CCFC 0 v 4 HULL

In North Korea there is an abandoned building known as the Ryugyong Hotel. Work started on the 105 storey building only a few years before a massive famine plagued the country. Although the structure now looks complete on the outside, a lot of the interior is still abandoned and incomplete and it has never entertained a single paying guest.

Queuing up at the turnstiles today the area to our left is cordoned off as the substructure for the new stadium extension stands in anticipatory splendour, a statement of intent from our Supreme Leader.

Fast forward to the year 2020 and the Cardiff City Stadium is a crumbling sporting arena known locally 'Tan's Folly' - a 33,000 capacity stadium, the home of the local Tumbleweed Western League team FC Leckwith Liquidation, owned by local discount store chain Tat-U-Like who bought the club for a nominal pound following Vincent Tan's conviction for crimes against fashion in the European Court of Sartorial Rights.

I've reserved our seats for next season in the front row of the new stand from where I look forward to witnessing and sharing with you the spectacular demise of a football club that ate itself.

SPOLER ALERT. In the recent film 'All Is Lost' Robert Redford is happily asleep in calm waters when he's suddenly awoken by a loud crash as his boat suffers a fateful collision with a stray container. His valiant attempts to repair the damage prove futile. The title reflects the moment when Redford finally lets go of the rope and sinks to oblivion. For 'container' read 'Tan's ego'. Yesterday the rope slipped from our grasp. It was a defining moment. All Is Lost.

There's no need for a post mortem. The coroner can enjoy his Sunday rest, we won't be calling him today. We've all witnessed the slow but inevitable demise over the past months and we must now accept our fate. One flawed hubristic man and his entourage of obsequious flunkies have done for us. Our hope now is that they'll do the honourable thing and walk away.

The Robert Redford film has an ambiguous ending as a hand reaches in to grab Redford's before he slips away. Just saying...

CCFC v HULL BIG MATCH PREVIEW

'A change in the weather is known to be extreme, but what's the sense of changing horses in midstream? - Bob Dylan

Well Your Bobness, I couldn't disagree if you're riding a thoroughbred confident that safety's within reach, but what if you're saddled with a nag who's good for glue? It's a tough call for Premier League owners, who despite or perhaps because of their success in business are notoriously impatient and irrational when the threat of failure looms and are more likely to flog the sorry beast than to offer it a carrot.

Five of the bottom six clubs had already ditched their manager by the turn of the year. In the case of Sunderland it was clear that Di Canio had neither the temperament nor experience to succeed at the highest level and he had to go. Ian Holloway at Palace, possibly the most honest man in the game, held his hands up and decided it was in the club's best interests to walk away. It can be argued that the owners of West Brom pushed the panic button too early after a bad run of results but Martin Jol at Fulham had been a dead man walking for weeks before he was finally led to the gallows back in December.

Now the Fulham board, still stuck firmly in midstream with the waters now gathering around its neck, have lost faith in the ability of Jol's successor Rene Mulensteen to steer them clear and have replaced him with a novelty appointment, bringing in former Bayern Munich manager Felix Magath, a man described by his last captain as 'lacking humanity' and nicknamed 'Torturer' or 'Saddam'; he was recently called 'the last dictator in Europe' which, with Putin in his pomp, is some claim. His erratic disciplinary behaviour includes imposing fines for back passes and setting essays for recalcitrant players. Michael Gove would be proud. Fulham's new man will be inheriting the rump of the Jol squad and some disconsolate players brought in by Mulensteen in January. It's seems reasonable to write off their chances. So that leaves another 2 from 9.

Of those, Sunderland and Palace saw an immediate upturn in fortunes after appointing new men, and Stoke, Norwich, West Ham and Villa have had the good sense to stick by their trusty steeds. Even Swansea have made a shrewd appointment in appointing a man from within who is the most likely to consolidate and lead them to calmer waters.

There is of course one team in their first season back in the PL with an ambitious foreign owner at the helm who's appointed a former Man Utd treble-winning favourite as manager and is prepared to take on the fans and consign one hundred years of tradition to the dustbin in a grab for the Asian market. At 5 points and 6 places above us, Hull Tigers (tbc) with an experienced manager, an established squad and having spent wisely in January are looking a safe bet to survive and thrive.

So where does that leave us? The signs are not good. By now, with 12 games to go we should have a settled squad of players who clearly understand the manager's approach with each one aware of what's required of them. Unfortunately Solskjaer still doesn't seem to know what his preferred starting eleven looks like yet. Despite his declared intention to play attacking football, problems persist in the final third where we are incapable of turning territorial advantage and possession into goals. Approaching the business end of the season we're still playing pre-season football and we can't be certain that Tan hasn't ditched Shergar in favour of Trigger, and if he has, whether it's Roy Roger's iconic steed or Benny Hill's comedy workhorse.

Dylan's next line neatly encapsulates the anguish and uncertainty  ' I'm going out of my mind with a pain that stops and starts'. If we do go down there'll be Blood On The Tracks at the CCS, and Tan Strung Up In Blue.

Match Report to follow...

CCFC V ASTON VILLA

BIG MATCH PREVIEW

One Saturday morning some months ago - I can't recall when exactly but I was digging the allotment in the sunshine so clearly it's only just within living memory - I was listening to Danny Baker discussing football in Victorian times with Paul Brown, the author of 'Victorian Football Miscellany' (http://www.victorianfootball.co.uk/) described by Football Book Reviews as 'a veritable cornucopia of eclectic Victorian footballing splendour!'

Prior to the formation of The Football Association in 1863 there were no common rules. Teams would meet before a game to thrash out which rules they would use. The industrial north played to the Sheffield Rules whereas in the south, the Cambridge Rules were used by the public schools at Eton, Harrow, Rugby, Shrewsbury and Winchester. Rugby School, in a typical display of public school elitist petulance and arrogance refused to compromise and formed their own game, the name of which escapes me.

The roots of the game of course go back to medieval times when neighbouring villages would play each other in games that would last for days. Shockingly, and difficult to comprehend today, the history of 'foteball' is littered with references to violent behaviour, gambling and controversy.

In 1280 in a game played near Ashington in Northumberland (that'll be Newcastle v Sunderland territory then...) it's recorded that a player was killed by 'running against an opposing player's dagger'.

In 1314 the game was banned in London following a decree by the Mayor that '...there is great noise in the city caused by hustling over large foot balls in the fields of the public from which many evils might arise which God forbid'. The language of the establishment at the time was French so that the declaration fell mostly upon deaf ears. It did however have the unintended benefit of clearing the capital of French players, most of whom found their way to Newcastle.

In 1409 King Henry IV, who famously put down a rebellion by Sir Harry Hotspur - the war hero who inspired Tottenham to adopt his name due to his ability lose heroically and gallantly, a tradition which continues to the current day - issued a proclamation forbidding the levying of money on the game of foteball. This seriously hit the profits of Lord Uther Pendragon Betfair and Sir Galahad 32Red as well as The Camelot Group.

The modern game began with the inaugural Football League in 1888 which comprised of 12 teams, including today's opponents whose chairman William McGregor was the league's founder. Aston Villa had been formed by four players from the Villa Cross Wesleyan Chapel cricket team who were looking for something to do in the winter.

Similarly, 'Riverside AFC' the forerunner of Cardiff City was formed by Riverside Cricket Club in an attempt to keep the players fit during the winter months. Many of the teams in today's PL had humble beginnings with names that reflect their origins.

It's hard to believe that today's bloated global game evolved from these curious and quaint parochial clashes - if all teams had retained their original names the midweek fixture list would read:

Riverside AFC v Aston Villa

Hull City v St Mary's Church of England Young Men's Association (Southampton)

Thames Ironworks (West Ham) v Norwich Church of England's Young Men's Society

West Bromwich Strollers v Chelsea

Royal Arsenal v Newton Heath Lancashire and Yorkshire Railways FC (Man Utd)

St Domingo's (Everton) v Crystal Palace

St Marks West Gorton (Man City) v Sunderland & District Teachers AFC

Newcastle East End FC v Hotspur FC

Stoke Ramblers v Swansea Town

Fulham St Andrews Church Sunday School FC v Everton FC & Athletics Grounds (Liverpool)

All of which is a complete distraction in the hope that taking the long view will help to put our present plight into proper perspective. After all, it's just a game. Isn't it?

CCFC 0 v 0 ASTON VILLA

After the morale-sapping capitulation to our seaside cousins on Saturday it was essential for tonight's game to provide some reasons to believe. The line-up looked more balanced and more threatening on paper, with Campbell brought in to partner Jones up front, spearheading a 4-4-2 which included a fully fit Noone playing alongside Mutch in midfield - Bellamy having decided not to appeal against a three match ban for cuffing de Guzman in an incident missed by the referee and dismissed by most objective viewers as nothing more than a little good natured tease. Whitts and the not-so-Fabio were deemed culpable and left out.

Under a new Michael Gove-inspired initiative Whitts was told to sit in the stands with his back to the game and write one hundred times 'I am an over-paid under-achieving half-engaged footballing enigma who has brought shame upon my adopted city'. Fabio was handed detention and a letter for his Mum.

We made a reassuringly confident start, seizing the initiative with Noone in particular causing consternation with some mesmerising mazy dribbles against a bewildered Villa defence. How we missed him on Saturday.

The first real chances of the game came early on when Campbell was left frustrated by a shot parried onto the post by Villa's keeper Guzan following good work from Zaha. The defence failed to clear and Noone lashed a deflected shot onto the bar from 20 yards. It was pretty much one way traffic at this point and if Jones had been awarded a penalty when clearly hauled back in the box (well it looked nailed-on from where we were sitting, a mere 100 yards away) we might have taken a well-deserved nerve-settling lead.

As it stands, I believe we are the only team in the Premier League this season not to be awarded a penalty. There have been enough blatant calls denied by a succession of referees that you don't have to be a crazed conspiracy theorist to wonder if they're not all in thrall to some shady Asian spread betting syndicate in league with a Colombian drugs cartel directing operations from a Taliban-held enclave just outside Kabul who may or may not be linked to the great 9/11 cover up and faked moon landings. But I suppose it helps if you are.

Villa looked occasionally dangerous on the break but the central defence partnership of Caulker and Turner held firm against the eminent pairing of Belgium's World Cup-bound Benteke and England's Agbonlahor.

Worryingly with 30 minutes on the clock the impressive Mutch pulled up with an assumed hamstring injury and was replaced by Wolff Eikrem who leapt off the bench, fell to his hind legs and barked at the moon before scampering off into midfield.

Zaha had the ball in the back of the net before the break but was ruled offside and half time arrived with nothing to show for our clear dominance.

Inevitably Aston Villa regrouped at the break and started the stronger. Noone was shackled and the supply to Zaha was cut off as the away team responded to a half time rollicking. Buoyed by an impressive turn out from their vociferous fans they came more and more into the game and the sense of regret at not having converted our early advantage was gaining traction.

Although we created chances of our own - Campbell latching onto a Jones header but scuffing wide and Jones himself not taking advantage of half-chances - the definitive moments of the game were played out in our 6 yard box. Agbonlahor and Benteke were guilty of passing up opportunities to take the lead, either through their own indecision, last-ditch interventions by Turner and T-C or frustrated by some spectacular saves from Marshall. The final action of the game witnessed one of the greatest saves of this or any other season - worth staying up way past the witching hour tonight for the midweek MOTD highlights.

There was a promising cameo appearance late on from Daehli as the ref's soft melting stopwatch subconsciously signified the relativity of space and time in a surrealist meditation on the collapse of our notions of a fixed cosmic order. Really, you had to be there.

The last time City and Villa drew 0-0 was the year we won the FA Cup. Our next home game is against the current cup holders Wigan in the 5th Round. On the way to Wembley in 1927 we beat the holders Bolton at the same stage. Wow! Conspiracy? Divine providence? Destiny? Fate? Kismet? Hardly.

CCFC v NORWICH

 PREVIEW

Let's face it. The table doesn't lie. We're bottom of the table for two good reasons:

1. We can't score goals (0.74 per game) and

2. We can't stop the opposition scoring (1.74 per game).

Do the math! We deserve to be bottom. Our early season form has sagged like a despondent middle-aged man's paunchy midriff. You can stand in front of the mirror, breathe in, pump out your chest and tense your muscles as much as you like but your flabby bloated frame is a harbinger of ruin; look behind you - the Grim Reaper is closing in and he will not be denied. Some things are certain in this life - death, taxes and a relegation scrap.

'We're all doomed' - Private James Frazer, comedy war hero and wing half for Tannochbrae Trossachs

The blindly optimistic claim that all is not lost, that it will end well, even that 'we're too good to go down'. They are the climate change deniers standing naked in a field in the Somerset Levels waving a Union Jack and waiting for the sun to come out; they are Monty Python's Black Knight, two arms down and hopping around on one leg claiming to be 'invincible'. They say we must have faith in the new manager, that he will save us and lead us onto greater glory as if the sainted Solskjaer walked around in sandals and began his team talk with 'I am the resurrection...though he were dead, yet shall he live'. Well for 'Lazurus' read 'Andreas Cornelius'. Jesus wept.

But wait. The transfer window is still open. There's still time to turn things around. Mmmm, our record of transfer window signings in recent times has not been great. The word 'Cornelius' has now taken its place in the footie lexicon, eg 'It looks like Tottenham have done a Cornelius by signing Soldano'. (The disaster of City's continental drift that gave us the Andreas Fault has even vindicated Chairman Tan in some fan's eyes).

We have an unfortunate habit of bringing in unproven players who show a bit of promise which turns to dust as soon as they put on City shirt. Trotters International Traders must have branched out and are passing off duds as Premier League players -  'ere, I can do you a Cornelius for 8 mill and two pony grands a week. Cushty!'. 

On top of that we've occasionally been persuaded to take on players who are well past their prime and desperate for one last hurrah / one last pay-day (hang your head in shame Robbie Fowler), or to take a punt on journeymen players on the back of a purple patch in an otherwise undistinguished career.

In January 2006 Dave Jones signed the prolific (10 goals in 21 games) Darlington forward Guylain Ndumbu-Nsungu, affectionately known as 'Dave', a sobriquet he objected to. He might have got a fairer hearing if, one, he hadn't actually said 'Please don't call me Dave' and, two, he'd been any good. He made 11 appearances, 7 as sub and failed to record a single goal. So 'Dave' it was.

Until Cornelius, all other window signings could be measured against this folly. The 'Dave Scale' has a spread of 1-5, so that the signing of Ndumbu-Nsungu scores a maximum 5 Daves. Other window signings in the recent past include:

2002 Fan Zhiyi                                    4 Daves

2006 Iwan Redan                              4 Daves

2006 Malvin Kamara                        4 Daves

2007 Robbie Fowler                        5 Daves

2008 Eddie Johnson                        4 Daves

2008 Quincy Owusu-Abeyie        4 Daves

2008 Dimi Dropalttashots              4 Daves

2010 Jon Parkin                                 3 Daves

2012 Etien Velikonja                       6 Daves

So what can we expect from the latest crop?

I was reassured by Sir Alex Ferguson's comment that 'Da Silva has all the attributes to become one of the best full-backs in the world'. Unfortunately he was talking about Fabio's twin brother Rafael.

Kenwynne Jones has an interesting back story.  A foundling, discovered in a forest clearing in Mynydd Hiraethog in deepest darkest Denbighshire in 1984 by two local schoolboys, Ken and Wynne Jones, he comes with a half-decent scoring record and a fearsome reputation. For sulking. Having previously gone on strike at Southampton until granted a transfer, he recently texted Mark Hughes that he would not be available for their game against Liverpool. Committed to the cause then.

Wilfred Za-ha, son of an Alan Partridge tribute act with a fondness for the poetry of the First World War is a fully fledged England international, currently unable to force his way into the Man Utd first team who has never tried it on with David Moyes' daughter.

Norway's Magnus Wolf Eikrem Jo Inge Berget Matts Moller Daehli has joined us from Solskjaer's former club Molde and is renowned for his defensive midfield attacking tracking back qualities and for being an anagram of Mswfemojiebtmsmrdiagnuolngeergeattolleaehl which is Norwegian for 'blond haired blue eyed pure bred fleet footed footballing genius'. Which is promising.

They say the past is another country. It looks like our future is Norway. Whatever happens 'Jeg skal vaere  der ed min lille pick og shovel jeg skal være der...'

CCFC 2 v 1 NORWICH

After the tedium of the transfer window anti-climax - will it be Pappis Cisse? Le Fondre? the return of the Mack?? (well actually none of the above despite a last minute panicked - and pretty demeaning - 'come and get me' plea from McCormack) it was a relief to be able to redirect  attention to matters on the pitch. In fact the only bit of business on the day was concluded after the faux deadline, signing Juan Cala from Sevilla to provide some much needed reinforcement in central defence.

The new boys on the team sheet today were Fabio at right back, with Kenwyne Jones donning the iconic Number 9 shirt and loanee Zaha surprisingly sitting it out on the bench. It's been a busy time for Solskjaer as he begins the task of rebuilding the squad inherited from Malky and looks to fashion a team that can adapt to his adventurous approach.

In a case of seven by Sjefen (Norwegian for 'gaffer' - thank you Google Translate) out went Mackay bad buys Cornelius, Odemwingie, Velikonja and Brayford - a total of 13 million pounds of folly lolly spent, but probably nearly as much saved in wages over the term of calamity Cornelius' contract - with fringe players like Simon Moore (a neighbour, with the cringe-making personalised number plate '51MON GK') Craig Conway and Joe Mason moving on. At first glance the Class of '14 should prove to be more educated signings than the dunces and duffers making way.

This match was not unreasonably billed as a 'must win' against one of the sides that make up the league-within-a-league that is the bottom half of the table. The early signs were good as an inspired move within minutes of the kick off saw Mutch narrowly miss with a well executed bicycle kick after good work from Noone. The promise and enthusiasm at the start of the 'New Era' quickly dissipated however as Fabio was found wanting, allowing Olsson to get behind him and cross for Snodgrass to score. 0-1 after only 5 minutes.

The mood of the crowd matched the dark clouds gathering above as a squall of confusion, doubt and frustration swirled around the stadium. It was clear that the players had been briefed by the new boss to be more positive but the short sharp passing and movement off the ball was being poorly executed, most moves breaking down with a misplaced pass allowing the opposition to break dangerously.

The midfield was bunching up, with no width on the left, full back Declan John ignored when in good positions getting forward. If this had been a training game Solskjaer would been constantly stopping play to reinforce what he was expecting of his players. Soon after a woeful free kick from the edge of the box which he ballooned 10 feet over the bar Whittingham was removed. There were less than 40 minutes on the clock.

In an ideal world the entire crowd would have stood as one to welcome his replacement with an Alan Partridge-inspired 'Za-Haaa!' but it wasn't to be. Shame. Norwich's very own Alpha Papa would surely have enjoyed the moment.

There was a desperate sense of relief that the manager had made a decisive intervention at such an early stage. With plenty of midfield options in the squad you sense that Whitts may struggle to command a place from this point on. The shape of the team improved immediately on his departure and half time arrived with no further damage done and the hope of a second half revival. With the half time scores confirming that all our rivals were picking up points there was a very real threat of being cut adrift at the bottom of the table by the end of the afternoon. A good start to the second half was essential.

The new boss doesn't seem like the sort of bloke who's likely to resort to the hairdryer treatment but he must have picked up a trick or two from Sir Alex as the team returned to the pitch inspired, with Zaha central to the transformation. With only four minutes gone he picked the ball up in a central position and deftly stroked a ball into the box for Bellamy to scuff it past the advancing keeper. 'Eat my goal! That was liquid football!' as Partridge might say.

From the restart we were immediately back on the attack, forcing a corner which Norwich failed to clear. Mutch returned the ball back into a confused Norwich box, big Kenwynne the first to react as the ball pinged around, turning deftly to hammer it high into the net. 'Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes! That. Was a Goal!'  

It was a moment to savour as Jones, six foot silly tall and with the wing span of a golden eagle flew off towards the corner flag before executing a celebratory somersault of Earnshaw-esque audacity.

The mood was now transformed, the crowd suddenly in good heart, belief coursing through its very being as half time pies were abandoned and rivers of upset Bovril dregs cascaded down the Ninian Stand, casualties of the sudden exuberance.

Inevitably the pace slackened as the stunned opposition slowly gathered themselves and forced their way back into the game. But chances continued to be carved out at both ends. Just after Marshall had deflected a long range effort onto the bar Jones almost added a third as Mutch's misdirected shot deflected off him and agonisingly brushed the post with the keeper stranded.

A rash of substitutions on 75 minutes reinvigorated the opposition who launched wave after wave of attack. Norwich now forced the pace as City held the line far too deep and struggled to move out of defence. The match stats show evenly distributed possession over the 90 minutes. The 12 corners forced by Norwich in the second half indicates just how much they dominated the latter stages as City failed to close the game down. The opposition hit the woodwork and had the ball in the net twice but were denied by an astute linesman's flag on both occasions.

The defence completely lost its shape as panic set in and it seemed inevitable that the opposition was going to nick an equaliser, or worse. That they failed was down to the acrobatic commitment of one man, David Marshall. Scotland's Number One pulled off three world class saves. If we do manage to survive this season it will be as much down to his heroics as any tactical masterstroke that the new manager can pull.

Can we do it? It's very much in the balance. But knowing me, knowing you, knowing the City we won't do it the easy way.