Well here we are with (after
tonight's game) only 10 stomach-churning, gut-wrenching, buttock-clenching, fingernail-chewing,
toe-curling, eye-watering, oesophageal-refluxing, stress-inducing,
heart-fibrillating, follicle-desaturating, sanity-questioning, morale-sapping
games left. Time to take stock. To put superstition, irrational thought, blind
panic and defeatism to one side and take a long hard look at the facts:
(At this point I was going to
trot out a number of nerve-settling statistics. Problem is there are so many
out there and I'm not qualified to interpret them so take a look at http://www.statto.com/football/teams/cardiff-city
and select the ones that suit your mood and general disposition).
One for the optimists: In the
last 5 seasons, the average number of points required to finish in the second
automatic promotion spot was 85. The lowest points total was Stoke's 79 in
2008. We've already got 71 for goodness sake! So promotion will be ours should
we manage a paltry 0.72 points per game from now on, or something less than one
win in four.
One for the pessimists: In 2010
West Brom required 91 points to secure 2nd place behind Newcastle. If we were
to lose tonight we would require an average of 2.00 points per game. A defeat
tonight will mean that our current points average over the last four games will
be 1.00
One for the realists: After
tonight's win, just 5 more wins and two draws from the remaining games would give
us 90 points which would have been sufficient to gain automatic promotion in 26
of the last 30 seasons.
So as the desperate, the
dangerously deluded and the plain daft gathered again within the walled enclave
to bear witness and play out their strange medieval rituals, to chant their
obscure ambiguous songs and wait in vain for the sweet white smoke of certainty
to rise from within, it was with some relief that both captain Hudson, Malky's
chosen one, and the prodigal son Bellamy both returned to the squad.
It was a bitterly cold evening. The
incongruous strains of dead disco diva Donna Summer's 'Hot Stuff' ('I need some
hot stuff baby this evening etc...') faded away and the game soon settled into
a pattern of early City territorial advantage but without any obvious signs of
a breakthrough against the meanest defence in the league. True, Conway's pace
and trickery brought two early bookings but an organised back four, marshalled
by the imperious Wes Morgan, showed few signs of being breached.
The Foxes played a central three
across midfield which was sufficient to dominate against the guileless Gunnarsson
and witless Whittingham. Their potent strike force of former England
international David Nugent and the free-scoring Chris Wood were however unable
to get the better of a much-improved and disciplined City central defence.
Worryingly on 30 minutes the man
responsible for that solidity, Hudson, required treatment and returned to the
fray with a heavily strapped ankle to see out the half.
We continued to pepper the
opposition box with long throw-ins, corners and free kicks but the final
delivery showed little invention and keeper Schmeical was rarely troubled.
So the first forty five drew to a
close and as top half-time tune 'All Along The Watchtower' emphasised, there
was 'no reason to get excited' but it at least held open the hope that 'there
must be some way outta here...' Unfortunately the way became less clear with
the failure of Hudson to appear after the interval. This meant we had to see
out the game with a patched up pairing of Nugent and Connolly; McNaughton coming
on at right back.
On the plus side, Bellamy
replaced Noone. On the down side, a clearly unfit Bellamy replaced Noone.
Leicester began to take control
but on the back of a poor run of results were similarly unconvincing in search
of a breakthrough even against a seriously vulnerable City defence where Nugent
was as plausible as the hackneyed prose of an amateur football hack.
Twenty minutes in there was at
last a period of goalmouth incident as Woods latched onto a ball from Nugent but
was denied by the advancing Marshall and at the other end three consecutive
corners followed a Frazer Campbell lunge at a crisp Smith cross.
On 70 minutes Gestede was
introduced, replacing Conway. Shortly after, the home defence failed to deal
with a corner which rebounded back off the upright, the relief only brief as
the ball was returned into the box to be dispatched by efficient urbane Fox
defender Keane (on loan from Man Utd). 0-1 and the ground shook at the weight
of despairing heads falling into hands.
Our response was at best muted
until the final few minutes. Despite their failings it cannot be denied that
this team will continue to fight to the death, when all hope amongst the
steadily dwindling home support has gone. We had two chances to level the game
just before the board confirmed four minutes of Pro Supplements - sponsored
injury time. Gestede knocked down to Whittingham who pulled his shot just wide and
Campbell should have done better, just failing to latch onto an incisive
Bellamy cross.
Deep into Pro Supplemented time,
Man of the Match Taylor fired in a cross from the left and Rudy rose above a
tired Foxes defence to head down into the corner for an unlikely equaliser,
received with rapturous relief.
And so the faithful walked away after
another inconclusive conclave, into the cold night air, still and clear but for
the faint whiff of that all-too-familiar acrid stench arising from the pyre of
unfulfilled premier ambition as our dreams turn to smoke.
On the plus side, we're 5 points
clear of 3rd with a game in hand. Keep the faith!
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