Thankfully, last week’s combination of results didn’t really do us any harm, so we’re in more or less the same position as we were before we headed off to Portsmouth, and our home results look to be the ones that will keep us there or thereabouts. The ones that will make a positive difference look to be our games at Derby and the stinky mags. Let’s start at Derby, eh?

That being a neutral note, let’s go for a negative one just to start the balancing act. Liam Miller. Sunderland. Roy Keane. Timekeeping. The three words that initially spring to mind are nose, face, and spite. I don’t know the full details, and I understand that a line has to be drawn somewhere, as Roy says, but we could potentially lose our most creative midfielder this season (although I hope that Richardson has enough time to challenge or surpass this) and that would not be a good thing. Who’d be a manager, eh

On the positive side (thank goodness for positive sides), Mr Scudamore’s brainstorm, otherwise known as the 39 th game (or the 39 th step, soon to be a major Hollywood blockbuster starring Renee Zellweger, in her most challenging role to date, as the befuddled soccer supremo) has been all but kicked into touch. Even if it doesn’t happen, what it has done is tip many fans over the edge of the traditional blind acceptance of the nonsense that is foisted upon them by the powers that be. Around the country, the FSF (Football Supporters’ Federation) has held meetings to gauge the level of objection to this proposal, and has discovered that a lot of people are unhappy with a lot of things. Now that people have recognised that there is a body out there which they can use for support in matters of fans in football, football might just stop taking us for granted. High ticket prices, disproportionately high ticket prices for away fans, crap facilities, treatment of away fans, movement of fixtures – there is a vehicle there that can take up the cause and shake it in the face of the authorities. You never know, they might start paying us more than lip service. If you keep on doing what you always did, you’ll keep on getting what you always got. Let them know you’re there, let them know you care.

Also on the negative side was Andrew/Andy Cole’s hoying up in front of the Polis for allegedly thumping their lass. I know nowt of the details, but if she wasn’t fast enough to get out of his way she must have been pretty slow. Not that I condone any of that sort of thing, mind ye.

Also definitely positive was the achievement of Bally’s Bairns in the FA Youth Cup at the expense of Charlton, setting up a tie against Man City. Forty years ago (give or take) we won that competition, and from that side came a number of players who achieved good things for the first team at Sunderland. Let’s hope for the same success in the competition and a similar output of players.

Happy days.

Along came the trip to Derby, the day after most of us good-looking Lads in red and white had fought off the Leap Year proposals of every unmarried supermodel in the world, while Dawn French lookalikes roamed the streets around the Bigg Market, seeking Greggs-on-legs Toonies to claim as future spouses (spice?). The biggest pre-match achievement was getting our Ian out of bed in time for Sixer’s taxi to Thinford, then it was a couple of hours to the now usual pre-Derby stop in Alfreton. The bairn had claimed that we always win when he goes to Derby, so who am I to argue with that sort of logic when we need the points?

Our motorway stop was interrupted by the presence of Barnard Castle School on a Rugger Trip to somewhere. Personally, I’ve no real objection to those folks, but when you can’t get a cup of coffee for fourteen-year-olds with a vocabulary restricted to “yah” and “totally” - all with the collar turned up, Cantona style, you can get a wee bit miffed. Mind ye, George’s stance of “come the revolution, they’ll be the first lined up and shot” might have been a tad extreme. Still, they crowded out Ann’s attempt at buying every cheap watch in the world, and our Ian revealed that he’d played against current England Rugby star Matthew Tait, an old boy of that school. At football, that is. Tibshelf, we love you.

Alfreton, oh Alfreton. What a nice place for a drink.

It was a quick drop-off and a nice pint in the ‘Spoons (see what I did there,I can do abbreviations) We spent a good hour in there, discussing the career of a certain Jimmy Clitheroe – the inspiration behind Jimmy Krankie, believe it or not, and the mainstay of our Sunday afternoon listenings in those daft days before 24 hour-a –day TV. then a walk up to the Vic, where the landlord remembered us from a couple of years back. On the way, we’d looked out for the drunky-chappy with the cans of cider, but he wasn’t in his front-garden, instead being out the back standing guard over the biggest bonfire in the East Midlands. He even roared his appreciation at out presence (I think he said “hwaarrrr, y’fekkas) as we made our way down the road, but you never know, Mebbe he was talking shite. Anyhow, we managed a few games of pool, couldn’t get out the back to dance with Thin Lizzy (the mop) as we’d done last time, and Ian managed to clear the bar with a well-time bout of flatulence. I’ll blame his mam’s genes for that one.

So it was into Pride Park, and probably the best pint of pre-match beer in the Prem. There was git he-owge amount of visiting fans, as you’d expect, and the concourse was proper bouncing (as the bairn has telt me to tell it) before the game. I managed to “Do a Ronnie” by pouring a pint up my sleeve as someone asked me the time. Bugger. It still smells of beer, and it was my wrong arm, so how did that work?. There you go.

So we kicked off, Gordon, Bardsley, Evans, Noz, and Higgi (in for Collins) at the back, Reid, Deano, Richardson, and Murphy across the middle, and Jones up front with Chops. At least I think that’s the way they were supposed to line up. We’d barely had time to take our seats before Murphy turned and swung a right (aye, right) foot but saw his effort come back off the post. Could have been the start we needed, but it didn’t wasn’t. Nee luck, like, but if you hit the target then you don’t need luck. As far as football goes, that was about it. 0-0 at half time (obviously) was a bit disappointing as we’d been the better of two poor teams. As at Portsmouth, we failed to create enough chances, but replays have shown that Chops was onside when he put the ball away – thanks Ref Riley, that just about capped an awful display. Richo was the pick of the central midfield, while Jones battered about against Darren Moore and Alan Stubbs (otherwise known as The Doormen). Moore could easily have been sent of had Riley had the guts to book him for his first lifting of Jones in the centre circle, but Riley can be safely put in the category “coward” when it comes to making that sort of decision. Richardson got a shot across the keeper which was parried to Higgi, but his effort was cleared off the line. Chopra also managed to misdirect his header, which is simply not good enough, and Roy tried to liven things up by replacing Reid with Leadbitter. Young Grant tried his best, but couldn’t get in the telling balls or killer shots that we know he’s capable of. Likewise, Stokes came on for Murphy late on, but that was more a last-gasp effort. Derby looked like a desperate side, committing foul after foul, and encouraging the chant from the visiting fans – “you’re going to break our record.”

As the minutes ticked away, Kenny Miller broke through (didn’t we try to buy him a while back?) but Craig Gordon came off his line like a man with a mission and scared the Bejasus out of their man. Good keeping, my man. If you’re six foot and a bit, use it.

As a footballing spectacle, it was poor. The words “paint” and “dry” come to mind. The other Derby(shire) cheered us up a bit with his last minute winner at Sid James – OK, maybe I’m a bit too concerned with what happens to them up the road, but they’re an easy target – while Boro proved that you couldn’t trust them to soil their shorts if they had cholera by losing to Reading. At least we stayed out of the drop-zone, but it’s uncomfortably close. The extra two points that Chopra’s goal would have given us would have had us nicely up the table a bit, but that’s life. On the bright side, it was another clean sheet.

Man of the Match? Richo, as I’ve said, was the pick of central midfield, and Evans mopped up every (albeit pathetic) thing Derby could throw at us, while Chops buzzed about like a mad thing. Andy Reid did a few good things (Andy Reid, plays on the wing, he loves MacDonald’s and Burger King – perhaps a bit cruel), but I think Murphy was the man who looked most likely to do something.

Moment of the day? The black BMW (126 BAH) with the lass in the front. When you’re cruising the shopping streets of a provincial market town, pet, don’t sit there with your chest out. On the other hand, go for it.

Everton, bring them on.

Keep the faith, it should get better

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