free kick which took a major deflection off the wall,wrong footing our keeper and the second a deflating match winner after we had run our hearts out and were ready to collapse. This against a team which are without doubt the in form side in the division. This against an in form side whilst we are without, Leon Cort, Richard Wood, Chris Solly, Ben Hamer, four players that would all stake a claim to a starting place in a full strength defence. Quality in depth certainly isn't a hindrance in certain areas of the park.

Our best chance though also fell to a defender, Michael Morrison, who should really have done so much better with his header. On another day, under different circumstances...

Kermorgant looked lonely up front, often dropping deep for the company. Church was dropped to the bench to consort Marvin Sodall. Both would later come on as Powell adopted rather desperate 'three up front' tactics. Bradley Pritchard got a start (a player out of his depth at this level coming in against the form team!), as did Danny Green who did everything right except for the finding the killer cross. Callum Harriott also appeared from the bench running circles around the visiting defence but, like a dog chasing its tail, with little direction or purpose to all his hard work.

Derby County, who for marketing reasons presumed their white shirts and black shorts would clash with our traditional red jerseys and therefore wore their 'thunderbirds' third kit, knew that if they soaked up the pressure without having to exert too much energy they could counter and find another victory.

I refuse to blame the referee at all, in fact I always see it as being a little despairing when we do, but there is little doubt he was atrocious. As have been so many before him, but no team finds themselves as precarious as ourselves solely on the basis of poor match officials. This is still largely a League One squad that has lost its match winners. Fuller, Haynes, and to a lesser extent Wright-Phillips, all gone and not really replaced, not that that's Powell's fault. If he's got any sense he'll be looking to the future, we won't be adding to the squad in January, it's unlikely he'll get the boot as Slater and Jimenez won't be able to entice anyone else here, no, he'll be watching the managerial merry go round closely to see where his next opportunity lays. Love, passion, pride, loyalty, he has the lot but he's still got a family to feed as have the rest of the squad that are currently faced with no secure future.

They all have a way out. We however are stuck with this melancholy for the foreseeable future, until either fortunes somehow change for the better or the owners finally run this club into the ground.

Happy Christmas.

One Step Beyond

Cardiff City had become the nearly men of the Championship, synonymous with falling at the last hurdle. Tuesday evening they went one step beyond and secured promotion to the promised land, keeping in line with the hopes demands of their new businessmen owners.

A pitch invasion at the end was beamed into the homes of football fans everywhere showing how a capacity crowd were enjoying the fruits of both Malky Mackay's leadership and a bucket load of cash from Malaysia. Not that I begrudge them, promotion is a feeling second to none but if I were in that position I'm sure (easy to say when it isn't you I know) I'd be watching non league football having sent my season ticket back, therefore watching the pitch invasion of jubilant friends and colleagues on my television set with the rest of the country. As they say on twitter, #againstmodernfootball.

Charlton had arrived in Wales on the back of their greatest ever away victory, the Bluebirds were going to have to work hard for their long awaited half a century return to the top flight of English football and the chance once again to tackle fierce Welsh rivals Swansea City.

The Addicks for all their valour gave a strong performance but it was never going to be a night where the Londoners made the headlines. We can reflect on taking four points off undoubtedly the best team in this division over the two games and also take heart that, as we approach the finishing tape, we have not only had a respectable campaign but also got through it unscathed as a squad. We feared all along that Chris Solly and Dale Stephens to name but two could depart for international fame and wads of cash at such alluring places as The Boleyn and Villa Park. They stayed put, Chris Powell kept his head and we sit ninth with only three games left to go. That came round quick didn't it!

I've no idea what next season will bring but I promise you one thing, if Slater and Jimenez change our kit to blue, nickname us the Blue Peters or we become The Charlton Nike Red Bull Jets they will be receiving my season ticket recorded delivery as quickly as the Royal Mail can humanly deliver it.

As Cardiff were celebrating in Wales, just across the border at Ashton Gate, Bristol City were realizing the gravity of a situation that in all honesty had been written on the wall for a couple of months now. The Robins were the first side to fall through the basement trapdoor into League One. It's a feeling we still remember far too well and if they're not managed at all levels particularly well next season, they could be playing counterparts Rovers far quicker than they ever anticipated. You only have to look at Portsmouth and to a slightly lesser degree Scunthorpe this season to see money will be harder than ever to come by, and fans favourites on the pitch equally as hard to hold on to.

As Charlton fans enjoyed their final midweek away day of the season, I was stationed far closer to home at The Hawth theatre in Crawley to be precise. The star of the night in West Sussex was Madness frontman Suggs.

This wasn't a Madness gig or even, as has become trendy of late, a solo acoustic set. This was Suggs telling us his life story. He had turned fifty, his cat had died and he felt the urge to tour the country reflecting as he went on the rather bizarre and dysfunctional events of his childhood, the search for the truth about his father and those carefree days as a young musician. At £25 a head I'm guessing his need for a little income may too have influenced his decision to tour small town theatres!

A sell out crowd included many a familiar face. Local men that were once skinheads, soul boys, Mods and scooter boys, there was a large selection of Fred Perry polos and Adidas trainers as many of these gents still carried their youthful exuberance with style and a swagger, even if the bodies were getting larger and the hair harder to comb. I cannot really comment though as i stood there equally trapped in time resplendent in ten hole cherry red DM's, crombie and gingham check Ben Sherman shirt. Suggs himself looked just as dashing in a green check three button slimfit suit. A life in the public eye certainly hadn't increased his waistline by too much!

I hadn't too much idea of what to expect other than this you tube clip from an evening earlier on the tour. Suggs was far funnier than I imagined, his comic timing superb whilst running two or three story lines simultaneously and switching back and forth when you least expected it. Interspersed with this were tuneful interludes as he sang excerpts of a handful of well known classics accompanied by the only other person on stage, a lad in smart polo and Weller haircut, on the piano.

The jokes and the stories reminded us all of some great old days past, Suggs hinted how knowing what we do now, wished he'd given a kick to a certain cigar smoking Top Of The Pops presenter when he had the chance, yet also showed a real talent when he impersonated the great Tommy Cooper to perfection. A lot of what he said went over the head of my young wife, yet even she left knowing she had witnessed something quite special. I left finally knowing for sure that Jerry Dammers didn't call his record label '2 tone' out of reverence to his teeth.

A good night all round then, especially for those Cardiff supporters. As for the Malaysian owners however, rubbing their hands with glee at the giant money pot they've just prised open, can I just say on behalf of all football fans that value the history and heritage of their clubs, in the words of a man mourning his cat,  you're an embarrassment!