Delighted not to have slipped up

PUBLISHED: 16:26 23 September 2006 | UPDATED: 09:40 14 September 2010

Well, the less said about the Palace game the better and, yes, I will accept responsibility in part as I did sort of talk it up at the end of last week's piece; although I think our inability to create much and put away what we did manage to fashion had a slightly bigger influence on proceedings than my gut feeling.

Well, the less said about the Palace game the better and, yes, I will accept responsibility in part as I did sort of talk it up at the end of last week's piece; although I think our inability to create much and put away what we did manage to fashion had a slightly bigger influence on proceedings than my gut feeling.

Oh, and it just had to be Shefki Kuqi who scored didn't it. The sight of that belly flop on our hallowed turf so very late in the game made me long for a plate of olives - and I simply hate those things. (I happen to have some considerable admiration for the man if I'm honest, not least because of his remarkable escape with his family from war torn Kosovo and the way they had to adapt to life in Finland - but to score against us is unforgivable, though highly predictable sad to say).

On a more positive note thank goodness for a win at Rotherham midweek. And let's not underestimate the win for plenty of Championship and indeed Premiership teams have fallen foul of the banana skin-laden Carling Cup competition this week. Our tie could easily have been yet another to leave egg on the face and more than ruffle the feathers.

From 1-0 up to 2-1 down I could feel those familiar feelings creeping into the psyche, plus an urgent need to buy up yet more travel pills for the needy. However, this time we gratfully gobbled up a slice of good fortune from Lady Luck and then went on to capitalise on it.

More of the same is needed at Plymouth when we don that very nice new white strip and hope the opposition merge into the background in their version of green like we used to in our old green and black striped effort.

And while on the subject of strips I was amused at the back end of the week to sit down to watch Spurs v Palermo, expecting the Sicilian UEFA Cup representatives to run out of the White Hart Lane tunnel wearing something quite menacing as befitting their homeland. But to my surprise they wore a rather bemusing black and pink number while their fans in the stands, mostly wearing the side's usual home strip, were covered in the very same pink but without the black!

They looked a bit like a pile of sticks in a Great Yarmouth rock factory…only I won't be saying that to any of their faces now or in the future just in case.

A quick look at the calendar and September is almost done and dusted already, with the nights beginning to pull in quite noticeably.

Last Saturday at 3pm though was quite bright and warm - so why on earth were the floodlights on full pelt yet again? Does anyone know?

Was Mr D'Urso's eyesight really that bad or does someone on the board at the club have shares in a well-known electricity company perhaps?

Whatever the reason it cannot be cheap to have these blazing beacons on, and to have them on when clearly they are not needed - well, it makes me have to ask if we could have afforded certain players' wages after all! Best not dwell on it, hey.

Finally, with golf in the form of the Ryder Cup being on many a sports fan's viewing schedule for this weekend I couldn't miss the chance to mention a certain sports news channel's interview with the professional sportsman who is second cousin of Padraig Harrington in the build up to Europe's tussle with the USA.

There I was expecting to hear an Irish voice like Harrington's belonging to someone who plays hurling or Gaelic football instead of golf. So, imagine my surprise when a photograph of one Joey Harrington appears on screen with a caption stating 'Miami Dolphins Quarterback', and a voice that was as American apple pie and ice cream starts to speak. Its owner states his desire to see his second cousin play well, but America return with the golden trophy firmly in their grasp. Well I never.

Perhaps you too have a relative out there who plays a sport professionally but who is of a completely different nationality to yourself, but if you're related to Shefki Kuqi I think you best keep that one a bit of a secret in Norfolk for now.

Otherwise, you might end up wishing you knew some of that lot who wore pink shirts in London a couple of weeks ago.

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