I will take the blame for our miserable home defeats

Never mind poor Earnie missing out on last Saturday's game against those robust, pecky Owls, I know exactly who is to blame for City's latest home defeat and the finger is pointing firmly at me.

Never mind poor Earnie missing out on last Saturday's game against those robust, pecky Owls, I know exactly who is to blame for City's latest home defeat and the finger is pointing firmly at me.

After trying both the 4.57 and the 5.57 Saturday train back to the even-flatter-than-Norfolk flatlands where I now reside, I have long since decided that the former is much gentler on mind and body since I am not having to listen to a multitude of football songs that I do not understand, firstly because of the accents they're sung in and secondly because the subject matter appears somewhat foreign to a mere Canary, plus I am not having to share my seat with about three others twice the size of me, risking a right ruffling of my feathers and a fair few bruises to boot.

Bearing all that in mind, I slipped away from Carrow Road with my overnight case, 78 minutes on the clock, ready to do as near to a sprint as I could to get a seat on my preferred option. The match, I thought, had 0-0 written all over it and the noise from within suggested anything other than the usual had taken place. Imagine my surprise when a text from a friend explained the gory details and left my mood rather less than pleased as I stood in the freezing cold waiting for a seat.

This however was just a prelude to the gloom and despair that followed. The 4.57 had been cancelled and a queue was being formed next to one of the platforms for passengers to get on the 5.57.

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As the minutes dragged by and the temperature plummeted, more and more disgruntled City fans joined the snake of people heading off towards the flower stall in the distance, while I thought back to what I had obviously missed and thought ahead to sharing my seat with three giants and getting an ear bashing, ranging from ditties about various Sheffield United players being illegitimate to those nice Christmas numbers that have words for easy substitution…you know the sort I mean!

Falling asleep crossed my mind, even though I still had enough sense to know the result wasn't going to be different when I woke up.

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Well, if I thought the opening 78 minutes of the game went slowly, always the sign of a not very inspiring encounter in my book, then the 50 minutes that passed while I sunk lower and lower into my coat waiting felt like an eternity. When finally the flimsy yellow tape was removed from the access way to the platform the frozen hordes ran like their lives depended on it.

Thank goodness I was blessed with the fleetness of foot of one Mr Huckerby (the warming ray of sunshine on a cold and miserable day as he signed to stay with us for another season and a bit) as I found coach one and a seat by the window so I could look out at the cheery Christmas lights and giggle at the inflatable Santas to pass the time.

But wait a minute! I had forgotten that most of the blue half of Sheffield was with me so there were at least 20 out-of-tune renditions of “There's only one Deon Burton” and several dozen very loud phone calls to mates back home to heap woe upon misery for the travelling City fans. Even the chant “Our trains are bigger than yours” failed to raise a smile as I found myself wishing that we did indeed have one of their gargantuan trains so I could be sat on top of the heater miles away from anyone else.

So back to me taking the blame. Well, I went on the uncancelled 4.57 the day we played Hull - they scored after I left, and look what happened last weekend. I want to assure everyone that we will beat Southend on Boxing Day as I shall be coming back by car and will be there for the entire game.

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