CCFC 1 v 1 STOKE

The weather this afternoon was as indecisive and unresolved as our immediate future. Our collars were turned up against the harsh winds of doubt as we queued at the turnstiles but by the time we'd taken our seats in the cocooned comfort of the CCS three layers of apprehension has been cast aside as the springtime sun warmed our spirits and steadied our troubled hearts.

On the back of an unlikely win at Southampton last time out Ole chose to stick with the same starting eleven, which might indicate - a tad late in the day - that he not only has a plan but also the personnel to put it into effect. Well it's a start.

With a hammering for Fulham in the early game, Sunderland facing Chelsea in the late game and Norwich up against champions-elect Liverpool tomorrow, suddenly the race for survival looks wide open albeit with a narrowing field.

Stoke set up in their charcoal blue tops and irradiated fluorescent yellow hooped socks looking like the product of an industrial design student focus group in search of a rave. In the early exchanges it was the boys in red who appeared super-charged, producing waves of belief and hope to settle the home crowd which, blessed by the absence today of Vincent Tan, was transmitting 27,686 particles of radiant energy from the terraces.

Within minutes the busy Daehli had put Mutch through but with just the keeper to beat he scuffed his shot tamely into the grateful arms of Bosnian international Begovic. Stoke looked unsettled and surprisingly disorganised as we continued to seek an early advantage. Fabio was driving forward and linking well with Daehli whose quick feet were throwing the Stoke defence off balance.

The away team, safe from harm but some distance from challenging for a European slot, have nothing to spur them on at this point of the campaign other than the chance of a best ever Premier League finish. Under Mark Hughes they've evolved from dowdy utilitarians into plodding also-rans, progressing from route one specialists to keep-ball obsessives. It's not pretty, it's hardly revolutionary, but it is effective.

It will keep the Stokies happy for now but it's not going to thrill the faithful for long. It's more than the unpleasant Potters with their less than empathic pro-Tan mocking chants deserve. A hateful bunch. The worst visitors this season. May they rot in mid-table purgatory.

Anyway, back to the game. There were two potential game-changers as the half progressed, both teams frustrated by some excellent work from two of the best shot-stoppers around. Marshall denied Odemwingie with an excellent acrobatic parry, and soon after Begovic propelled himself through the air to get an unlikely touch on Whittingham's precise free kick.

I think I may have bemoaned our luck once or twice this season and occasionally berated one or two of the officials, having made the artless assumption that the world's best league would be blessed with some top-notch refereeing. I've been shocked and disappointed at how the most furtive forwards have been able to 'buy' a decision by cynically and instinctively manipulating a situation to hoodwink the man in charge. Surely today's ref with a World Cup Final on his CV would be immune to such blatant trickery? Nah.

As the half neared to a close Odemwingie collected the ball on the edge of the box with his back to goal, directly in our line of vision. Minimal pressure from Kim saw the recent Cardiff reject theatrically lunge forward as Howard Webb, blindsided through a melee of players, hesitated for a moment's consideration before pointing to the spot for the first penalty to be awarded at the CCS all season. It looked a particularly poor decision and one that surely wouldn't have concentrated the ref's mind if it had taken place anywhere else on the field. Arntoutavic stepped up to send Marshall the wrong way and the half closed to the justifiably indignant chorus of '1-0 to the referee'.

There have been many fancy assumptions about the 'psychological importance' of a goal just before the interval but on this occasion it was the piqued victims who used the injustice of the situation to their advantage. We returned to the fray as if on a mission to right all wrongs.

In a crazy, intense 10 minutes (the precise details of which you'll have to rely on TV highlights to make sense of) we forced four consecutive corners, claimed our penalty - the first of the season, coolly dispatched by Whittingham - and had a second disallowed, Cala's header being ruled out for offside. We were rampant, showing a spirit and a belief beyond imagination. The crowd loved it.

The disallowed goal was cruel, the celebrating players slowly disentangling from their celebratory smother to turn towards the linesman's wretched raised flag. The goal would have been a just reward for our supremacy but the heat was suddenly taken out of the game. Stoke eased their way slowly back into the game and had chances themselves later on as City pushed for a winner.

  

We exerted plenty of midfield authority but again lacked the killer pass or the guile to outwit a solid Stoke defence. Turning quality possession into threats on goal has ultimately has been our downfall this season and despite Ole mixing things up towards the end by bringing on big Kenwynne to outmuscle his former colleagues we rarely threatened.

One point instead of three has failed to calm the nerves as we approach the final three games of our tempestuous season, and after Sunderland's shock win at Chelsea, next week's game at the Stadium of Light may well see the sun setting on our Premier League campaign.

'It's not dark yet (but it's getting there)' - Bob Dylan

CCFC v STOKE Big Match Preview

Clutching At Straws

Incredibly, the average tenure of a PL manager (if you take the superannuated Arsene Wenger out of the equation) is now barely 12 months. The managerial merry-go-round at the bottom of the table this season has produced seven changes at the helm of the clubs occupying the last six places, as owners with skins as thick as rhinoceros hides and afflicted with the bloated egos of the terminally deluded tumble unwittingly into Brian Clough's rank of 'know-nowts', scratching around for a new saviour to replace the latest scapegoat.

The facts confirm it's a strategy that rarely works. In recent times for every Tony Pulis there's been a Harry Redknapp (relegated), a Gus Poyet (pending), a Rene Mulensteen (the scapegoat's scapegoat) and, yes, Ole Gunnar Solskjaer (tbc).

Sitting uneasily in the PL departure lounge awaiting deportation from the land of milk and money, reluctantly grasping a one way ticket to the land of the lost, the know-nowt owners have only themselves to blame.

With very few exceptions the ownership of a Premier League football club has become a rich man's conceit and a validation of the age-old proverb that 'a fool and his money are soon parted'. The naive and fanciful notion amongst that motley crew of on-line gamblers, top-shelf titillators, off-shore embezzlers and shabby sheiks that they might easily buy into the affections of the undemanding adoring masses and cement their places in footie folklore more than hints at a swollen sense of self and a life spent prioritising the accumulation of wealth over common sense.

Autocratic and temperamentally incapable of delegating other than to appointed flunkies, their considered judgement extends only as far as the knee can jerk. But for the few that have 'managed to keep their heads while all about are losing theirs' the rewards have been obvious.

The prime example of the benefits of loyalty to one manager is of course Sir Alex Ferguson at Man Utd. A patient and considered board gave him the time to turn things around after a pretty disastrous start. Trophies and riches followed.

Easy then to stick with a successful manager when huge expectations and ambitions are realised. At Stoke where the board has been realistic enough to limit the scope of their short-medium term ambitions to survival and consolidation they kept faith with the spectacularly pragmatic Tony Pulis, only ditching him when all parties agreed that after eight seasons it was right to consider a more adventurous approach. The next phase has progressed well and Stoke are now within reach of their best ever finish in the PL.

The Stoke model is one that we should have adopted but one that Tan is inherently incapable of recognising. Unfortunately Tan has a Georgio Armani ambition predicated on a Primark aesthetic.

The tendency to press the panic button is rife across Europe. Last season Palermo changed their manager 5 times, at one point bringing back a man they had already fired just three games into the season. Their President has been responsible for 28 sackings in 12 years. One manager was replaced before he'd been given a game in charge!

The disconnect between owner and manager can be profound. In Bosnia at FK Sarajevo, their manager Robert Jarni, a veteran of the Croatian team that finished third in the 1998 World Cup and only recently overtaken as their most capped player, has been dismissed after just 9 games with his team a healthy 4th in the table. He expressed surprise at his sacking and complained that he'd 'never even met the owner' one Vincent Tan.

Oh, and the Palace 'textgate' hooh-hah? Classy.

clutching at straws(idiom): to pursue even the slightest hope or possibility out of desperation

CCFC 0 v 3 PALACE

As we approached the ground, in good humour and with plausible grounds for optimism after the drama of the plucky performance last week at West Brom, the new Ninian Stand extension was boldly silhouetted against the grey sky, its freshly painted pristine white metal framework hinting at a bright future. After this abject performance it resembled nothing so much as a vanity project and a potentially massive white elephant.

This was pivotal game - the most important game of the season against rivals in the race for survival; an absolute 'must-win'. And we were wretched.

Short on belief and desire we were disorganised on the ball, chasing shadows off it. Team selection was problematic. The performance of fringe players such as Zaha was questionable at best and no one was able to impose themselves on the game. In a performance calling out for leadership, inspiration and commitment it took the manager 60 minutes and the shock of a second goal before he introduced the motivational Bellamy. By then it was too late.

Before elaborating on the sorry way that the game unfolded, let me provide some context. Palace have a record of being top flight one-season wonders and earlier in the season after a dreadful start they had no right to expect any better this time round. That was before the change of manager and the Pulis Bounce. And there's the rub. A cool-headed logical appointment followed a crisis on the pitch.

Our crisis has been entirely self-made, conceived in the boardroom. Our steady if unspectacular, and yes, occasionally misfiring start to our campaign was completely derailed by the fall-out from the dispute between manager and owner. What's followed has been rash and illogical. An inexperienced hopelessly out of depth board made a naive headline-grabbing appointment of an inexperienced, hopelessly out of his depth manager. The chaos was encapsulated in today's performance.

The first twenty minutes dragged as two edgy, tentative sides failed to impose themselves. Palace were as expected muscular and well organised without any signs of verve or dash going forward. Former Bluebirds Ledley and Jerome were prominent, the former receiving an appreciative reception from the crowd, the latter - unforgiven for his parting shot about 'leaving for a bigger club' (Birmingham) - less so.

At 19.27 minutes the crowd rose in defiance once more to hold their blue and white scarves aloft as the Red Devil stood in isolated sartorial garishness, his back and deaf ear turned against the impressive and implacable blue masses. The empathic Palace fans, no strangers themselves to the slings and arrows of outrageous boardroom shenanigans, duly applauded.

After 24 minutes we had our only attempt on target as Campbell's powerful header saw Speroni in the Palace goal scramble to push the ball clear. Shortly afterwards a Palace break put us on the back foot, scurrying back in disorganised retreat as Ledley found an unmarked Puncheon inside the box to slot the ball home past Marshall. 0-1. Schoolboy defending. An easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy capitulation.

The half time whistle blew heralding 15 minutes of discontented shuffling and surly shoe-gazing, broken only by a successful Guinness World Record attempt in the centre circle as a City fan beat his own record for keepy-uppy on the soles of his feet (imagine the last desperate moments of an electrocuted bluebottle). The record was validated before he was presented with his certificate and there was hardly a dry eye in the house as he completed his lap of honour before surrealism gave way to black comedy gold and the teams took to the pitch for the second half.

The absurdist theme continued to evolve and develop through the second half as our version of football's nauseous parrot, the Norwegian Blue, finally fell off its perch, ran down the curtain and joined the choir invisible, leaving our manager stunned (mind you he's stuns easily) and looking like he was pining for the fjords. 'Pining for the fjords? What kind of talk is that?!'

Call it gallows humour, borne of a contagious indifference emanating from the field of play as the inevitability of our ultimate demise could no longer be denied. To reflect this lethargy the second went a like this:

Blah-blah-Za-ha subbed - boo - blah-blah Ledley -0-2 - no celebration - blah-blah-blah -zzzzzzz - Puncheon - 0-3 - blah-blah - half-empty stadium - blah-blah - final whistle - yeah whatever.

So there we are. Bye-bye full stadiums, world class opposition and the dream of a brighter future. Welcome back to the numbing echoey doubt, desperation and bewilderment of second tier ambition. As predictable as it was avoidable but nonetheless bloody sickening.

One final word in Tan's hubristic shell-like from footies favourite filosopher, the great tragedian and wing back for FC Athens Acropolis, Sophocles: “All men make mistakes, but a good man yields when he knows his course is wrong, and repairs the evil. The only crime is pride.”

We could have told you Vincent.

Parting Is Such Sweet Sorrow...

CCFC and me - A Conscious Uncoupling.

'It is with hearts full of sadness that we have decided to separate. We have been working hard for well over a year, some of it together, some of it separated, to see what might have been possible between us, and we have come to the conclusion that while we love each other very much we will remain separate. We are, however, and always will be a family, and in many ways we are closer than we have ever been. We ask for our space and privacy to be respected at this difficult time'. 
 Reproduced without the kind permission of Mr & Mrs L.A. Twee

Like many of us I have been deeply troubled by recent events and during this springtime of season ticket renewal and contemplation I can reveal that I have, with the help of sports psychotherapist   Dr Jose Crapenguff,  embarked on a process to 'transform the deepest disappointment into a sacred journey from sorrow to peace'.

It is my great hope that the breakdown in the longest and most meaningful relationship of my life (well, apart from an extended Lost Weekend that took in the 80's and most of the 90's...) may be temporary and retrievable; the decision to 'uncouple' rather than part in perpetuity will allow both sides the opportunity to separate and grow and leaves open the prospect of a reconciliation at some point.

I have learned from my personal guru to redefine the construct of fandom by studying the complex symbiotic parasitical relationship of wedge-capped plutocrats where higher ranking members recruit alien species such as the Leatherbacked Tan to infiltrate the established group and extract the milk and urine of the lower ranked proletariat. I now believe this to be an outdated construct; we must let go of old notions and approach the uncoupling as a positive experience with a view to engendering reciprocal enhancement of our joint spiritual endoskeleton.

To this end I have recently signed up to the One Re-born Every Minute forum at Psychobabble.com where I have benefitted from a number of exchanges with my new soul affiliate Gwynneth Precious from London and her consciously uncoupled partner Chris Bedwetter who have advised me that in choosing to handle the uncoupling in a conscious way I will see that although it looks like everything is coming apart it’s actually all coming back together.

This has brought me great comfort as I approach the conclusion of a traumatic period. I fully intend to treat every defeat over the coming weeks as a victory and embrace fully the glorious possibilities that relegation will bring in the belief that it is bringing me and my club closer.

And when the parasitical plutocrats have finally sucked the lifeblood of the club dry perhaps I will return to complete the sacred journey as we reconvene in spiritual Conference to look back on our heroic demise, reflecting that failure is but success turned inside out. Wibble.

Note: 'They must often change their minds who would be constant in happiness or wisdom'                   - Confucius