"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times ...

... it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness". It HAD BEEN the autumn of hope ... but now it was the spring of despair.

The English Premier League
Sunday 12th May, 2019, 3:00 pm kick-off - Craven Cottage
Fulham vs. Newcastle United
Referee: Kevin Friend
Attendance: 24,979

In fact, it had probably been "the age of (Norman) Wisdom", for those old enough to remember one of Marylebone's finest physical comedians. What better way to end the English Premier League season than in style, down on the river in The Chairman's Club, with a full-house attendance at Craven Cottage, watching some physical comedy of our own? In hindsight, watching paint or cement drying might have been more entertaining, but that's hardly the point ... is it? Many sincere thanks go to old buddies John Pritchard and Graham ("Plumber to the Stars") Morrissey, for their generous contribution towards getting two generations of the Harney family off the streets, at least for an afternoon. Great to sit near the half-way line with my (not much) older brother, Kevin. It was he, after all, who had started me on my roller-coaster Fulham ride, nearly 43 years ago. And now I would be watching them be formally relegated ... yet again.

Child's play? It's back to nursery school for Fulham's suck-a-thumb stars.

"IF AT FIRST YOU DON'T SUCCEED, TRY, TRY AGAIN". It's a phrase most of us probably first heard at school. And when it comes to managerial appointments, it's advice that's been keenly adopted by Fulham FC's board, this year. First utterance of the phrase is ascribed to Robert the Bruce, king of Scotland, supposedly inspired by the dogged determination of a spider, constantly rebuilding its web, in the Bruce's cave hide-out. He is meant to have used this catchy, home-spun spider analogy to motivate his army, ahead of their narrow victory over the English at Bannockburn, in 1314. Just like Mel Gibson's famous Scottish Referendum documentary, "Braveheart", the ascription of this phrase to The Bruce is, no doubt, 100% sound and historically accurate.

Its first written usage, however, has been more authoritatively traced to the 'Teacher's Manual', written by American educator Thomas H. Palmer - and to the novel for younger readers 'The Children of the New Forest', by Frederick Maryat (the latter lived and was schooled in Enfield for a while, y'know - as was John Keats). An updated version of its central idea was later popularised by US military leader Colin Powell: "There are no secrets to success. It is the result of preparation, hard work and learning from failure." ("The Leadership Secrets of Colin Powell", 2003 by Oren Harari - although I'm not sure just how much of a Leadership "Secret" that little gem was, tbh).

Why should we care about all this? Because if the central principle of these adages is true, then Fulham FC should emerge back up through the EPL's trapdoor with no trouble at all, in very short order, even stronger than ever ... given the vast amount of failure they have delivered recently - and given all of the learnings that surely must, therefore, have been gained by one and all. An associated adage (this one ascribed to Quentin Crisp, c.1968) is, however, that "If at first you don’t succeed, failure may be your style." Fulham fans the world over (both of them) will surely be hoping that this is NOT the case.

How can one reflect meaningfully on such an unrewarding season as Fulham have just experienced? You certainly have no time to lick your self-inflicted wounds. In the crazy, money-go-round world of contemporary professional football, you must rebuild and be ready for pre-season training in just a few short weeks' time. You could also do worse than simply following the advice of  Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields, from 1936:

"Will you remember the famous men

Who had to fall to rise again?

So take a deep breath,

Pick yourself up,

Dust yourself off,

Start all over again.

I'll get some self assurance

If your endurance is great.

I'll learn by easy stages,

If you're courageous..."

We will all learn the truth - and soon enough! Meanwhile, in this article The Telegraph gave some thought and time recently to the status and ambitions of the EPL's purgatorial/'yo-yo' clubs. "... there are Fulham fans who may feel some degree of relief that they have been put out of their misery. The Cottagers were the great entertainers of last season’s Championship, but there is no room for fun at the bottom end of the PL".

"Hello, my name's Calum": a group of complete strangers introduce themselves to each other, ahead of the day's on-pitch action.

There's a pet theory for pretty much every single person who cares to offer an opinion on their club's current malaise, and why should I prove any different? I blame poor boardroom management. A lot of the Premier League 'windfall' money was spent enthusiastically, expensively assembling a new squad of untested players without first giving established players a meaningful chance at proving their own capabilities in the top flight. Given that they'd been good enough to gain promotion, frankly, how much worse could those twelve good men and true have fared than their replacements? Anyone reviewing the team sheet below against the list of those on show in the Wembley play-off final, will find only 3 starters in common, with a 4th from that earlier sunny day warming the subs bench (US international and Bolton Wanderers escapee, Tim Ream) - and signally failing to get off it.

What seems most likely to succeed next term, IMHO, is a re-familiarisation with the previous season's three-man midfield. A triumvirate which took the club on an unexpected (and, indeed, unprecedented) club-record 23-game unbeaten run, in the second tier. They say that what's needed to escape the Championship, is players with Championship experience. So, presumably, we need look no further, then. The guys who were in large part responsible for that success (along with January loan signing Mitrovic and the teenaged Sessegnon) were Tom Cairney, Kevin McDonald and Stefan Johansen. Not only are all three still 'on the books' at the club, but Captain Cairney has just penned a 5-year extension to his contract. He is the man around whom next season's Championship title challenge will surely be built - by newly appointed permanent Head Coach, Scott Parker.

To be fair to the many nay-sayers, Cairney has been only a shadow of his former self, this season, in part through injury. While we've seen precious little of the other two. Edged out of the side by highly-paid and widely-trumpeted, supposed "marquee" signings, who, broadly speaking, simply failed to 'turn up'. Surplus to requirements, Johansen has been out on loan at West Brom since January, after making just 12 league appearances for the whites. In a case of that bizarre, mirror-imaging which football so often provides, Johansen has recently been in the midst of his loan club's efforts to make it back into the Premier League. Their route back ended after extra-time and penalties, in their play-off game second leg against Aston Villa. That's the same opponent whom Johansen helped Fulham to edge past in last season's Championship Wembley play-off final, remember. This year, success for him would have meant painfully(?) replacing his 'parent' club in the top flight. Although it seems, ultimately, his heart wasn't quite in that particular fight. Meanwhile, Kevin McDonald has managed only a cameo role of 13 appearances - with no option for a loan spell of his own. All three are internationals, with Premier League AND Championship experience and should start next season's challenge relatively 'fresh'. None of them was too much fancied, after the influx of what SHOULD have been £100mn plus of top-class, pure pedigree, footballing talent. Hmmmmmm ...

In its review of the EPL year (tellingly entitled "flops of the season") The Guardian called out one of those over-priced Cottage summer signings, Jean-Michael Seri, for particular opprobrium: "Fulham must feel short-changed".

Fulham players prepare to sign off in style from the Premier League, with a final day goal-fest. That aim probably didn't work out quite as they'd intended. They're shown practising their devastating scoring techniques in front of the famous "Johnny Haynes" Stevenage Road stand and The Cottage, in end-of-season sunshine. There was even a touch of floodlight 'porn', for those who like such things. That was about as good as it got, for non-Geordies.

Well let's at last get on with talk about this final (for the next 15 months, at least) EPL match-day, shall we? After all the usual, choreographed, pre-match paraphernalia, hype and nonsense - the portentous music, flag-waving, loud team selection announcements, etc. - at "Fortress Fulham", our entire season was very quickly summarised and paraphrased in the first meaningful attack of this game, against what was a fairly ordinary-looking "Toon" side, and by its first shot on target. My own season of following The Cottagers was summed up by my developing a massive blister on my left foot, resulting from the long walk along the river, from Hammersmith tube station. It was surely a sign from the gods, or the Bow Bells: "Turn again, Harn-ington! ..."

As the BBC's "Match of the Day" commentator, Mark Scott, rightly observed: "... No-one's picking up Jonjo Shelvey." Initially invisible to all of the men in white, apparently, Mawson did pick him up eventually. He covered all of 12 yards to do so, but only AFTER the Newcastle man had received the ball deep, unmarked at a corner, taken a controlling touch, advanced into the apex of Fulham's penalty area and unleashed a dipping, driven volley - over and wide of the flailing home 'keeper, Rico. Typically "Fulham-ish", it was the first goal Shelvey had scored in over a year - but it was far from being the first one Fulham had conceded in that time. It was further proof, if any were still needed, that the personnel in this Fulham side and effective zonal marking do NOT mix well. I hope Scotty was taking copious notes.

Scott Parker (bottom right) belatedly tries to squeeze out of frame, as Fulham fruitlessly take the early initiative, against their guests.

Summer signing Rico was at fault for the second goal (it followed just 90 seconds later) if not entirely for the first. He spilled the rebound from a routine low save onto a veritable plate and into the path of Pérez, for a far easier finish than the first. The score was 0-2 within the first 12 minutes, and there was to be no way back for Fulham, or their embattled (and embittered?) fans. 

"Local Hero" ... no, the one on the left.

You can read a match report here. After all, there's little point in my re-writing all the rest of the gory details. What I will tell you, though, is that I mis-spent the half-time break talking bubble perms, club goal-scoring records and some of the defects of these current manifestations of Fulham Football Club and its playing squad, with a former man-in-white who's 'in the know' - Gordon "Ivor" Davies (see above and below). Not only did Gordon insist on having his photo taken with his new favourite Walking Footballer, he even made a point of signing his page in my programme (see below). How we could have done with a few of his 159 league and cup club goals in this match. FIVE of them, to be precise. Final score: Fulham 0 - 4 Newcastle United ... ouch - but at least the early summer sun was shining down gloriously on London's oldest professional football club!

With "very best wishes" from me to you, too; even if it has mostly tended to seem like "the worst of times", recently, in SW6. Your Fabulous Football Pharaoh is finally signing off until next season. Or, perhaps, at least until I can summon the energy to bring you some close-season thoughts on other recent games my regal, omnipotent and immortal entourage has attended, at Craven Cottage and Donkey Lane.

"Till I die" might be a bit extreme, but this 2-minute video of Fulham Folklore, featuring another fairly famous Welshman (Keith Allen) should be worth a look, for true fans of The Beautiful Game. ⚽

Fifty-Three Years of Hurt ... and Counting!

THE EUROPEAN CHAMPIONSHIPS

22 March 2019
Qualifying Group A
England versus Czech Republic 19:45
Attendance: 82,575

AND

26 June 1996
Second Semi-final
Germany vs England 19:30
Attendance: 75,862

In the absence of English Premier League football and any more humiliating defeats for Fulham FC this week (don't worry, 'normal service' may well be resumed next weekend) all hungry football eyes turned elsewhere. Did you spot any parallels between the two games named above? Grab a cuppa and Czech (see what I did there?) out whether they're the same ones I noticed ...

As England crushed the Czech Republic 5-0 in a routine Euro qualifier, Sterling turned on the style by scoring a hat-trick. Fulham defenders, please take note. By the standard of most England matches, this one was quite enjoyable to watch. One defining moment from the game, however, stood out. Reminding me of a much less auspicious England result, in exactly the same Sat-Nav location, almost 23 years earlier.

Wembley Stadium: then and now ... and the pitch looks better!

Cast your mind back to the halcyon days of a long lost summer, and the Euro 1996 semi-final: England vs. Germany, under the twin towers of Old Wembley, and featuring those appalling slate-blue England shirts. We are in extra time, where a 'golden goal' could finish the tie. Paul Gascoigne is the central player in question, whose 'golden' potential would never be fully realised (there's a clue here!). He had provided the cross from a 3rd minute left-wing corner which, flicked on at the near post, lead to England's go-ahead goal. Scored, almost inevitably, by Alan Shearer. England were widely described as having been the better side in this game. It was a decent German vintage - but not a great one. Frustratingly, the Germans had ground out an equaliser in the first half - "the Kuntz", as too many of us (humourously?) observed. There were no more goals in normal time although, agonisingly, Anderton ("sick note", to his friends) had hit the post already, in extra-time, under pressure from German GK, Oliver Kahn. That was before my defining image finally arrived.

So then came Gascoigne's ultimate, career-defining moment in the spotlight. Forget the Tears of a Clown in Turin, forget The Dentist's Chair, forget the tabloid front pages featuring a portly Gascoigne out on the town with his nemesis, those celebrity "friends" of his, Chris Evans and Danny Baker. Six years on from Italia '90, Gazza was already, arguably, at the age of 29, past the peak of his powers; all too soon. Slowed by injuries (some of them so unnecessary) and already pursued by unseen inner demons.

As Shearer (of all people) provided a low cross from deep on the right of the German penalty area, which beat THREE defenders AND the goalie (the ultimate "slide-rule" pass, whatever that is) Gascoigne breezed, unmarked, into the centre of the six-yard box to administer the coup de grâce that would put Germany out of their misery and England, so rightfully, into the final of THEIR tournament to play the Czech Republic. Football really was "coming home", at last. After "thir-ty years of hurt".

But what was this? With nobody to beat but himself, Gazza seemed to physically (and mentally) crumble, in slow motion, before our very eyes. As he stretched for the ball, the weight of expectation from 60 million people (less a few bitter, self-deluding, Colin Hendry-loving Scots) was suddenly and very visibly weighing down on him. His stuttering, uncertain run and unsportsmanlike shove on his marker had slowed him down by that oft-cited and all-important "half a yard". He would, surely, need to stretch forward with his unfavoured right foot to reach this most tantalising of passes. Since, if he were to go with his left, the deliciously defence-beating pace of that cross would mean the ball would be past him before he could reach it. Gascoigne must realise this, too - won't he?!

Split-second decisions, famously, are often the defining moments of sports success - and failure. Gascoigne, marginally off the pace, chose his left foot, of course. Most of you will already know what happened next - the rest of this particular story goes: a penalty shoot-out defeat, resulting from an infamously decisive miss of the 12th, "sudden-death" spot-kick, by a 25 year-old Gareth Southgate; a golden goal win for Germany in what would have, could have, should have been England's glorious, sultry, sunny, summer final, against the Czechs; later revelations that Gazza was suffering from the beginnings of bulimia, obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), bipolar disorder, violence towards his partner and alcoholism. [OK, so maybe we'd all had a fairly good idea about the last one of those, from earlier on.] Those memories that should have been so golden are, instead, mostly made of brass.

Anybody who sees a still photograph of that should-have-been winning goal probably, like me, reflects on it as short-hand for all the wasted millions of column inches of shoddy sports "journalism" that passes for incisive comment on England's various and much-vaunted but ultimately under-performing "Golden Generations" (sighs deeply and shakes his head). It turned out that a decent German vintage was just enough, after all, to win the glittering prizes - while England's fizz remained unopened. Yet again!

Spot the difference?!

Under the arch of New Wembley, on Friday night, however, almost 23 years later, a different sort of sighing was to be heard. They were sighs of delight and contentment (perhaps mingled with some surprise) along with the birthing sounds of yet more over-bearing National hopes and expectations - will we never learn?!

With the scoreline at 0-0, 25 year-old Harry Kane played an incisive pass inside the Czech left-back to 18 year old Jadon Sancho who, in turn, played an oh-so-familiar-looking low cross into the 6 yard box from the right of the German (sorry, I mean the Czech) penalty area. This time, Gascoigne was nowhere to be seen, struggling to make the ground and the right decision. Instead, 24 year-old Raheem Sterling had sprinted to make himself available in the centre, near what I tend to think of as The Gazza Spot. He finished with aplomb, as he does so often, these days, for his club. Getting his outstretched left boot to the ball, almost exactly on the same blade of grass where others had previously failed. As an England fan, I had naturally assumed Sterling would not quite reach it. I was most surprised to see the ball in the back of the net, the absence of an off-side flag and subsequent goal celebrations.

The Guardian's chief football writer, Daniel Taylor, observed of the game: "The most notable statistic was that the goal was the culmination of a 25-pass move in which 10 different players were involved." He was wrong though, of course. The most notable statistics were to be found elsewhere. That was just a sports "journalist" showing off his supposed note-taking and observation skills. His stat does, however, show how abjectly outclassed the Czechs were, despite being ranked second in the group by most pundits, before this match. How poor and inappropriate their strategy and style of game management were. In the opening quarter of an hour, for instance, they had already resorted to an 11-man defence and 'agricultural' (unpunished) 'clogging' of opponents. This had resulted in the unfortunate Eric Dier being removed from the game with an injury. Ironically, it was the introduction of 25 year-old Dier's replacement that did for the Czechs. So perhaps the football gods were paying attention after all. This time, at least. Southgate introduced a more attacking central player, the 25 year-old Ross Barkley, and a subtle change to the team's formation, which left their opponents chasing shadows (to borrow a well-worn journo cliché).

No, forget about 25-pass moves (one pass for each year of their average age?) and the involvement of 10 different players. Just reflect on, and glory in, the more unstressed manner in which this young England team went about their business; unburdened by pressures and expectations. Destined and determined merely to express themselves and their talents, on the pitch, for their appreciative fans ...

and one day, quite soon perhaps, to finally end 53 years - and counting - of hurt.

That 25 year-old penalty misser, of Euro '96 and Pizza Hut infamy, has clearly learned a few footballing and media lessons along his rocky career road. He is now teaching them all to the class of 2019, and they appear to be quick learners. Which is just as well, because their careers and golden opportunities will pass in the blink of an alcoholic's teary, bleary eye.

As others can surely tell them, from (pints of) bitter personal experience.

That Familial London Derby - and yet another 'must-win' match

The English Premier League
Sunday 20th January, 2019, 4:00 pm kick-off - Craven Cottage

My son Callum intimated to me, back in November, that he'd like to watch his team (Spurs) play my team (Fulham) at Craven Cottage, this season. So I duly bought ludicrously over-priced tickets (at seventy-five of your English pounds each - it's an "A-game", y'know!) as part of his (and my) Christmas present. Another perfectly good game originally scheduled for a regular Saturday 3 pm slot, slightly spoiled by the overridingly complicit commercialism of the Premier League's servile re-scheduling of matches for TV. I still thought we could make a day of it, however, by having a relaxed Sunday lunch together, taking a stroll around South-West Central London, and visiting a gallery or museum before finally making our way to the game. It sounded like a nice idea to have some quality father-and-son time together, doing blokey stuff. At the time of initial planning, I had not reckoned on picking up a nasty and aggressive virus, over Christmas - and still being rather run-down, as a result, for dealing with a demanding Dad day. This is another negative aspect of the planning required, for fans actually attending our modern game, in the flesh. Long gone, those days of deciding last-minute, on the day, whether or not to go along to watch your 'boys'; simply handing over your shillings at the turnstiles, with everybody else.

Cal is a former student of History and Law. So a trip to a museum coupled with this fixture was especially resonant for him. As a historian, I hoped he would particularly appreciate spending some research time at the historic Craven Cottage stadium (home to London’s oldest professional club) with a fine view from our "Riverside" seats of England’s oldest surviving football league stand (the Johnny Haynes stand, opposite ours, on the Stevenage Road). The current Riverside Stand is expected to become “History” soon, itself. It is scheduled for redevelopment at the end of this season. Assuming the club's board don't wince and baulk at the proposed cost, in the face of a potential return whence we came, to The Championship. Whichever way the stand redevelopment plans go, the situation seemed to suggest that Callum could be amongst the last Spurs fans ever to sit in it, to watch his team play. Does it get any better than that, historically speaking?

Our classic (but expensive) view of footballing history ... possibly in more ways than one, come the end of this season.

We started with a Sunday steak lunch on Sloane Square, with a sunny, postprandial stroll to the venue for our cultural dessert: the National Army Museum. After which we also took on an 'amuse-bouche', in the shape of The Phene (Cal's choice: a posho's pub, as featured heavily in the low-brow TV show, "Made in Chelsea" ... Hugh Grant was NOT in the building). We then disdained the District Line and took a lift to the Fulham ground with Mohammed, from Mogadishu. He is an uber-Uber driver who, now, comes highly recommended. This last cheat saved us a good chunk of time and allowed us to soak up some 15 minutes of pre-match atmosphere inside the stadium, before the main event got going, under early evening floodlights.

Later, that old devil moon (see photo, below) would turn itself into a super-sized blood orange, under the influence of a total solar eclipse. Giving the 24/7 rolling news media an uncontroversial item with which to briefly sate their appetite for frenzied, repetitive and uninformative "news" coverage. For now, though, they would have to squeeze as much mileage as possible from the potential permutations of London's latest Premier League derby match. The questions for Fulham fans were: could our team eclipse (see what I did, there?) its pre-match billing and carry their A-game into play against 3rd-placed Spurs? And did they even have an A-game? It has been hard to tell, in recent months. Although the inflated face-value price of our tickets claimed that they indeed did, on paper at least.

Despite him not being renowned for his love of Fulham FC, Callum's and my journey brought to mind some historical, hundred year-old words, from anglophile Yankee wordsmith T.S. Eliot:

"Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky ...
Let us go and make our visit."

We had gone and made our visit; our pilgrimage to the shrine of London's earliest professional football. As had Tottenham Hotspur; both their team and a larger number of their fans than was strictly allowed. They did so, however, without the preferred company of the likes of 'Arry Kane, Son Heung-min, and Moussa Sissoko. Despite this, some punters, whom I hoped were being overly-optimistic, were still predicting a 0-4 scoreline - and Fulham were 5-1 ON for a home win, with the bookies. Did they not know that we had signed Ryan Babel? Many of the visiting Spurs fans had found a way of infiltrating the Riverside Stand seats. Crowd segregation at Premier League football grounds is clearly NOT, in reality, as well managed as it might claim/seem to be, on paper. In the unlikely event of a 4-0 scoreline, could there possibly be some old school, North vs. South London argy-bargy on the cards?

Some choreographed pre-match waving of big flags: what's that all about?

In a pre-match interview with The Observer newspaper, former Liverpool winger Ryan Babel stated he believes he has unfinished business in the EPL and wants to help Fulham survive. The 32-year-old had joined Fulham just that week on a short-term deal, until the end of the season. He has revitalised his career with Besiktas recently and won back his place in the Netherlands national squad. He says he still has "a burning ambition to prove some people in this country wrong". Let's hope he can deliver on that threat / promise. The same article states that Babel’s only previous experience of a relegation dogfight came in 2016, when he scored four times in five starts to help Deportivo La Coruna avoid relegation. Which would be a great model to follow. If he could only repeat that feat in our cosy little corner of South-West London, then I'd be perfectly happy.

The usual pre-match pretence of Premier League friendship and fair play ... before reality, inevitably, bites!

Keeping the "literary" theme going, club captain Tom Cairney features in an interview and his own notes in (and on the cover of) the match day programme. If he were to play against Spurs, it said, he would be making his 150th club appearance, on his 28th birthday. So, naturally, he did ... NOT play. His dialled-in contribution to the programme, however, was built upon the shoulders of giant clichés. Including: "we had a word at half-time"; "we tried to play more football"; "a win in a game like this could turn our season around"; [Babel has] "given the boys a real lift ... someone with his pedigree"; "hopefully he can hit the ground running"; "it's the best league in the world". Bingo! That's the whole set, right there. A full card of cliché contributions.

You can read the detailed match reports and what passes for sports 'journalism' on the game elsewhere, along the lines of: "battling Fulham" and "heart-breaking defeat" (e.g. at the FFC website; or in BBC coverage). The true tale of the game though was, in essence, simple enough to read: one team NOT taking its chances and failing to concentrate on the task at hand for 90+ minutes. The same team too content to sit back and try to protect a ever-vulnerable one-goal lead. An air kick (Tim Ream); a failure to read the flight of the ball, or even to get off the ground, to intercept a threatening cross (Denis Odoi); and a failure to track back in the dying seconds (Joe Bryan) were all Spurs needed, in the end, to upset the apple cart, spring the locks and "get out of jail free". When Fulham had, in fact, had the chances (including a blatant, stonewall, shirt tug of a penalty on Mitrović) and should really have got themselves 2 goals ahead in the first half - and "out of sight". You see, the Fabulous Football Pharaoh can do hackneyed clichés with the best of them, as and when he feels the need.

Oh, the result? It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. The narrowest of 1-2 defeats for Fulham, having deservedly lead for a large chunk of the game. At least it meant there would be no North vs. South London argy-bargy, after all. With no third goal looking likely in the match, we had been slowly heading towards the exit just as Spurs broke down the left, in the 93rd minute. Excruciating - and an undeserved kick in the thingies after a highly commendable, stalwart, under-dog, rear-guard action. Two 'schoolboy' defensive errors = two goals for the opposition ... for the the second week running. It would seem that Fulham have just not acclimatised, still, to the increased threat level of PL strike forces. Even Spurs' relatively blunted one.

In his programme notes, Cairney had shared the view that "if we hadn't won [the Championship play-off final, against Villa] the whole team would have been broken up". There's still plenty of time and opportunity for that though, come the end of THIS season, Tom. Time to start learning lessons and turning the talk into action, eh lads?!

Photographic evidence that it really HAD been that close a game, for the most part.

With all best wishes from your Fabulous Football Pharaoh, until next time. Which may yet be prompted by fellow keen sports fan George Lewis's planned February UK work trip, from the USA. An opportunity and excuse, if ever there was one, for a surfeit of soccer action, beers, fine wines, cigars, malt whiskies and old 'war' stories. Bring it on, George!