Running on Empty: West Ham 1 -1 Everton; 28 December

This game was a family outing.  There was me, my two sons, one daughter, a grandson and a son's girlfriend (but no partridge or pear tree).  Connor, bouyed by his success in predicting the score against Man City (if not the team that would win) and possibly overcome even this early in his career supporting West Ham by the Fulham result, decided that we would go one better and win 4-1.  Oh the naivety of the young.  Considering the Fulham performance, rather than the result, as well as the fact that we had played 24 hours before and Everton's match had been postponed, the jaundiced elders expected nothing from this game.  When we were given a team with Carlton (two-goal) Cole on the bench and Rigor and Faubert the faux right back on the pitch, even nothing seemed a stretch.

In the event, we got a draw and felt reasonably happy.  Well, except for the numpties behind us who greeted Cole's appearance as a substitute with their customary level of abuse, which one of them then managed to escalate into racism.  What odd brain cell they must possess suggests to them that this will help the team win?  Does it never occur to them that support might be part of the job description of being a, well, supporter (the clue's in the word)?  While I admit that the general and specific levels of some West Ham players over the years - and certainly in this team - on occasions beggar belief, even I can see they are trying (very, as the old joke has it).  Although Rigor has an unbelievably irritating habit of passing to the opposition, he works terrifically hard.  Not to much effect, I admit, but he won't improve through abuse. 

Similarly, Cole often occupies two central defenders alone and receives scant service from the wings that he can do anything with.  Unfortunately, he undermined his case by missing a golden opportunity to win the game with a poor attempt.  But maybe that betrays a lack of confidence from having Racist Numpty abusing his every contribution.

I bet David Moyes would play him.  After all, he deployed his famous 4-6-0 formation with no forwards until he brought on Yakubu as a sub.  Now there's a player we tried to sign, and out of a choice of him and Cole, we have the better of it. What abuse would he receive, I wonder? 

But then it appears he was a signing favoured by the owners - in the tradition of Big Benni before him.  Perhaps they should stick to owning and leave the football to the professionals? Not that one would wish to trust Avram with big money.  After all, he spent almost all his transfer budget on Winston Reid and Pablo Barrera, neither of whom played even with all the players being rested and who both seem out of their depth in the Premier League.

So we competed well enough against a team that beat Man City away last time out, could have won (and could have lost) and seemed to have Super Scott out on his feet by the end, but we had a point and are unbeaten in three games.

And then bloody Liverpool lose to Wolves (the only team with a worst away record than us) and bloody Arsenal let slip a lead against ten-man Wigan and we're back on the bottom.

A funny old game?  No, it's enough to make you weep!

Boxing Day Clever: Fulham 1 - 3 West Ham; 26 December

Ho, ho, ho indeed.

Where to begin with the pleasure of seeing us win an away game for the first time in sixteen months and 28 attempts?  Especially because for the first forty minutes we hadn't played at all.

I watched the game with my elderly mother, my two sons, eldest daughter and six-year-old grandson.  This demographic limited to some extent the tone and content of the focused advice offered to the team via the television screen.  My mother's dementia didn't get in the way of mocking the criticism we directed at West Ham with comments suggesting that we wouldn't do much better.  True, but as Joel pointed out, we should be so lucky to be paid their wages to be so inept.  Notice, I said 'be paid' rather than 'earn', because, Super Scott excepted, the first forty minutes didn't suggest anybody was earning their wages.  When we went behind to the first goal Aaron Hughes has scored in six years, it was the usual story.  Don't clear a corner, don't put pressure on the cross, don't mark players in the middle of the six yard box, concede yet again.  Do we practice this in training?  I have to think so because we are so slick at doing this every game.  So we sat back and waited for the deluge.  After all, Hughes never scores, Fulham don't score many anyway and they must have thought their very own Santa Clauses had turned up  in claret and blue instead of the traditional red.  If Andy Johnson had not forgotten what it is like to score a goal we would have been dead and buried well before half time.

As it was we muttered our discontent.  Just after half-past one The Controller returned home.  She'd (wisely) decided to visit her mother to keep away from the negativity but returned to prepare lunch for the family.  Popping her head around the door she enquired as to the score and offered, 'oh,well, never mind' before departing for the kitchen and Carlton Cole promptly scored.  She returned to see what the fuss was about in time for Piquionne to score a second.  Half-time and, improbably, impossibly, West Ham were in front.  As we calmed down, we realised this could not last.  The Sky commentators could not believe the turnaround (and nor could we), but there was another 45 minutes to go for us to repeat our slapstick defending.  Cole had already scored a goal, so there was no point him staying on - he's never scored more than one goal a game in well over 150 games. 

Well, well, well.  The past is not a reliable predictor for the future.  Things change.  We didn't concede another goal and Cole scored a second for him and we won 3-1.  By the 88th minute, we'd relaxed to the point of believing we would win, after all.  Connor was joining in the rendition of 'Bubbles' and we were teaching him the version of Jingle Bells where it's fun to see West Ham win away.

The only frightening thing was seeing Avram Grant on the telly smiling.  And, as my son Jack noted, winning means he keeps the job for longer.  Cloud/silver lining interface.

But we're no longer bottom (even if Wolves do have two games in hand and are only a point behind) and we now twist on the spike of hope again.

Until the Everton game tomorrow, that is.

Connor had better keep predicting us to win .....

Christmas Presents? Or the season of goodwill? Before the game away to Fulham.

Today is Christmas Eve.  In two days West Ham will make the long trek west to Craven Cottage for yet another attempt to win away from home.  Not that it's very far from home, of course. But I shan't be going.  I've succumbed to Christmas torpor.  My family will arrive early so we can collectively suffer in front of the television and the Controller will remove herself and be mildly disapproving of our collective abuse (which will necessarily be moderated in front of six-year old Connor).

You can see I'm expecting a positive result.

But it might be that a fat man in a red costume will come bearing three points and deposit them at Avram's feet, thus ensuring good cheer and him remaining in the job for a little longer.  So David Gold, get the costume on.

A Good Game to Miss: Blackburn 1 - 1 West Ham; 18 December

So in London there was almost a blizzard.  All games called off - even those tomorrow.  But one 3 o' clock kick-off went ahead - West Ham at Blackburn.  I had my first experience of watching a live game streamed and The Controller had the joy of hearing the abuse hurled at the monitor.  At one point in the second half she was moved to make a two-word comment - 'Blood Pressure'.  At the end her summary was - 'just bloody juvenile', but far from being juvenile it was very mature, considered and well-crafted abuse.

Where to start?  The commentators noted that Spector would be surprised to find himself playing as Behrami was due to start but managed to get injured in the warm-up.  I would have been surprised to find him playing if I had, but he was just occupying space on the pitch.  Piquionne was beyond awful.  He couldn't shoot, couldn't pass and, when given the chance free in the box, couldn't head either.  Barrera is not lightweight, he's featherweight.  Before their goal he had a chance to clear the ball and was for the umpteenth time brushed off it.  Dyer has no notion of looking along the line and was caught offside time and time again.  Rigor worked and worked - even teeing up Piquionne to waste a chance - but he's not good enough and is always a rush of blood to the head away from giving away a penalty or getting sent off.  This time it was a free kick in the 93rd minute that could have lost the game through a ridiculous lunge.  And then the glory that is Big Ben McCarthy.  Put through by a glorious ball to win the game against his old club in the 85th minute he fell over the ball.  Other than that he couldn't pass accurately from two yards.  I hope I never see him again.

But there is always the glory that is Super Scott.  He made our equaliser and somehow kept us going forward even when all that was forward was Piquionne, McCarthy or Cole (and so you knew it would come straight back).  And Tomkins played as a proper defender.  So two of the players had good performances and that was enough for a draw.

The only downside is that may keep Grant in the job, and a point isn't going to help us stay up.  We're still three points behind the other teams at the bottom and now have payed a game more.  I don't know about The Pornographers, but I think the time for keeping calm is past.  Let's panic!

Preparing for another miracle: Before the Blackburn game

The last but one time we were fighting relegation, the Blackburn game was a turning point.  We were awarded a goal that didn't cross the line and a penalty for a foul way outside the box. 

Now we are looking for lightning to strike in the same place, 'cos that's the only way I can see West Ham winning at Blackburn.  There's a new 'caretaker' manager (why does the caretaker always get the stand-in job?  Why not the car-park attendant or the sous-chef?) who will be desperate to make an impression.  The players will also need to impress a new boss.  Whereas our players haven't won away for ever (form they are now taking to home games), with the same old manager who definitely needs to take care he's not out of a job after this game but who's shown no ability to get anything like necessary performances.

The only hope is a blizzard ....

Underwhelmed: West Ham 1-3 Man City; 11 December

The expected result was greeted with widespread apathy.  Nobody I've spoken to believes anything other than that we'll be relegated.  Of course, I've not spoken to Avram Grant, and he believes that the team is playing well and that we can win two of our next three games (as opposed to two of our last 17).  He also believes that Father Christmas will be coming down his chimney with presents.

What has been more interesting is the other events taking place on Planet Football (where the atmosphere is completely different to earth, and it is inhabited by alien beings who do things differently to humans).  Chris Hughton was sacked by Newcastle for a record of achievement we can only envy.  When some Newcastle fans chanted that Mike Ashley is a 'fat cockney bastard', though, I felt aggrieved.  I'm a cockney and he's just a wide-boy chancer, and there's a difference.  And Newcastle fans calling him fat!  I've seen them with their shirts off in the crowd at Upton Park and, fat as he is, he's sylph compared to some of them.  Five Bellies, indeed.

But with the sacking, Lord Sugar's suck-up showed unexpected reserves of sympathy, saying she'd invite Hughton for a cup of tea.  That must have made Avram twitch.  After all, Hughton has recent and relevant experience.  He took over a failing team and accompanied it into the Championship, where he galvanised it to be promoted immediately.  Then he took it to mid-table.  He did this without spending any money, and by bringing in Academy players.  Sounds like a better plan than any we've had recently.

But then that was turned upside down by the next day's events on Planet Football, the sacking of Sam Allardyce by Blackburn.  Apparently, the owner wants better football and the team to challenge for the Champions League and had already allocated £5m for the transfer window to help achieve that.  And I want West Ham to win the league, play like Barcelona, an end to world poverty by the end of the season and the Coalition Government to sign solemn pledges to never tell lies again (although I recognise the latter is a ridiculously unachieveable aspiration).

Now I'm no expert (unlike the owner of Venky's, Asia's largest producer of chickens and eggs - whichever came first - who had never seen football matches before the last couple of months), but my guess is that Blackburn will struggle to achieve a top ten finish.  But when Allardyce went there, replacing Paul Ince of hallowed memory, they were certain to be relegated.  And they weren't, and they wouldn't be this year. 

OK, it might not be pretty, but then losing with the regularity we do is also not pretty.  It may be functional, percentage football based on sound defending first and foremost, but our defending has been abolutely atrocious and our attacking not much better.

Like all fickle fans, I was delighted when Alan Curbishley went because of his lack of ambition and boring football.  But my ambition now is not be relegated, and if that takes boring football, well boring winning football is better than boring drawing football and not even in sight of boring losing football.  And then, when we're safe I'll be quite happy to start moaning again about style and aspiration.

But as for now, the chance to appoint Allardyce (Big Sam or not), with some money to spend on the squad in the transfer window, is too good to miss.

Sooner or later, The Pornographers will have to grasp the nettle that their appointment in the summer is taking us to the Championship.  Sack him now and there's a chance to escape (albeit slim), stick with him further than the new year and we're down.  Then we might need Hughton's knowledge of the Championship

Seeing is believing: before the Man City game

This week I have had an operation on both eyes  (a right upper ptosis repair and bilateral dermatochalasis [blepharorrhaphy], since you ask).  I currently look like I've been punched by Mike Tyson and my vision isn't the best.  Everything looks a bit like those shots with camera lenses that have had vaseline on them.  It should be fine by Saturday, but I'm not at all sure that 20-20 vision will make the game look any better.

Man City is the new team everybody loves to hate because they've spent zillions to buy the Premiership and then the Champions League.  But that's what Chelsea did before them and it prefaces the next two World Cups that we have a Russian oligarch and an Arab plutocrat owning those two teams as well as, presumably, bankrolling international tournaments with enough Wonga to sate even the ever-so-greedy Sepp Blatter's appetite.

Since for years 'big clubs' have been buying the best players from smaller clubs anyway, it's only a question of scale when Liverpool or Man Utd don't like it.  And Man Utd are not exactly shrinking violets when it comes to shelling out money for players they have previously tapped up.  Ince?  Rooney?  That's ignoring Van Nistelrooy and Stam.  Spurs have certainly bought the playbook - 'Arry or son Jamie do the tapping up, the chairman spends big money, hey presto, Chapions League.

So the delights of Man City's no doubt very opulent bench (as well as very large pay packets) must be better than Arsenal (for Adebayor) or Everton (for Lescott) or being John Terry's neighbour (for Bridge - and that I can well understand).

As the weather's cold I expect Roberto Mancini will be modelling the style item de nos jours, the club scarf (as taken up by the rather less stylish Avram Grant, but in different colours), and there'll be snoods and gloves a-plenty for the players.  For the crowd (our bit, at least) it'll be thermals under layers of other clothes so we give passable imitations of the Michelin Man.  But we can but hope the players are induced to run around a bit to keep warm.

I'm not sure whether being able to see the game will be such a good idea after losing to Sunderland.  Man City are a different proposition and although King Carlos has done the decent thing and got himself suspended so he doesn't have to score against us, he'll miss his usual standing ovation (and we'll miss his crossed hammers sign in return).  But I can't see us getting anything from this game other than frozen extremities.

Back to the Bottom: Sunderland 1 - 0 West Ham; 5 December

Normal service has been resumed and West Ham are once again beaten away from Upton Park  That's every league game since the first one of last season where we haven't won away.  So consistency there, then.

The last time West Ham were relegated, I knew we were in trouble when, in the first or seocnd game of the season, we were beaten at home by Leicester.  Leicester!  They were one of those teams that we always, always beat, no matter how we were playing.  Something like Blackburn now.  Or like Sunderland - we never lose to them, we even won at their place in the fizzypop in September.  But not today, not this season.  And for all the euphoria of beating Man Utd last Wednesday, we're back to the bottom of the table and looking certainties for relegation.

Nobody I know expects to win the semi-final, but nor do we expect to win any games between now and then because we'll be concentrating on it.

And lacklustre performances like today's are just, well, to be expected. 

As the old football saying has it, the table doesn't lie - and it doesn't even spin, unlike Avram, who will no doubt find plenty of positives in today's performance.

So, at least Carlos is suspended for next Saturday's visit of Man City and won't be able to get his usual ovation.  But I can't see anything other than being beaten again, so at least false hope won't be given a twirl this week. 

What's that about being bottom at Christmas?  Good job we have a four-year plan, then.  I just can't imagine that the way this season is going was part of the plan, so I'm not over-confident that the rest of the plan will be any good.  Still, there's always cross your fingers and hope.  It can't be any less effective a strategy than this one and perhaps the Premier Santa will give us a big bag of pressies against Blackburn, Everton, Fulham and Wolves.  We shall see.

A new dawn?..

At present West Ham have lost twice in eight games and are in the semi final of the league cup. It feels like a momentous change to the season and maybe supporters of other teams would be pleased. We’re not, we know we’ll probably lose at Sunderland on Sunday and start the run of form we are used to.

This is the type of negativity that is instilled in me as a life long (forced) West Ham fan. Any glimmer of hope is quickly darkened by some cloud of doom. If the Chilean miners were West Ham fans they would have probably topped themselves in the first few hours, before the food had even run out.

It seems like a lot of supporters are unaware that association football games are scheduled to run for ninety official minutes, with some extra time thrown in on top. I understand frustration at the football at West Ham, but do these people really have somewhere that pressing to get too a birth, or a funeral?

A child being born will no doubt be indoctrinated with the unending love (with equal amounts of loathing) for West Ham and understand their parents lateness. A Funeral on a Saturday is a rare event, never mind on Wednesday night. Even so, if the recently departed was West Ham, they’d have understood and would be annoyed at the funeral schedulers tactless planning. If not, fuck ‘em, miss the service and go for the drinks after, much less depressing.

I have a feeling that it’s none of these things – these people want to miss the rush for the train and no doubt get home so they can wank off to X Factor or some other smut. Appalling cretins.

Read it and Weep!

The last time I actually posted I was worrying how to explain to my 5 year old son that mummy's team had lost while Daddy's team were continuing to prove that even when they play badly they still win. It is a conundrum I have found myself trapped in for most of the season so far.

Strategies have had to be developed to ensure that he - along with the rest of us - suffers the embarassment of being a West Ham supporter. These mainly involve taking him to matches. His first was the dreadful display against Blackpool where after 10 minutes he turned to me and said 'Mummy, aren't they supposed to try and kick the ball into the goal? They don't know how to do that do they?' from the mouths of babes as the saying goes! All this before asking for the Nintendo DS with which to alleviate his boredom - oh for the days when this could be achieved so easily. I also managed to shield him form the abject dispaly that we produced against Liverpool - there are some bonuses to not subsrcibing to ESPN as I can pretend this never happened.

Another good bribe continues to be the half time hotdog, athough in order to get him to come to the Wigan match this had to be moved forward to a pre match hotdog. This time he lasted 65 minutes before asking for the DS - now there's progress. Another added bonus was the point at which he turned round at half time after being told that Daddy's team (The Red Manc Scum) were winning 3-0 and announced that this was ok because 'our' team was winning as well. A defining moment in a young football supporters life - or at least in the lives of those of us who have been fighting to ensure that he is not swayed by the glitz and glamour of the Mancs and their success but enters into the traditional life of suffering experienced by a West Ham fan.

All these strategies were however recently derailed when he was promised at school that West Ham players were coming in to do wome work with them only for this never to materialise - cue much disillusionment with the Happy Hammers. Funny that this occurred just when the Kids for a Quid tickets for Wigan went on sale. I wonder exactly how many schools werer told the exact same thing - good PR stunt that well done Porn barons!

While my struggle to inflict the life of a West Ham fan upon him could be classified as a mild form of abuse, and while the long term effects concern me greatly (viv a vis earlier posts re West Ham's ability to colour your entire outlook on life), today I am no longer worried about this.

At the point this morning (about 6am) when I came downstairs to be told ' Mummy, Daddy's team lost last night but our team won 4-0' I knew that I was winning the battle. Maybe he will turn out to be a fairweather fan - like his fathers' workmates who, despite living close to the ground and claiming to be die hard West Ham fans, failed to make it to the match last night preferring instead to stay in the warm and watch instead of using the tickets they had paid for. Or maybe, just maybe we've arrived at that point when he becomes a real fan (rather than a Real fan which are the other team he claims to support, along with Barcelona - he loves a conflict my son!).

And to be quite honest, I don't care what Fergie, or my other half, says about the Mancs being made up of a team of inexperienced youngsters last night. Though the last time I heard anyone describing Giggs as a youngster was a while ago, plus I'm fairly certain that Fletcher, Anderson, O'Shea, Brown, Chicarito ( I whole heartedly agree with the chicken run supporter last night who politely exhorted him to 'get a proper name') have all played fairly regularly for them so far this season. While I know, courtesy of The Guardian, that Johnny Evans has played more than 50 games in defence fro them. And anyway, it's not as if that was our first team on the pitch - although maybe it should be.

And we still managed to beat the Mancs 4 - 0, their biggest defeat since 2001. Maybe things are on the up.

Since our win over Spurs this season I have taken great pleasure in pointing out to all their fans who tell me how rubbish my team is that, while I agree, we still beat them. That courtesy will now of course be extended to all Manc fans.

4 - 0, read it and weep!

Winter Wonderland: West Ham 4 - 0 Man Utd; 30 November.

Because of the dreadful weather, quite a lot of people didn't make it to Upton Park last night.  Among them was the Man Utd team and, along with all other 'Appy 'Ammers in the ground, I was left pinching myself in disbelief while simultaneously hugging myslef in joy at the result.

Was this really the West Ham that have been so awful this season?

Before the kick-off I had noted that the crowd would have surfeit of riches in the booing stakes.  Carlton Cole was back in the side.  Luis Boa Morte was back in the side.  Jonathon Spector was back in the side.  Radoslav Kovac was back in the side.  As were Tal Ben Haim and Julien Faubert (not particularly targets for the boo-boys, but not inspiring of confidence). 

And we were playing a team that hadn't lost for ages and ages, that has won the Fizzypop for the past two seasons (on both occasions playing a mix of fringe players and established first teamers, as they would tonight).

So there was not a great deal of confidence about the result.  My son, Jack, couldn't risk getting here from Brighton in case he couldn't get back for work the next day.  I envied him his cast-iron excuse, and secretly hoped either my daughter, Jessica, or son, Joe, would cry off and give me an excuse not to go.  No such luck.

So the joy from the unexpected and truly deserved victory was wonderful.

Luis was a man possessed.  As ever he spent the match infuriating the opposition, but on this occasion not the home crowd, who warmed (even in sub-zero temperatures) to his effort and commitment, and even his skill.  Kovac broke up the midfield unfussily and didn't ever seem to get bypassed.  Ben Haim launched himself into some ferocious tackles and kept his position, and Faubert's faux-pas didn't result in goals for a change.

But as for Spector and Cole!  It was dreamland.  I read today that in 97 games Spector has never scored.  So the London Bus effect was due.  But before his first goal we had the outrage of a disallowed goal from Mr Clattenburg, who has form where West Ham is concerned but who was apparently right on this occasion to disallow the first 'goal'.  It's easy to write that when we've won 4-0 (I think that scoreline bears frequent repetition).  But for Specs to score again shortly after and then get his hat-trick (as we maintained) was very heaven.

Of course, at half-time we rehearsed all the occasions when we've thrown away leads of two goals and above, and half-time wasn't long enough to remember them all.  Our consensus was that it was great to be leading but that we'd lose (probably after extra-time in the freezing cold and even to penalties).  Jack, on the phone, was equally pessimistic as we all tried to keep at bay the hope that kills.

So the coming of King Cole and two goals in a match for the first time ever was as unrpedictable as, well, Specs.  And through it all Obinna was magnificent in providing assists for all four goals, the last after a masterful piece of showboating and leaving substitute Da Silva twin twisted like a corkscrew.  Super Scott could nurse his chest infection on the bench all evening, Zavon Hines could get a cameo and give mr Clattenburg the opportunity to cement his reputation by not giving us a cast-iron penalty and Cole could leave to a standing ovation.

I'm still floating today.  Up in the air, just like a bubble, no thought of bursting.

Now we'll get Arsenal in the semi, I'm sure.