I’m not going to write a match report for the Fulham game. There are only so many synonyms for gutless, and having left myself with fifteen minutes to go feeling physically sick at just how bad we’d played, I couldn’t do it justice. Suffice it to say, that was the kind of performance that not only gets you relegated, but deserves relegation.

Alex McLeish said at the presser post-game that the players were hurting. I bloody hope they are, and I hope they’re physically hurting cos a mad ginger Glaswegian has been booting them up the arse. Defeat to a team that has played to a world class standard you can take; defeat because of inept refereeing is galling, but it’s still easier to swallow than seeing your team just literally lay down and die in front of you. We’re supposed to be a team high on intensity, high on endeavour, high on passion – I didn’t see any of that today.

And to cap it all, all the teams around us picked up points. We now go to White Hart Lane knowing we have to win to know for sure we’ll stay up against a team gunning for a European place. We go to London knowing that Blues have taken one point from fifteen; that the heads have dropped, that the mistakes have massively crept in and that Blues couldn’t score in a brothel with a fiver wrapped their collective tadgers. In short, for many fans there is no hope, only the creak of the trapdoor to dump us in the Championship.

I’m seen by some as a blind optimist. I admit, I’ve tried to look for positives, I’ve tried to do my bit to get behind the lads and to encourage others to do the same. My faith has wavered, and now I too think we’re doomed. For most of this season I was convinced 36 would keep us up, 38 would certainly keep us up, and 39 definitely would. It still may pan out that 39 will keep us up – if Wigan and Blackpool lose heavier than we do, we stay up on goal difference. But I don’t want to even contemplate that; we can no longer hope for other teams to do us a favour – it’s down to the Blues now.

Some fans still say it’s our lack of attacking that’s killing us; and they’re right in that we don’t press for the ball high enough up the pitch. Whenever we had the ball, even if it was our back four in front of the penalty box, the Fulham players (and in particular Andy Johnson, who had a fine game) pressed us for the ball, knowing that we’re prone to mistakes. On the other hand, Derbyshire and Phillips just bounced off the Fulham centre backs, and just gave up trying to win the ball. In saying that, it’s the defensive errors that are truly killing us; Foster gifted them a corner from which they scored (having already within the first five minutes been unlucky not to score twice). Johnson played as if he was on the beach, Jiranek was obviously dreaming of Czech beers or somesuch as time and again, he lapsed in concentration.

No doubt I’ll try and be more positive in the week coming, but right now I feel as miserable as most Blues fans. All we can do is what the song says, and keep right on to the end of the road.

Tags: Alex McLeish, Ben Foster, Kevin Phillips, Matt Derbyshire, relegation