So, we’re doomed. It’s nothing new of course, we’ve been relegated before – in fact, we’ve been relegated over a dozen times this season; written off, all hope abandoned, ‘turn us off Mum, we’re down’.
It was the same last season of course – in fact it’s been this way since Steve Kean was handed the reins in the first place. There’s a marked difference naturally; at this stage, or any stage, last year – I was convinced that we’d stay up. We had Phil and Jermaine Jones, we had Chris Samba, Brett Emerton and a half decent Salgado. We didn’t have the Yak, granted, but we didn’t ship goals for fun and need to score two or three to get a result.
It was the same last season of course – in fact it’s been this way since Steve Kean was handed the reins in the first place. There’s a marked difference naturally; at this stage, or any stage, last year – I was convinced that we’d stay up. We had Phil and Jermaine Jones, we had Chris Samba, Brett Emerton and a half decent Salgado. We didn’t have the Yak, granted, but we didn’t ship goals for fun and need to score two or three to get a result.
West Ham away, Man Utd at home and Wolves away? Piece of piss, and so it turned out. Having endured a miserable campaign this time around however, Spurs away, Wigan at home and Chelsea away aren’t exactly holding the same belief.
But wait, I hear you cry? We beat Norwich last time around! We’re on fire! Believe, grow a grizzly Givet beard, pray to the Gods, give Jack’s statue a kiss – we can do it! Can we shite.
I was at a wedding last Saturday unfortunately (or fortunately, whichever way you look at it), and while I was naturally delighted as the goals filtered through and had the usual sense of satisfaction when the result was confirmed, it didn’t change my thought process an awful lot.
Rather predictably, it was soon confirmed by the news of QPR’s victory over Spurs, made even worse after viewing the winning goal and wondering how Friedel (Friedel for Jack’s sake!) was beaten by such a tame free-kick. Spurs didn’t turn up apparently – that was good of them. Good day for an off-day eh? Can’t wait for Sunday’s backlash. The bastards.
We’ve seen it with Wigan of course, beating Liverpool, United and Arsenal on their off days – nice one. Suddenly Villa are in the mire, but it comes courtesy of gifting Bolton an unlikely win in midweek. Somebody somewhere has got our card marked.
Of course, we only have ourselves to blame. We’ve been in and around the relegation zone all season – we’ve kept three clean sheets, never put more than two wins together (once) and even when we managed that, we then embarked on a five game losing streak, which is relegation form at any stage of the season – never mind the business end.
There’s been a few highlights, if you count them on one hand, and through the protests - we’ve at least had something to shout about, but the time for believing in miracles has long diminished.
Thus, all those hours spent watching The Football League Show, which is far more entertaining than watching Shearer and Hansen talk bollocks, will prove to be handy research. I only hope Keano had the same idea; scratching that nasty rash on his face, whilst pondering over Barnsley away.
Do you know, it doesn’t look all that bad in any case – as long as we have a club to follow: Blackpool, Middlesbrough, Hull, Leicester, Derby, Leeds, Forest, Barnsley, Wolves, Birmingham - all north of erm, Birmingham. One, if not both Sheffield clubs, should be there as well - not to mention two more dates against our beloved neighbours. Not bad at all.
Who wants to watch games of chess in the Premier League anyway? The rich get richer, the poor get poorer and everybody grows more mediocre. It depresses me watching everybody else play on Sky and then watching a totally different level of football down at Ewood – so nothing will change there. What actually happens if we stay up? It’ll still be the same next season.
Kean will still be there of course, in fact – he’ll probably be handed a new ten-year contract and Venky’s (remember them?) will erect a golden statue of him outside the ground; rash free of course.
So bring it on I say – I’ll still be there, moaning and grumbling. What else have I got to do on a Saturday afternoon? Shopping? Bollocks to that.
Of course, beyond the bravado and acceptance of fate, there’s a tiny glimmer of hope tucked away in the darkest, dustiest corners of my mind – of course there bloody is. I wouldn’t bother otherwise. I can see the Yak wheeling away with the dove of love, arse-faced Redknapp throwing his arms in the air in frustration, Martinez taking another dodgy decision on the chin and Drogba screaming ‘it’s a fucking disgrace’ when Scott Dann finally bags me two hundred and fifty big ones.
Of course I’ll miss the Premier League – you don’t exist otherwise. ‘Sheffield Wednesday – who are they? What league are they even in these days?’ I know. I watch the Football League Show.
I think the key is, and I’d imagine most fans are with me here – to not be surprised when the inevitable happens. ‘Do’ be surprised if we do stay up however – pop the Champagne, sing your heart out, hug strangers, fall in love, get leathered and don’t think about next season all summer. Either way, forever and ever – we’ll follow our team. We are the Rovers.
