So, what to make of the Tan u-turn / climbdown / retreat / flip-floppy backpedal? The instinct to celebrate and submit to the joy and the relief of a hard won victory is mitigated by the knowledge that the scoundrel entirely responsible for the debacle doesn’t have the good grace to hold his hands up, admit that he was wrong and apologise.
His press statement amounted to an artless obfuscation, referencing his Mum, the Buddha and quoting JFK in an attempt to appear magnanimous and wise. Are we expected to be grateful? Ultimately the ditching of the despised rebrand was a hard-headed business decision. The product was no longer attractive to the loyal customer and the business model unsustainable. Simply Mr Tan, in the words of the chant ‘We’re Cardiff City - we’ll always be blue’. Got that? Excellent. Perhaps we can now move on.
As we entered the stadium it was immediately clear that Ali was off the leash and indulging in his favourite pastime of playful sarcasm, his pre-match playlist consisting of ‘Bluebird’, ‘Singin’ the Blues’, ‘Blue Monday’ and ‘Mr Blue Sky’ (‘Hey there Mr Blue, we’re so pleased to be with you’). Possibly the widest grin was on the face of Chairman Mehmet Dalman as he strolled around glad-handing the crowd in a questionable display of triumphalism.
If the potential end to hostilities is to amount to anything the fans need reasons to believe that matters on the pitch are in hand; recent performances and a couple of headline-averse signings have done little to restore faith. The line up today included a debut at left back for new signing Malone - inevitably and shamefully consigning Fabio to the January Sales bargain bucket - with a new goal-shy lower league journeyman striker on the bench as Premier League profligacy gives way to penny-pinching. In goal Simon Moore was handed a chance to stake his claim as Marshall was wrapped in cotton wool and placed in the departure lounge.
Fulham playing with a rump of Premier League talent looked useful early on with Scott Parker a shadow of the player who commanded the England midfield not so long ago but still capable of making a difference at this level and Rodellega in attack, former Bluebird McCormack playing in an unfamiliar advanced midfield role. If this solid spine gave them a platform, then their undoing was to be a total lack of cutting edge in our box and a tendency to panic in their own.
This was a day when, through accident or design (I’ll be charitable and admit that Slade probably made the correct call) route one football was to prove decisive. The laser-like accuracy of Moore’s boot in finding Big Kenwynne’s head was as unerring and panic-inducing as Gunnarsson’s long throws into the box. Quite simply the flappable Bettinelli in the Fulham goal and his weaselly vertically-challenged defenders couldn’t cope. It wasn’t pretty but as long as the gifted but frustrated Cottagers’ midfield craned their necks as mere spectators we were in with a shout.
The decisive break came on 15 minutes as the third of five early touchline sidewinders from the Icelander was launched into the box, finding the head of defender Morrison who rose to head the ball goalwards, crossing the line before pin-balling back into the path of Adeyemi who made sure. The confusion book-ended the era of red-shirted bewilderment two years and 10 months since Joe Mason’s last strike in a blue shirt at the CCS against Leeds in March 2012.
The first half made for comfortable if uninspiring viewing. We were workmanlike; competent, without ever threatening the prevailing conviction that we’re a middling team easing into the mid-table shadows. I suspect the Fulham fans share similar ambitions.
At half time the talismanic Jones was replaced by new boy Ravel, an unannounced injury surely the only possible reason. The long ball soon gave way to a more creative approach, the hard-running debutant unable to provide the same physical threat. Moore rolled the ball out to his full backs for the first time a full 60 minutes into the game. This brought the disappointingly anonymous Adeyemi and Whittingham into the fray at last and we settled back to watch a game that occasionally threatened to be a contest embracing the finer points. Although it opened up, neither team remotely reached the heights that both sets of fans had become accustomed to in recent times.
The attendance was announced as 22,515 almost identical to the previous home game, the shambles against Watford. The contrast however could hardly have been greater, the atmosphere and goodwill generated by the full compliment of season ticket holders and excitable returnees reminding the faithful of that sense of being part of something worthwhile and deserving of their support. Tan’s mum would surely have appreciated the ‘togetherness, unity and harmony’.
So a half-decent win and perhaps the fans have played their part in steadying the ship for now. As the Buddha said ‘A jug fills drop by drop’.
At times today the crowd was able to summon up an exhilaration that almost matched the early days of the Premier League campaign, but that’s probably as good as it gets. Excuse my cynicism but to quote JFK ‘Efforts and courage are not enough without purpose and direction.’
At the end of the game the blue and white was held aloft as ‘Talking ‘bout a Revolution’ reverberated around the stadium. Revolution? Hardly. But in the absence of an anthem extolling the virtues of pragmatism it will have to do.
