CCFC 3 V 1 IPSWICH

There was a spring in the step tonight as we hurried purposefully along Ninian Way dazzled by the beguiling lights of the CCS, drawn like so many moths to its urgent flame, our gossamer spirits so recently lifted, our blue blue hearts quickened and newly emboldened to defy every new challenge. As Nina Simone might have sung: Bluebirds in the sky you know how I feel….it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me  and I’m feeling good!

We were blessed again this evening by the continuing conspicuous absence of Vincent Tan as we welcomed The Muppetts’ Sam Eagle (aka Mick McCarthy) and his Tractor Boys. Unfortunately the Malayasian malingerer was far from the only absentee in a sparsely populated stadium. 

The official figure was 20,191 which included around 5,000 season tickets holders nominally present but in fact at home throwing back the lager and trying to get Live Champions League football to sync with the Radio Wales radio commentary. I’ve tried it - it doesn’t work. But the lager helps.

Slade made one change from the Forest victory, the fully fit Fabio happily restored to left back. He kept faith with the Macheda - Le Fondre combination upfront but worryingly there was no place even on the bench for Jones, a bold if questionable move considering the way our top scorer had begun the campaign. 

We started slowly and were on the back foot early on as a spirited Ipswich team took charge, Welsh international Jonny Williams, on loan from the Premier League, looking dangerous around  our box, occasionally making a fool of the ordinarily unflappable Manga.

Pilkington transparently had the best of the early chances getting keeper Gherkin in a right pickle with a tasty double effort to spice things up at the other end.

Difficult conditions during a spell of heavy rain and squally winds saw both teams struggle to retain the ball as the game drifted. On 30 minutes Fabio abandoned prudence in favour of a crowd-pleasing kamikaze burst out of defence, losing possession to Murphy who took full advantage of the Brazilian’s largesse to plant a 30 yard curler wide of Marshall. 0-1.

We regrouped and a spell of pressure from the home side produced a poorly defended corner, the ball arriving at the favoured left foot of Whittingham just outside the box. Inexplicably the rustic muttonheaded Tractor Boys failed to close him down as Whitts swung his cultured left peg. Before you could say “leave Norfolk and hope’ the ball was nestling in the back of the Ipswich net.

So 1-1 at the break. A disjointed first half ending with a flourish and promising much for the second 45. Within two minutes of the restart Noone collected the ball in the box, drifted wide and pulled back a floated cross to the far post. The ball was knocked down into the path of Macheda who slotted the ball in from close distance to give us the lead.

On 48 minutes the crowd rose as one and applauded for a full minute to acknowledge the 48th anniversary of the Aberfan disaster( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aberfan_disaster ) Full credit to the Ipswich fans for participating.

With Fabio, Noone and Pilkington storming down the flanks and chasing back just as assiduously, an aggressive midfield holding sway and a no-nonsense-none-shall-pass central defensive partnership, the side was hardly recognisable from Solskjaer’s dispirited disengaged shapeless dog’s dinner of team. 

On 70 minutes Gunnarsson, gratifyingly restored to his role as long throw supremo, collected the towel just below us and buffed up his charge ready to deliver a Scandanavian slug into enemy territory. Le Fondre reacted first and beguiled the opposition defence with a tame scuff which rolled apologetically past a flattened Gherkin. 3-1.

There were a rash of substitutions with 15 minutes left on the clock, the most noteworthy being the withdrawal of playmaker Williams who received an ovation from all sides of the ground. Expect the boy to be a permanent fixture in the national team as Bale and Ramsey lead us to a brighter day…

To finish, a word for the referee: shocking. And another: Inept. Why stop there, I’m on a roll now: bungling, incompetent, maddening, infuriating, English.

Well that’s it for me for a while, I’m off scouting for talent in South America. I leave my team in rude good health, 3 points away from the Play-offs, only 7 shy of the summit. Who’d have thought eh…?

‘Bluebirds having fun you know what I mean

Sleep in peace when the day is done

And this old world is a new world and a bold world for me

And I feel good.’

CCFC 2 V 1 FOREST

CCFC 2 V 1 FOREST

I spent the hours before our lunchtime kick off listening nostalgically to Jarvis Cocker’s R4 Extra tribute to John Peel, a barely believable 10 years after the great man’s untimely death. For my generation and for all of those who tend to favour the iconoclast over the populist icons of the age this is as close as we’ve got to a ‘Diana Moment’. Without the mawkish faux grief. And mercifully free of a Tony Blair figure artfully claiming him as ‘The People’s DJ’.

Ten years ago we were in our second season back in the Championship and approaching the end of Lennie Lawrence’s reign. The team that beat Rotherham 2-0 in front of 11,004 fans on 16th Oct 2004 included such luminaries as Tony Warner, the on-loan Gary O’Neill and coming off the bench to make his home debut a 17 year old Joe Ledley. A brace from Peter Thorne’s magic hat saw us rise up the table that day. To 21st. 

We were to finish 16th in a season that saw Rotherham condemned to the third tier alongside Gillingham. And Forest. If we’re still wounded after our one failed shot at glory, imagine how desperate Forest must be to regain their glory days which brought them successive European Cups and saw them as top tier regulars for two decades.

Under Stuart Pearce they’ve started well this season, enter the game undefeated and sit comfortably in 2nd place behind pace-setters Norwich. The contrast with our faltering start to the season could hardly be greater; likewise the managers. One an experienced former England international captain with 78 caps - 76 as a Forest player - who’s managed the England under 21 side as well as the British Olympic team, the other a former P.E. teacher pushed into the limelight after a 20 year career standing in the wings.

The new man made a few changes, some forced on him by illness and injury - the most significant being Fabio’s late withdrawal - which meant a another stopgap full back solution with Ralls slotting in. Disappointingly Ravel Morrison was out injured and Kenwynne Jones started from the bench, Slade preferring a Le Fondre - Macheda partnership up front. 

It was a lively start from both teams and there were early opportunities at either end. Former Canton End darling Chris Burke was finding far too much space, giving Ralls a torrid time. After some trickery in the box left the dazzled City defence requiring an unlikely goal line clearance from Craig Noone, the ball broke and Macheda was put through on the edge of the penalty area, jinked past a defender and cooly passed the ball wide of Forest keeper Darlow who might have done better. 1-0 after 22 minutes and the former Man Utd striker’s first Championship goal of the season. 

Five minutes later Whittingham found himself in space to slot the ball home at the near post. 2-0 and just the start the new manager was hoping for. The team was looking leaner, meaner and  more committed than any time under Solskjaer. Apparently those that were not on international duty in the week were called in for double fitness sessions (whatever that entails…) and it showed. The new mood was epitomised by one Craig Noone chase back and sliding tackle and a general no nonsense ‘no-one passes me’ approach from the magnificent M.O.M. Manga, apparently jet-lagged having arrived back from Gabon in the early hours.

The midfield was dominant, Gunnarsson controlling it and Whittingham playing with a swagger and poise that has been absent for some time. The home fans were loving it, taunting the opposition with antagonistic and anachronistic ‘Nottingham Scab’ chants, no doubt drawing a malevolent smirk from the face of Thatcher’s ghost as the enemies within grant her the right to divide and conquer from beyond the grave.

The half-time tributes acknowledged the passing of Welsh poet and lifelong City fan Dannie Abse 

who attended his first game in 1934 and, as one eulogy acknowledged, ‘wrote of sweat and woodbines on the cloth-capped Bob Bank’.

Forest came out refreshed for the second half and forced the pace. They may have pulled a goal back early on but the extravagantly, rhythmically named Assombalonga was adjudged offside. At the other end a curving Whittingham free kick evaded the Forest line, bouncing into the path of Morrison who, arriving late at the far post was unable to direct the ball past Darlow.

Jones was introduced on the hour mark, replacing Macheda, and Adeyemi was brought on for the tiring Gunnarsson but pulled up after less than 3 minutes to be replaced by Daehli. Ralls was brought into midfield and Noone pushed back to take over left side defensive duties. The enforced rejig didn’t work. Forest took advantage and slowly began to take control. 

The central defence held firm and the tireless Brayford dealt with the right side threat but we were always likely to be vulnerable on the left wing and it was no great surprise when Antonio got behind Noone to send a fizzing cross into the path of Assombalonga to reduce the deficit with 89 minutes on the clock.

We survived a panicky 4 minutes of time added on to take all three points and make the perfect start for the new regime. The result was hugely welcome: the performance more so. For those of us nostalgic for the recent past this represented a reassuring return to the solid workmanlike approach of Mackay and Jones. The new manager seems hewn from the same stone; solid, unfussy, down to earth. Tan may have inadvertently uncovered a real gem in Slade. Next up at the CCS are Ipswich on Tuesday night - a chance for the Tractor Boyz to Cum on Feel The Noize…

CCFC 2 v 1 SHEFF WED

A bloke’s relationship with his team is like no other he’s likely to experience. It’s one we enter into willingly and enthusiastically - usually at a vulnerable age - with unreasonably high expectations. We soon learn that it’s one love we’ll never have any control over and it’s not necessarily reciprocal. It’s a strange dynamic - our opinions don’t count and our complaints go unheeded but we sense that the other party is desperate for our approval and responds well to encouragement. 

We’re frequently left frustrated and astonished at her capacity to make bad decisions and wrong choices which we know will ultimately harm us both. We could turn or backs and walk away; many of us have done so from time to time but the ties that blind us pull us back in spite ourselves as the power of the memory of shared ecstatic highs and abject lows defeats all reason and proposition. 

Recent events would challenge the most solid of relationships and the walk to the ground today was full of anxiety and self doubt. I’ve done no wrong but there’s a part of me that feels somehow  responsible and I want to do the right thing. I’m giving her another chance. It may be her last.

The heir to my misgivings was apparently in the grandstand as the beleaguered back room boys   Scott & Gabbidon (that aspiring firm of gentlemen’s outfitters) took charge for their third and final game. After the wretched display in midweek losing to Bournemouth in the Capital Cup this was always going to be their swan song, assuming the lawyers can agree on a form of words that will grant Russell Slade, former P.E. teacher (think Brian Glover in ‘Kes’ with a baseball cap…) a chance the lower league journeyman coach no doubt thought had passed him by. And with an array of starry no-nonsense-get-the-job-done managers awaiting the call to arms, why would he think he was in with a shout?!

Tan’s crimson handsomely upholstered seat up in the director’s box was spared its owner’s facile flatulence again today, one of many empty seats in a crowd officially put at 21,000 - an implausible figure boosted by a strong away following and ghosted season ticket holders. 

I passed a group of twentysomethings outside the ground debating where exactly ‘the old ground, you knows, that Ninian Park’ used to be. The clouds parted and the ghost of Jimmy Scoular struck them down before I could summon up a glance of sufficient disdain. There was a nod to the more recent past as former central defender and current Wednesday captain Glenn Loovens was introduced to the crowd, temporarily bringing to mind the days of glorious cup runs and credible promotion campaigns.

Our line up included a brace of Morrisons - one restored to centre back alongside Manga, the other   in the unusual position for him of sitting on the bench rather than appearing before it. The biggest plus was seeing Fabio restored at left back. It’s seems hardly credible that so much could have happened since he left the field at half time against Norwich with the home fans purring after witnessing a revitalised City coming good at last, anticipating the great times to come under Solskjaer. Hmmm…

Wednesday started the stronger looking more organised and confident, unbothered by the distraction of a  7-0 midweek thumping at The Etihad. They passed up an early opportunity to take the lead as May found space in the box and rounded Marshall, the central defence’s blushes saved by a last ditch goal line clearance by the ever alert Fabio.

Two main areas of concern under Ole were the team’s fitness levels and the ability of eleven talented individuals (in many and varied combinations) to play as one cohesive unit employing a system that all were comfortable with and which reflected their individual strengths. 

The lack of time together on the pitch was again evident in the first half today as options were limited for the man on the ball and passes went astray. Upfront the towering, tireless Kenwynne Jones was imperious winning every ball, but noone - least of all Noone - seemed capable of anticipating the flick on or the knock down into space.

There were promising signs that all is not lost just yet as the previously unconvincing Pilkington and the effervescent Daehli combined well, with the restored but not fully match fit Noone showing flashes. The best move of the first half saw Daehli and Pilkington turn the Wednesday defence inside out as a floated ball into the box was met by Gunnarsson, his powerful header parried into the path of Jones arriving late at the far post but unable to direct the ball goalwards. 

Shortly afterwards on 38 minutes more good work in midfield resulted in a free kick and a booking for left back Mattock 30 yards out. It was the perfect angle but a bit distant for a Whitts special. No problem. After all, The Mercurial One ‘does what he wants’. He chose to send in a perfectly weighted cross, met powerfully by defender Morrison for City to take a hard fought, but on the balance of play perhaps unexpected, half time lead. 

The Owls started the second 45 worryingly well and were rewarded for their pressure when Morrison restored the balance, deflecting a whippy cross from Maguire past his own keeper. Wednesday now really stepped up the pace sensing an opportunity to capitalise on the home team’s flaky self-belief. After recent events it didn’t seem unreasonable to fear the worst. 

It was a huge boost then to see the team soak up the pressure and hold its nerve before launching a succession of counter attacks. Whittingham and Gunnarsson both went close with efforts from distance before the game turned as Jones rose in the box to head powerfully down, the ball taking an age to settle at a height for Pilkington to dispatch a powerful volley into the net.

Young Morrison was immediately introduced, replacing the tiring Noone, and easily distinguishable from his namesake not least by size, ethnicity, natural ability and ego, but playing under the moniker ‘Ravel’ to avoid any unlikely confusion. 

As a 16 year old Man Utd wunderkind Ravel Morrison was described by none other than Sir Alex Ferguson as ‘the best player I’ve seen at that age’ (don’t forget he signed Ryan Giggs at 14…). on his untimely dispatch to West Ham, Sam Allardyce called him ‘a brilliant footballer. Brilliant ability. Top class ability’ before adding with some ambiguity ‘He needs to get away from Manchester and start a new life’ 

It didn’t take Big Sam long to decide that he also needed to get away from the East End, sending him on a season-long loan to Birmingham and last season to QPR. His colourful life off the pitch has been as troubling and inconsistent as his career on it. The phrases ‘witness intimidation’ ‘homophobic threats’ and ‘common assault’ are a jarring and unwelcome intrusion into any 21 year old’s Wikipedia biog.

Putting all that to one side, if he can continue the form he showed in his brief but conspicuous  cameo appearance today he could change not only his own fortunes but that of his temporary club.  You sense there’s always the potential for a 2am Chippy Lane Incident but be in no doubt this boy is a player. A genuine talent capable of lighting up the stadium and our season. His time on the pitch witnessed a step change in our composure and belief. We were now winning second balls, looking sharp and hungry as The Troubled One panicked a tired Wednesday defence. 

We were unlucky not to increase our advantage in injury time as a neat move put Macheda in the clear, only to be ruled narrowly offside.

A timely boost then to put the off-the-pitch shenanigans in the shade for a while; and to rekindle the love. Walk away? Who am I kidding? In the words of Michael Corleone ‘Just when I thought I was out….they pulled me back in’. Again.

CCFC 0 V 1 MIDDLESBORO

After the second half capitulation to Norwich the manager called for more consistency. The man is clearly determined to lead by example. He’s played not only the same no.9 but also the same goalkeeper for each of the seven games played. And he’s turned up in the same suit. And worn the same socks. And he’s used the same tea leaves to determine the remainder of his line up.

The back four today included new boy Bruno Ecuele Manga in a new central defensive partnership with Cala, with former central defender Connolly - a converted right back - slotting in at left back. Brayford was kept on at right back so that Marshall could confidently feed the ball to someone he recognised.

In midfield Whittingham and Pilkington were joined by Adeyemi and Daehli and after a round of introductory handshakes, bashful half-grins and diffident hobnobbing they settled in just behind Jones and Mecheda in an innovative 4-4-2 formation.

For 60 seconds everything was going swimmingly. Then the ball broke from a Whittingham free kick and was fed out to Boro’s Adomah who eased past Connolly and crossed for the unmarked *Kike, former frog puppet and nemesis of Hector The Dog, to head past Marshall. 0-1 after 90 seconds.

*Apologies to anyone under 45 for the gratuitous reference to a 70’s French surrealist children’s TV programme.

Boro, under new manager Aitor Karanka, former assistant to Jose Mourinho at Real Madrid, were organised, compact; insipid. They were dominant but without suggesting that they’ll be a real force this season. Their creativity was limited to feeding the ball to Adomah to do his stuff down the right wing on the correct assumption that Connolly would be hopelessly out of position. Fortunately for us the redoubtable Manga and Cala were dealing with the central threat. This was one of the only positives to come from a night of fear and loathing in CF11.

Tactically we were all over the shop. At the back Marshall was looking for outlets to play the ball short, but if the full backs were briefed to build up slowly no-one had told a midfield which was playing with its back to defence awaiting the inevitable long punt. The consequence was speculative passes to absentee wingers or a panicked back pass to Marshall to play the default hit-and-hope. The midfield itself was as slick and well-oiled as a puffin caught up in the Sea Empress oil spill.

Upfront Jones and Macheda were slowly forming an intuitive understanding that at times bordered on the mystical. On one occasion Macheda fed the ball through to a position where Jones had been standing only five minutes earlier. After 45 minutes Macheda mysteriously disappeared. 

Half time arrived without a shot on target from the home team, the crowd showing its displeasure with a morale-sapping but well earned chorus of disapproval. 

There was a welcome and heart-warming debut appearance on the stadium mega-screen during the break from a young couple in the first flush of youth celebrating 3 years of conjugal entrapment. The crowd rose as one. And went for a beer. LOL arf, arf…

Ole brought on Gunnarsson at half time, rejecting the attacking imperative for the time being in favour of shoring up the midfield. Guerra and Le Fondre were introduced later on, replacing Daehli and Pilkington. This left us with an embarrassment of riches in the middle of the park but with no width.

We huffed and puffed up and down the crowded centre of the park but the most damning stat of the night - the number ‘1’ in the Shots On Target column - confirms how ineffective we were.

Before the game we were promised that there was ‘no panic’ in the board room. After the game the manager admitted ‘I’m responsible’. He can expect ‘the full backing of the Board’ after next Saturday’s inevitable defeat at Derby. His successor will inherit a deflated squad of gifted individuals in desperate need of a system they believe in and are comfortable with. The fans want to see a starting eleven they can believe in and an end to the tinkering. Ole might take some advice before it’s too late from Douglas Adams. Your squad might look ‘insanely complicated’ but DONT PANIC. Try this:

Marshall, 

Brayford, Manga, Cala, Fabio

Daehli, Adeyemi, Whittingham, Noone

Guerra

Jones

QED. 

Goodbye Ole and thanks for all the fish…

CCFC 2 V 4 NORWICH

There’s a new game at the CCS - ‘Ole’s Team Selection Bingo’. Cards containing permutations of the 29 first team squad numbers are issued on entry. The winning card is one containing the correct starting line up. There have been no winners so far this season.

Still on the numbers theme, mathematics has a theory known as ‘derangement’ which is defined as a permutation of the elements of a set such that none of the elements appear in their original position. The practical implementation of this discipline is known as The Solskjaer Principle.

‘Derangement’ in this context is of course not to be confused with the psychotic condition of the same name which confirms ‘a loss of contact with reality’. 

Today’s pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey master class allowed a start upfront for Macheda, pushed up the pecking order ahead of Maynard, Le Fondre and Torres Luis in a previously untried combination with Jones. Ralls was given a chance in midfield ahead of Adeyemi, Daehli and the absent Dikcagoi.

In the event it was a quiet first 45 minutes for the rotational system non-believers as we took the game to the opposition - favourites for an immediate return to the big time - playing with confidence and flair and looking comfortable with the system they’ve been hand-picked for, for the first time this season.

We got off to a flier as Ralls picked the ball up on the edge of the box, finding space and width to prise open a static Norwich back line, angling a shot across keeper Ruddy to find the back of the net. Three minutes on the clock and 1-0 to the red-shirted renegades. (Actually, the deranged stadium digital hourglass was doing a damned fine impression of H G Wells’ Time Machine and clocked the goal in at 99.00 mins. So I make that 3 minutes and 9 minutes of injury time already played. Fantasy football).

We continued to dominate and it was no surprise when after a succession of one touch triangles and neat interplay, the slickest of moves concluded with a deft Gunnarsson deflection off the far post to make it 2-0.

The Canaries were stunned, leaving the travelling fans pining for The Fens. 

In the City goal Capt. Marshall, Scotland’s Number One, who by Friday may have inadvertently become our latest foreign acquisition, was acclimatising himself to independence, directing events in splendid isolation untroubled by any incursions across his border.

The remainder of the half was uneventful, the crowd subdued, as we eased towards the break. 

At half time our new signing, Bruno, a post - transfer window signing from French club Lorient (let’s hope we’re not victims of a cruel prank which has left us paying £5m for a Leyton Orient stiff) was introduced to the crowd.

Norwich brought on former Bluebirds favourite Cameron Jerome for the second half as Ole’s rotational policy took a new twist with Dr Jekyll leaving the stage to be replaced by Mr Hyde.

After nearly 50 years of following your team it’s not unreasonable to think you’ve probably seen it all. Apparently not. A team so dominant in the first half were on the back foot from the restart as a resurgent Norwich tore us apart, turning the game on its head and scoring 3 goals in a tortuous 17 minute spell.

The whole balance of the team was upset by Fabio’s half time departure, a previously imperious back four now shapeless, ponderous and run ragged by the revitalised visitors. Declan John, on for Fabio, was attacked mercilessly down the left flank, the back-tracking Macheda offering little in support. 

The team was clearly missing a leader on the pitch. With the game plan in tatters there was no-one with sufficient authority to take stock and rally the team. One cohesive unit disintegrated into eleven fractured confused individuals. 

If they were looking to the bench for inspiration they were out of luck as Ole stood in his now familiar besuited pose, arms folded, dazed, confused. Deranged.

The substitutions were dubious at best. The excellent, battling Kenwyne Jones was removed along with Pilkington, despite clear evidence that Macheda and Ralls in particular were struggling. The over-populated midfield was now pushing forward and bunching up with the all-new strike partnership of Maynard and Macheda, forcing Gunnarsson out to play on the wing!

In the final minutes the thinning, wretched crowd were left to witness the familiar site of a returning player twisting the knife as Jerome made it four. 

Next up, Middlesboro on Tuesday. We’ll be there, with picks, shovels and Bingo cards, we’ll be there.

CCFC 1 v 0 Wigan Athletic

Some interesting facts about Wigan:

·         It is a small town in Greater Manchester

·         It has a football team

·         The football team in Wigan used to be called 'Wigan County'

·         'Wigan County' changed its name to 'Wigan United'

·         'Wigan United' changed its name to 'Wigan Town'.

·         Wigan has never had a team called 'Dinamo Wigan' 'Real Wigan' or even 'FC Interesting Wigan'. That's not the way they do things in Wigan.

·         The football team in Wigan is now called 'Wigan Athletic'

·         Not a lot happens in the town of Wigan.

·         In 1932 Wigan Athletic campaigned to get into the football league but failed to register a single vote.

·         After 34 failed attempts to get into the Football League, in 1974 they applied to join the Scottish Football League but failed to register a single vote.

·         Wigan is a small town in Greater Manchester. ENGLAND.

·         It has a Rugby League team. The name of the Rugby League Team in Wigan used to be called 'Wigan'. They were quite good.

·         The Wigan Rugby League team had a winger called Chariots Offiah who was pious and refused to play on a Sunday. He was made into a film. Vangelis Morrison wrote the music.

·         People from Wigan are known as 'Wiganers'.

·         Famous Wiganers include musical hall superstar George Formby, that bloke who used to sing with a stuffed skunk on his head in 80's pop band Kajagoogoo and Willy Eckerslike from Coronation Street.

·         Here is a funny joke about Wigan:  A bloke from Wigan wins the lottery. He decides he wants to have a statue of his dog so he goes to the jewellers and asks how much a solid gold statue of a dog would be. The jeweller asks "Do you want it eighteen carat?" The bloke says 'No I'll just have it chewing a bone'.

You know you're no longer in the Premier League because:

·         You leave the house at the normal time but due to 'Championship Football Parallactic Displacement Theory' you arrive at the ground ten minutes earlier than planned.

·         You realise that traffic light colour coding includes the colour green.

·         You're listening to The Archers in the car because 5Live isn't interested in your game.

·         On the walk up Ninian Way the conversation doesn't revolve around the threat of the opposition. Because you keep forgetting who you're playing.

·         You can access the 3G network in the ground as there is no local system overload.

·         You can clearly hear profanities emitting from the pitch. You sit back and admire the foreign players' ability to learn English swear words.

·         You can hear yourself think. This is not a good thing.

Oddly, the game kicked off early this evening. Or so it seemed. As the referee blew his whistle I looked around and thought 'You can't start yet, the crowd hasn't arrived'.

I'd planned to buy a programme to see if I recognised any of the players in my team. Fortunately the players' shirts still have names on them, even at this level, which is really good. So I got to learn a few names even though my distance eye-sight's not great. I think of the new boys Pillockton is probably the most promising but Lemon Dre and Jabba Gooly looked lively later on. I'm not convinced about Aden Yemini though - there was an obvious Gulf in class.

The game kicked off, the players ran around a bit and sometimes kicked the ball. Occasionally it was a bit like that game that you get excited about on the telly. Before you could say 'I could be home watching 'Great British Railways on BBC4' it was half time.

At half time I ate my apple. It was a Braeburn which is a cross between a Granny Smith and a Lady Hamilton.

Then the players came back out and played some more football. We score one goal and Wigan didn't. So we won the game. Hurrah! So the final score was Cardiff City one, Wigan Athletic nil. Or as James Alexander Gordon, the voice of the BBC results programme for 40 years who sadly died this week, might have said, 'Cardiff City one, Wigan Athletic nil.'

Is it May yet??