Fatherly Love: West Ham 1 - 0 Barnsley; 17 December

Last week my wife had an old VHS tape converted to DVD.  Like many people, we had spent time intermittently over a long period videoing family gatherings as my son Jack was growing up.  By the nature of my jobs, I had access to a video camera and Christmases, Easters, Birthdays and other occasions were taped until they weren't.  We watched Jack go from two to ten, while Joel went from seven to teenage fifteen, Becky from ten to leaving school eighteen and Jessica from a humpy thirteen year old to an adult.  We also saw The Controller's father (the only person I've ever known her to be afraid of) and my father, both of whom are now dead, and, of course, as these things are, viewing it was joy and sadness mixed.  As well as a reminder of the way we were.  Towards the end of the tape, there's a section at West Ham of the gates to Upton Park after the death of Bobby Moore, with my dad, Joel and Jack.  The first game Jack ever saw was the home game against Wolves the Saturday after Booby Moore died which was extremely emotional (and, of course, was his misleading reference point for what it was like to see live games.  He must have thought all games began with a wreath laying ceremony in the centre of the pitch!)

Whenever I see my children, I'm immensely proud of them and their achievements.  Even more, I like the people they've become (and believe me, for some of them - they know who they are - that was definitely not a foregone conclusion) and I enjoy spending time in their company.  For some of them, that is often at Upton Park, as it was on Saturday as West Ham looked to stop a third wheel falling off after losing at home to Burnley after leading 1-0 and away to Reading, having two players sent off in the process.  If our manager had been 'Appy 'Arry we'd have heard the 'bare bones' cliché trotted out as with two players suspended and six players injured, Abdouleye Faye got injured in the warm up and was also unavailable.

It didn't look promising with Faubert the faux-fullback, McCartney moved to central defence and a 17 year old making his first appearance ever at fullback just after signing his first professional contract.  We were also pressed into playing Carew, Cole and Piquionne who are usually used to replace each other.

And we didn't look very secure for much of the game, but Papa Bouba Diop was immense (as he is physically) in midfield - and how the sponsors made Kevin Nolan man of the match rather than him when he even scored as goal for the first time in years I cannot fathom - and the debutant fullback played good.

He is one Danny Potts, son of the West Ham legend Steve Potts (denied his 400th league appearance by the ratfaced Roeder).  More to the point, he recovered from leukaemia two years ago to do well enough as youth player to get his professional contract and yesterday to make his début.  He played really well, and I bet his dad is as proud of him as I am of my kids. 

Lost November?

My last post was 29 October. While in no way would I accept allegations of superstition, it's much harder to hold forth when things are going well.  Except, of course, to exult, gloat, celebrate, revel or rejoice with unseemly glee.  With the almost inevitable, karmic consequences of the laws of hubris.  So from the dull point at home to Bristol City, through the away victories at Hull and Coventry (oh, how those cities are redolent of the championship doldrums!), to the comfortable dispatch of Derby and the gritty away conquest of Middlesbrough, I was moored in silence.

But the (this season at least) atypical, careless loss at home to Burnley, has set my bile free.

I see that BFS has said it was 'one of those days'.  Well, I hope it was not one of those days, as I think we should have no more of them.  While BFS saw a team that dominated and was unlucky to lose, I saw a team complacent that it would win.  Of course, that was fuelled by a first half of easy superiority that did not translate into goals.  

And, by the way, why does a misplaced pass from Carlton Goal get greeted with groans, while missing an open goal by Kevin Nolan gets him applauded all around the ground for the way he lay prone in theatrical despair having missed said barn door?  Julien Faubert should take lessons from him - his sponsor's man of the match award for the last home game led to a catalogue of errors in this.

Of course, I tried to console myself with the thought that it was the third game in a week and tiredness was inevitable, and that we have a cushion on the third placed team, and that with Southampton losing we hadn't lost any ground.  But tiredness didn't seem to affect Burnley in the same way, the seat is more comfortable with a cushion that we now don't have, and although we didn't lose any ground, we lost the chance to give a full-throated rendition of 'We are top of the league (say, we are top of the league)', which, let's face it, we don't get very often.

So, reasons not to like Burnley bursting our bubble:

1.   Alastair Campbell.  Enough said.

2.   Connor was absent for his own birthday party.  Why? It's not his birthday until Wednesday and he could have had a party on Sunday.

3.   Jessica was absent for Connor's birthday party.  As well as the other whys above, why not leave the party duties to her Man U supporting partner?

4.   Uriel came on Jessica's ticket.  So Connor and Jessica cannot miss any more games (which will be difficult for almost-seven-years-old Connor for evening games) and Uriel can't come again because he puts the bock on it.

5.   There should be no doubt as to who is the premier claret and blue team.  Not Villa, not Scunthorpe and definitely not Burnley.
 So now on to Reading and Barnsley.  The pulse races. So let's hope there's a bit more determination next time.
 

Foxes run to ground: West Ham 3 -2 Leicester; 29 October

First, an apology.  In recent (and, indeed, not so recent) posts, I have appeared to express the opinion that, if Julien Faubert had a very large banjo firmly held in both hands, with a bovine arse tethered straight in front of him, he would be unable to hit it.  I have also expressed the view that, faced with barn door of the dimensions that would enable said barn door to be the opening of a barn within which could comfortably be parked a fleet of Boeing 787 planes, he could contrive to hoof any football over or around said door.  However, I now realise this is an unfair calumny on his goal-scoring prowess following his second ever goal for West Ham today after 23 minutes.  Admittedly, when presented with an equally good opportunity later in the match he reverted to his Wall-Eyed Dick persona, but those prayers before kick-off were today answered (his, not mine.  I don't bother the non-existant deity with supplications way beyond the miraculous.  Faubert not conceding a penalty is hope enough).  Allahu Akbar, as they don't chant on the terraces.

I spent the game honing my commentating skills for Connor, although it's much harder than it appears.  I can do alright until there's the chance of a goal, when I forget to speak through concentrating on the game, until I get prodded by Connor to resume explanations.  Mind you, much of Mr James Linington's decisions as referee were impossible to explain so I just went with the flow and abused him like the rest of the home support.  

.
Still, as you can see above, it didn't detract from our enjoyment, and my son Joel even managed to partake of the entertainment despite a massive hangover.

Let's hope there are no  hangovers on Tuesday night.  The Controller is cautioning against my burgeoning optimism.  Having spent recent years complaining about my bitter negativity, you'd think she'd be happy.  But I guess she can see the bigger the upswing, the further the downswing.

But bugger that, October's over and we're still second, so why not allow a smidgeon of hope?  After all, we not only won today, we actually played some good football, and if we let two goals in, the tension only made the end even more enjoyable.  


It's always like that if you win (as far as I can remember).

Going South: Southampton 1 - 0 West Ham; 18 October; Brighton 0 - 1 West Ham; 24 October.

Two excursions to the south coast produced a mirror image in results.  The first I followed via text updates from Sky and Joel.  This was supplemented by Hannah (his significant other) complaining about West Ham ruining her Monday evening as well as Saturdays and Sundays and asking plaintively why it was so difficult to score.  She obviously needs to watch Julien Faubert more.  

The second was anchored in front of the telly in the downstairs room, with The Controller descending from her lofty television-watching eyrie (where she'll watch anything but West Ham and a subtitled foreign film), to check once in a while on score and mood.

It was the classic scattered family communion.  Jessica was watching at her home in Walthamstow where her partner Joe was no doubt still curled into a sobbing ball in the corner following the Manchester Derby game the previous day.  I mean we've had some pastings at Old Trafford, but it's not our ground and we're not a multi-million pound team that was in the Champions League final last year.  Or next year or any year, Pornographers please note for the bullshit-ometer.  So she probably couldn't be too celebratory as misery loves company.  Jack was watching in a pub in Brighton, rather than on the terraces in Brighton, having failed to, ahem, source a ticket.  And given the local sensibilities, he also probably had to keep the enjoyment reasonably constrained.  Joel was, I assume, using my SkyGo log in to feed his obsession (and not ruin Hannah's Tuesday evening as well) in Wapping.

Whereas I was in Brentwood environs, accompanied by two Golden Retrievers who respond well to enjoyment and slink away at the abuse that unfailingly appears at moments of tension (like Julien Faubert missing another cow's arse with his super-sized banjo).

But there was relatively little to get excited about.  We scored and never looked like conceding even when the ref gave 8 minutes added time working on the theory that if we always concede in 90 plus minutes, that was long enough for us not only to let in one goal, but more likely two.  But we didn't and the dogs could happily wag their tails in appreciation of the result, if not the play.

But who cares, what we need is promotion and winning will get us that if we keep it up.  And 0-1 away from home will do nicely, thank you very much.  As The Controller sagely commented, 'Good result'.

Now, about that home form .... 

Into the Groove: West Ham 4 - 0 Blackpool

In the week leading up to the game the news, as far as West Ham are concerned, was that the Olympic Stadium deal was off.  My moment of joy that I was to be spared needing to take binoculars to see future games in White Elephant Running Track Stadium with distant seating around it was rapidly dashed, however, when it became clear that West Ham is still likely to bid to be tenants, and still most likely to be successful.  Apparently we'll be 'anchor tenants' which is not cockney rhyming slang, but a phrase to indicate we won't even be exclusive occupiers.  So we'll no doubt sell Upton Park for another supermarket and move into rented accommodation, as they recommend for those who can't pay their mortgages.  Still it'll be a legacy like that nice former Tory MP Lord Coe promised (I always preferred watching the Steves Ovett and Cram, anyway) - or just something you inherit that you're stuck with, and that you paid for anyway.  At least when Terence (sack the board, sack the board, sack the board) Brown came up with a whizzo scheme whereby we gave him lots of money to build a stadium and in return he gave us the right to spend even more money going to watch matches in it, everybody saw through it - even Danny Baker and he's a Millwall supporter. This way, it's built with our taxes, we're lumbered with it and we have to pay to be miles away from matches in it.  Mind you, for some of West Ham's matches, the further away the better.  

But not this one.

My mother lives, as she has always done, in rented accommodation.  Her recent accommodation, though, is extra-care sheltered accommodation.  On Friday I had to be there while a social worker did a care assessment.  This included making an assessment of her mental state by asking her questions.  As she has Alzheimer's, from which only Ernest Saunders has ever recovered (after being diagnosed while serving a gaol sentence for fraud and therefore released, only for a miracle to happen), this is done simply to illustrate how she can't care for herself and is therefore entitled.  Her short term memory has been gone for a few years, but now her longer term memory is also in decline and she is unable to remember my father to whom she was married for more than fifty years.  I was thinking about him leading up to this week's match, because today would have been his 91st birthday and, after his death, his ashes were scattered at Upton Park.  Will his ashes also become 'anchor tenant' at White Elephant Stadium Next to Westfield Shopping Centre?  Thought not.  But now my mum can't remember him and I only ever think of him infrequently, nearly 14 years after his death.  


But he was responsible for taking me to West Ham as a 7 year old.  And he once took me to Arsenal as a kid because Stanley Matthews was playing in his last season, and he wanted me to be able to say I'd seen the greatest English footballer.  Obviously this was before Bobby Moore, so now I can say I saw both although, rather like my mum, I can't remember anything of Stanley Matthews playing at Arsenal.


So yesterday was a birthday treat for my old dad, even though he wasn't there (except as ashes in the pitch), but two of his grandchildren and his great-grandson were able to enjoy a sunny autumn day and a comfortable win that lifts us to second in the table.  With Carlton Cole not playing there was a vacancy for the chosen boo boy of the numpties behind us, but not even Kevin Nolan could measure up in a four-nil home win.  And even with Andy D'Urso performing to his habitual level of incompetence we couldn't let a goal in in five minutes added time at the end.


So now it's off to the South Coast for Southampton and Brighton.  You can tell that, just as the sunny weather is due to end, something's bound to go wrong.  Promotion can't be that simple, can it?  This is West Ham.

The International Break: West Ham 0 -1 Ipswich; 27 September; Crystal Palace 2 - 2 West Ham 1 October.

The ennui is almost overpowering, so I need an international break to recharge my faded batteries.  After losing to Ipswich (which BFS noted was a disappointment), I wondered at my air of resignation.  After all, we had a whole game at home and didn't manage a shot, and in the ninetieth minute we failed to mark at a corner, either for the cross or the midfield player to whom the ball eventually fell.  Now while Kevin Nolan is a pointer and gesticulator in the Ian Bishop class (and a real leader of men according to one of The Pornographers), that didn't translate into doing the marking.  But hey, it's another lesson to be learned.

Which we hadn't, apparently, four days later when we went away to Crystal Palace.  Since the last time we played them, at the Millennium Stadium we managed to let the barrage balloon in waiting that was Neil Shipperley score to put Palace and not us into the Premiership Promised Land (from whence Iain Dowie led them at the end of the following season, never yet to return), this could have been a grudge match if anybody could be arsed.  But nobody could be, as was obvious from the 'defending' that BFS castigated.  Well, you trains 'em Big Boy.  And at least we came back for a draw.

But we're ten games into the season and doing OK. Unbeaten away from home, but at home as safe at the back as a seven year old left alone with Gary Glitter.  In (almost) a quarter of the season we're nicely tucked into fourth place and only two points of BFS's magic figure of two points a game.  If only you could get two points a game instead of none, one or three ....  The defence, apart from the time between the 85th and the 95th minute, has seemed to be more secure than for some time with two centre halves who can head it and tackle and two full backs who mark the wide men and tuck in when necessary.  BFS did the necessary in replacing Ilunga (now gone on loan to Doncaster) and realising Faubert was only ever a faux full-back.  The midfield has not looked terribly secure without the Superman (and how Spurs fans suddenly appreciate him) and while Lansbury is class, Bentley, so far, is dross.  Faubert is a better midfield player than he is full-back, but that's not high praise, Taylor is variable and Jack not yet getting a run to prove his worth.  Despite the grumbles of home fans who don't readily appreciate one of their own, Mark Noble remains dependable.  If Nolan performed as well as he struts he'd be some player.

But we're still lightweight up front. Carlton Cole has high balls played up to him and Carew gets them played into the channels when he replaces Cole.  You'd almost think Carlton couldn't run and Carew couldn't jump.  One of those things is true.  Baldock it's too early to judge and Piquionne's best days are way behind. 

So, all-in-all we've not done bad to be where we are.  BFS says the team will get better over the next ten games, and then better again.  I hope so.  I'm enduring the Championship but not liking it.

And I could do without The Pornographers and Lord Sugar's Suck-up dreaming up the publicity stunt of suggesting King Carlos comes back on loan.  It only reminds me what we're missing.  If it wound Neil Warnock up again, it might be worth it.  But after losing a derby 6-0, wind-up might be unnecessary to make him self-combust.  You can but hope.

Buckle my shoe: West Ham 1 - 0 Peterborough; 24 September

Do you get shoes with buckles any more?  Once upon a time they used to be de rigeur for small children who could not manage shoe laces, but they have been superseded by the ubiquitous Velcro, as, come to think of it, have shoe laces.  So has the counting rhyme gone as well, I wonder?

Such musings were more likely to hold my attention than the game, though, featuring as it did a meandering West Ham performance that always looked good enough to beat a Peterborough side that looks set to struggle.  Not even playing 6 minutes of added time could allow then to score as, for once, we didn't concede at home in the dread zone from 87 minutes on.

But that's two home victories on the bounce.  Joel is relieved as he's managed to destroy the theory that Jessica and I were proposing that West Ham could only win at home when she, Connor and I were in attendance and Jack and Joel weren't.  With Jack having become a part-timer and given up his season ticket (The Premiership or nothing, my dear), the theory didn't concern him.  But Joel might have been permanently excluded from the Chicken Run if this result had not transpired.

So all that was left was to think of children's rhymes, and ponder why it was, when Carlton Cole was playing, he was sent a succession of high balls to battle for, but when John Carew, Carew (who is definitely bigger than me and you - and probably would be if we were combined - plays in the claret and blue, doesn't wear a buckled shoe) came on, balls were played into channels for him to chase.  Carew is bigger and better in the air, and Cole is faster.  Am I missing something?  But, hey ho, we won and we're still in fourth and the object of the exercise this season is to get promoted - which means winning and we did.  

So that's alright then.

Missing: Millwall 0-0 West Ham; 17 September

On Saturday, The Controller and I went with my daughter, Jessica and grandson Connor to Maldon.  Joel and Hannah went to IKEA.  So we all missed the game (just as David Bentley missed an open goal to win it), and given the crap mobile phone and mobile internet access in rural Essex Jessica and I relied on text updates from Joel - which were as rare as David Bentley goals.

So nothing to say about the game, but Maldon on Regatta Day was nice to visit.

Which is more than can be said - ever - for IKEA

57 Varieties of Emotion

This year I have been supporting West Ham for 57 years.  In that time, what started with my Dad taking me to stand (and, in the misty-eyed way beloved of memoirs) be passed to the front of the Chicken Run, has morphed into a lifetime's defining obsession which has been passed on to my children.

In that time, to reprise Elizabeth Barret Browning, let me count the ways that West Ham has made me cry.

There have been tears of exhilarated joy on (too few) occasions.  When I were but a nipper (all of 17), we won the cup against Preston and I watched on grainy black and white telly at the Barber's shop where I worked as a Saturday boy.  No tears, but definitely moist eyes.  Then we won the European Cup-winners Cup and, of course, the World Cup - all experienced at second hand on the telly but with intense joy.

I was working abroad when we beat Fulham in the Cup and listening on the BBC World Service (when it was a proper World Service on short wave with the Lily Bolero theme tune), all alone but overjoyed.

I experienced anguish followed by joy when we beat Arsenal with Sir Trevor's (only?) headed goal and I spent the rest of the game watching the clock as much as the game.  I was there with my Dad and we floated back to our car on an uplift of delirium.  The next day, I took Jessica, Rebecca and baby Joel to see the team bus bring the cup back.

My dad and I also cried after the death of Bobby Moore at the West Ham gates.  Only Jessica remembered seeing him play but everybody was caught up in the emotion.  Jack came to his first game the Saturday following Bobby Moore's death, when Wolves fans laid tributes in the centre circle and thought that all games might be surrounded with this level of intensity.

I wept copiously when my Dad's ashes were scattered at Upton Park in a lovely ceremony by the then Chaplain (even though my Dad was a determined atheist, reserving his worship for socialism, West Ham and his family, although not necessarily in that order) which made much of West Ham being a family club.

With my children I experienced the Cardiff extremes - beaten in a play-off final one year and winning it the next while we all managed to be there, followed by the Scouse Robbery Cup Final with Joel even winging back from his job in the USA! USA! having complete faith in dad to blag a ticket.  Which I did.

And today is the latest day the West Ham have made me cry - with more than a little assistance from my son, Joel.  He presented me with a book of all my blogs from last year, printed in a fabulous design and with a cover photograph of a brick from the porch of my mum and dad's old flat (that my mum moved out of to sheltered accommodation early this year) in which  I'd gouged WHUFC and crossed Hammers when I was a kid.

I was, and am still, overcome.

An Open Invitation: West Ham 4-3 Portsmouth; 10 September

Last week I got an invitation sent to me from West Ham.  I was invited to meet Big (Fat) Sam in luxurious surroundings for a glass of champagne and a seafood buffet.  I would also see the match (with only the slight drawback that I would have to do that in the company of Pornographers and a fawning Reality TV star that would not be reputationally advisable).  And all I had to pay for this invitation was £99!!

I'm duty bound to reply.  Good manners demands it.  So I've got an invitation of my own for Sam.  He can come for a cup of tea and a biscuit and can sit in my garden to enjoy it .  Guaranteed no Pornographers or Fake Peer suck-ups to put up with - just two large, hairy dogs.  The dogs may bounce around a lot, though and rush about all over the grass with evident enjoyment, a frantic desire to please and little sense of discipline or purpose.

Midfield Terriers? Slippery pitch?

Which neatly brings us to West Ham in BFS's latest incarnation, post Super Scott.  The sponsors' man of the Match was Henri Lansbury, newly arrived from Arsenal Reserves on a season-long loan, but Rob Green was essential in us winning at home for the first time since March.  Two of his first half saves were stunning and the reason why the second half goals from Lansbury, Noble and Cole (to add to Matty Taylor's first half equaliser) won the match.  

Now why would that lovely Arsene Wenger lend Sam Allardyce a player?  Ever since BFS's Bolton days, they've not been bosom buddies.  When Arsene was in full conflict with Sir Apoplex of Manchester (before Sir Apoplex took to patronising him from the lofty heights of yet another league championship) BFS was like one of those annoying kids who hang around the big bully sniggering at their 'witticisms' while repeating their last few words for emphasis.  I thought all that meant we might get Man Utd loanees, like Sunderland and Wigan got Welbeck and Cleverly last year, but instead Arsene gave us a current star of England U21s.  So, either he doesn't like Lansbury, or his recent tribulations have changed more than the age at which he'll sign players.  Now he wants to toughen up his youth to go with the prettiness, perhaps.

Nevertheless, he contributed a (deflected) goal and won a penalty when his ball-juggling induced a handball.  So, a decent contribution.  Unlike that of David Bentley, the not-so-super-sub.  He kept trying to do the showboat or the killer ball and it never came off.  Of course he has talent, but I'm not so sure he has bottle.  And that's a quality the the departed Super Scott had (has) in abundance and that showed in the way that Portsmouth could run through our midfield to score three goals.  Normally, three goals away from home would be a victory, but tough.  It's about time we won, about time we came from behind, and more than about time we stopped conceding goals in injury time.  We managed two out of three.

When I got home and recounted to The Controller the self-mocking chant of the fans:

            We're winning at home

            We're winning at home

            How shit must you be

            We're winning at home

Her response was that was typical of the nasty bitter character deformation that is supporting West Ham.

So, please, BFS, accept my invitation and show her it isn't so.  And I won't even charge you £99 that was the price for your open invitation

Superman flies off: Scott Parker transferred to Spurs

So being voted Hammer of the Year for three years on the bounce, returning to the England squad because of performances in claret and blue, and being named Footballer of the Year by Sports Writers despite being in a team propping up the Premiership were not enough to convince Scott Parker to give West Ham continued service in the Championship so he's waved us goodbye.

That's a bit of a change from the end of the season when Scott sent me a personal email urging me to renew my season ticket because, if we all stuck together, we could come straight back up.  He said that's what all the players wanted and were determined to achieve.

So I'm really pleased that Demba Ba, Zavon Hines, Matthew Upson, Thomas Hitszlsperger, Pablo Barrera, and now Super Scott have demonstrated that togetherness.  After all, it's not their fault we were relegated, they were only on the pitch - it's the twelfth man in the stands that didn't pull his weight obviously.  And The Pornographers made it plain that it was unfair to expect England internationals to play in the Championship.  Whereas it's perfectly fair for the fans to be expected to pay almost the same amount to watch the Championship.

But good luck to Scott at Spurs.  I devoutly hope his experience of an unsuccessful fight against relegation comes in useful for them and is repeated this season.

On The Road Again: Nottingham Forest 1 - 4 West Ham; 28 August.

For a final summer break, The Controller and I have been to our house in Norfolk.  This required and early morning start on Sunday so that I could be assured of being in front of the TV screen by 1 pm.  For someone so apparently jaundiced about West Ham, it's nigh impossible for me to miss the opportunity to see a game unless there are overwhelming forces ranged against the possibility by The Controller (such as friends for lunch).

I was duly indulged and allowed my fix as The Controller sought solace in the Collectables Fayre in Blakeney (for which read over-priced old tut  that was displayed at the all of the last twenty-five Collectable Fayres) and while she returned empty-handed from said Fayre, West Ham collected three points from the very old tut that was Nottingham Forest.  

The scoreline makes it seem a very comprehensive victory.  Actually, the scoreline makes it a very comprehensive victory (like Hamlet, the league tables 'know not seems').  But we would do well not to count promotion achieved just yet.  It was more than somewhat worrying that, without Super Scott, Nottingham Forest seemed to be able to get at our back four through midfield rather too easily, even if Rob Green was the equal to whatever was thrown at him - especially the more-than-a-year-old tedious abuse for  the mistake against USA! USA! USA! at the World Cup.  But as, apparently Super Scott has his heart set on a move to the Spuds (no, really) we may have seen the last of him.  And just at a time when BFS can't spend any more money, so unless his old Codgers friendship with Sir Alex conjures up some loanees, what we see is what we've got.  And Julian doesn't inspire great confidence, even with his French international cap and loan spell at Real Madrid where he is mostly famous for falling asleep while warming the bench.

Anyhoo, BFS told me in his personal email to me that it was an outstanding result which will do wonders for our confidence and we can all forget about Aldershot, Leeds and Cardiff.  

He signs his email to me (and everybody else, I assume) "Big Sam".

What's that about?  Did Mrs and Mrs Allardyce senior really register him as Big?  Or is this just an adjective he's arrogated to himself?  And to what does the adjective refer?  His achievements in football - surely not, 'cos I can think of many much more substantial, like people who've won things.  The number of 'bung' allegations made against him by Panorama?  But he surelt can't compete with the likes of 'Appy 'Arry for dodgy signings possibly guided by the agents' willingness to contribute to the pension pot.  His size, perhaps - but then he's left out the second adjective "Fat" which is universally applied to him.  Perhaps it's just his own opinion of himself.  He has, after all, claimed he is more suited to manage Real Madrid or Inter and should have been appointed England Manager both when Capello and, before him, McLaren got the job.  Now there's McLaren and Allardyce managing two Championship teams, but at least Allardyce won this competition.

Get us promoted and he can Big himself up as much as he likes - I'll even join in.

It's the same old song: West Ham 1-2 Aldershot; Carling Cup 1st round: 24 Sugust

One of the numerous things that can reduce my son Jack to frothing rage in a nano-second is the sight of fans leaving matches early.  This usually initiates a rant about the folly of beating the traffic instead of watching a potentially deciding match-winning (or, at West Ham more likely match-losing goal) allied to questioning why bother coming in the first place.  This was fully exemplified some years ago in a Premiership (sob!) match against Liverpool when Mark Noble scored a penalty on 90 minutes to win us the game.  My Liverpool season-ticket holder friend, John Sinnott, noted with commendable grace after the match, that was the reason why you should never leave a match early because you denied yourself the chance of the sweetest of flavours, the winning goal at the death.

Mind you, Jack's rantometer is set to start on a very low threshold.  He once harangued the screen of children's TV programme Tobermorey over its inclusion of a character in a wheelchair and others from different ethnic backgrounds in a small Scottish fishing village.  The burden of his critique was that this was unrealistic (in a children's TV programme - go figure) occasioned by a specious desire for 'political correctness' (why is correctness so wrong anyway?)  Meanwhile, my grandson and his nephew, Connor, switched his wide-eyed gaze between the programme and the ranter in awed amazement.

Anyhow, West Ham has clearly been inspired by such rants to take action to remedy this unacceptable state of affairs (the fans leaving early, rather than the diverse range of characters in Tobermorey - although, who knows, that could be next).  To demonstrate the folly of their ways -

 walking out when there's still minutes to be played, West Ham has hit on a new ploy.  It has been decided that a goal will be scored at the end of every home match.

Now, there is much to commend this.  It means that we'll get our full money's worth in these hard times, by having action right to the end of the game.  It keeps the officials focused to the end.  It means that blood pressure of my son Jack is not unduly raised.

But there is a flaw in the process.  West Ham has been unable to engage the opposition in support of this admirable campaign.  Not one of Cardiff, Leeds or Aldershot has been willing to concede a goal at the end of the game.  So, in these circumstances, it has fallen to West Ham to take brave and decisive action.  Boldly, West Ham has gifted a goal to the opposition in each home match so far - to the evident delight of these fans:

 Now it's very clear, the only people who leave West Ham matches early are those actually supposed to be playing.

Keep going to the end? West Ham 2-2 Leeds 21 August

This week The Controller exerted her control.  Some time ago she had invited friends for Sunday lunch - having first checked the all-important home fixture list.  And so it came to pass that the Murdoch Corporation, in the guise of Sky Sports, turned aside from hacking phones into hacking marital harmony by rearranging the game from Saturday to Sunday at the very same lunchtime.

So there was no way I was going to be able to go.  I offered my season ticket to my son, Jack, but having given up his following relegation, it was not tempting.  My other son, Joe, brought his significant other, Hannah, to the last home game and she obviously saw enough not to want to repeat the experience.  So it was difficult to give the ticket away.  Not a problem West Ham have as far as goals are concerned.

I did, of course, record the game, and between courses of lunch (intercourse?) found an excsue or seven to check on the score.

But I haven't watched it in its entirety and won't now, since, for the second home game in succession, the team managed to concede in the 91st minute.

What a shame that that nice Mr Bates (who gave it as his opinion that the riots last week were caused by not enough emphasis on human responsibilities as opposed to rights.  Like the responsibility to pay your taxes, maybe, Mr Bates of Monaco?) will have enjoyed the result.

Big Fat Sam needs to tell the team that the game lasts until it's over and that keeping the ball at the other end is a good way of stopping the opposition scoring.  So is stopping crosses and marking people in the box, but let's not carried away.

Good game to miss. 

Elton John, Graham Taylor, John Barnes, Ross Jenkins, Kenny Jackett, - your boys took a hell of a beating:Watford 0 - 4 West Ham; 16 August

It's a little bit funny this West Ham side
Plenty of players who can easily hide

Paid too much money but if they played

We'd be a big team making the grade

If I was a Pornographer, but then again, no
Or a woman who sucks up on a TV show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you

And you can tell everybody this is West Ham
It may be quite simple but that's West Ham 

I don't care if you mind
I don't care if you mind the words I put down 

How wonderful life is while you're 4-0 down

I pretend every season I don't give a toss
Well a few of the players well they get me quite cross
But the game's been quite kind while I changed this song
It's for the Irons to keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting but these things I do
You see I've forgotten when we last won two
Anyway the thing is what I really mean to say
How great it is to win away

And you can tell everybody this is West Ham
It may be quite simple but that's West Ham 

Reality Bites: Doncaster 0-1 West Ham; 13 August

This weekend the papers and the TV sports programmes were full of the first weekend of the Premiership season.  I thought I was inured to all of that.  After all, when West Ham were in the Premiership, the previews were all about how they would struggle, their indebtedness, how their best players would move on because the bigger clubs would snaffle them at will.  Meanwhile, the transfer window only seemed to operate as an escape hatch and an opportunity for owner-bollocks about trying to sign any over-the-hill marquee name in need of a pension top-up you could name.  Including Carlos Kick-a-ball, naturally.  Followed by a free transfer of someone only the most obsessive anorak trawl of released ex-South American internationals or serial loanees could identify.

So the start of the Premiership for us wasn't exactly a time for giddy anticipation of glory.  More, an opportunity for anxiety and bile about the failures of the owners to live up to my unrealistic expectations (as well as their own season-ticket selling hyperbollocks).

And this season we are, after the inevitable relegation that followed the lamentable Avram's appalling demonstration of incompetence (as well as the Pornographers' and Lord Sugar's Suck-up's comprehensive failure of stewardship - to their own massive expense), to compete at a level more in keeping with our capability (if not our sense of our own importance).  A season, I've been looking forward to after the appointment of a Manager with a record beyond what we have any right to expect.  Although, by-the-by, noting that he signs his programme column 'Big Sam' is worrying.  I'm sure his mum and dad didn't register him as an adjective and proper noun, so he's adopted the soubriquet, but left out the other adjective - Fat - obviously for reasons of vanity.

We even had a close season transfer coup (in the context of a relegated severely indebted team) with the signing of Kevin Nolan.  And only one of our England players has left.  Those whom it would be unfair to expect to play in the Championship (according to a Pornographer), even though their performances were in large part responsible for us now being in said Championship - Super Scott honourably excepted.  And the departed Matthew Upson most West Ham fans would have, if asked, contributed to a whip-round for his fare out after his non-performances last-year. As well as that, a healthy amount of dead-wood has gone (goodbye Keiron Dyer, Luis Boa Morte).

So I thought the big-build up would pass me by.

Wrong again.

I felt like the dispossessed outside the opulent restaurant, inside the windows of which the sleek, rich, beautiful people dined on all manners of delights and enjoyed a cornucopia of pleasures.  Meanwhile, in the cold of inattention, the poverty of our fare was driven home by the Championship fixture list.  Doncaster Rovers for the first time in 53 years.  And on the back of the let-down that was last Saturday's failure (ten losses on the trot carrying on from last season), away from home so even the weary trudge was not leavened by the bonhomie (or acid commentaries) of fellow-sufferers.

I tell you, the emotions make it clear why the dispossessed want to smash the windows and pillage what lies within - metaphorically speaking, of course.

But optimism will surface.  We won, after all.  And to add the pleasure that only the suffering of others can, Neil Warnock's promoted QPR got stuffed, Dyer limped off after 7 minutes with yet another injury while Gabbidon scored an own-goal.  As my daughter, Jessica, suggested the covert revenge for Warnock's part in the Tevez Affair seems to be going well.

And as my son, Joel, pointed out, it's the first time for ages we've been out of the bottom three, and it's Watford away on Tuesday.

Now that has really set the pulse racing....

Here we go again: West Ham 0-1 Cardiff; 7 August 2011

So today is the first day of the new season.  A game against Cardiff to rub home the point that we're in the Championship now following last season's relegation.  The Pornographers acted decisively and got rid of the dreaded Avram at least five months too late and appointed Big Fat Sam.  This was followed by the genuine coup of signing Kevin Nolan from the Barcodes and it looked possible that we might make a fist of going for promotion.  Certainly BFS played it up.  He recruited former Bolton players in Faye, Taylor and O'Brien, tried to recruit Gardner who refused and tried Jlloyd Samuel before deciding no, so we're definitely onto recreate Bolton.  And no problem for me, as he got them promoted and a regular top ten side with players like Djorkaeff and Okocha giving the lie to the long ball mythology.


And both BFS and Kaptain Kevin have given it large in pre-season about immediate promotion and making Upton Park a Fortress [(c) Lazy Journalism Co].  Then all of the pundits made us favourites to go up because we've recruited well and retained our big players (those who got us relegated last year).

So it was almost inevitable it would go tits up.

As it duly did when we dominated the game, couldn't score and gave away a soft goal with no time to see if there was any improved fighting spirit in the team when in adversity.

So that's the first of eight game that BFS says we can afford to lose if we are to be promoted gone on Day 1.

The Controller thinks nothing has changed because I came home grumpy again.  Maybe she's right.

The Longest Days of the Year

Having recently moved to a new house in rural Essex (well, a village outside Brentwood feels pretty rural to me), we've yet to acquire curtains.  As a result the sunlight comes streaming through the windows by 4.30 and its sound accompaniment is both the dawn chorus and the distant crowing of a demented cockerel.  We've either had or are about to have the longest day of the year and next season's fixtures have just been announced.  Seeing a home game against Doncaster brings home the reality of relegation, and much as Pornographer No.1 says he's looking forward to the new season, the fixture list hardly sets the pulse racing.  Although Cardiff, Leeds, Birmingham and Millwall promise a level of violence to a season not seen since I were nowt but a nipper.

It's also the time of year when the scrolling news of transfers is fascinating.  No surprise that Demba Ba is off after half a season to the Barcodes.  More surprising is Kevin Nolan coming the other way, and it's a better piece of transfer business than we managed last season when we had aspirations to retain a Premier League place.  If Scott Parker goes (and the talk has turned to 'if' rather than 'when' of late), he's a more than adequate replacement on paper - unfortunately, games are played on grass rather than paper, as our last squad too good to go down proved -  and if The Superman stays they should be more than a match for any other Championship midfield.

And, of course, we have our new manager.  He seems to me a brilliant appointment when you look at the alternatives available and his track record with Bolton and, to my mind, Blackburn.  Of course there is the little matter of his half-season at Newcastle but I'd not derive anything from that shambles.  Funny the connections, though.  With Alan Pardew their manager - and the rumours that his low basic salary is supplemented by a percentage of transfer business income certainly give a fresh perspective on the transfers of Andy Carroll and now Nolan - and us having previously bought Super Scott (the good), Lee Bowyer (the bad) and Kieron Dyer (the absent), as well as selling Demba Ba.  But if the next connection is an instant return to the Premiership, I shan't complain.

Just one thing, though.  Big Fat Sam obviously likes people he's worked with before - Nolan, Faye signed, Gardner would have but failed a medical, and Macdonald as the assistant manager.  Please no El Hadj Diouf.  I sit too close to the front of the Chicken Run to escape the gobbing.

The Close Season

This week I received an email from Scott Parker.  Yes, that Scott Parker - superhero. 

He said to me that our relegation is: an opportunity to rebuild a squad that will get the club straight back up to where it belongs. 

Scott added he was: absolutely sure the team can bounce back quickly and make you proud once again. 

This is because: the players will be determined to make up for the disappointment of last season and all the lads will be doing their best to make that happen.


He concludes: you’ve been amazing and I hope you stick with the team on the journey to bigger and better things next season.

So, if all that is so, Scott, will you be there next year, too?

Or was that just marketing bollocks to get me to renew my season ticket and it wasn't really written by you at all? 

Perish the thought of such cynicism ......

Not Even A Whimper: West Ham 0 - 3 Sunderland; May 22

The season ends as it began with 3-0 defeat to a team shorn of players and confidence, but still far too good for a ragged West Ham.

In the week, the fragrant Karren Brady wrote how she hoped Birmingham would stay up, given her past association with club, and also Wigan, as owner Dave Whelan is such a gentleman.  Where to begin with calibrating how out-of-touch with the feelings of West Ham fans that shows her to be?  As if the Olympic Stadium were not demonstration enough.  Well, Birmingham.  A horrible side whose fans have a track record of violence towards West Ham which extends to targeting young kids wearing shirts.  Like we care what happens to them.  Then Dave Whelan, sweat-shop owning price-fixer, who tried to sue us over playing Carlos Tevez and expressed his hopes that we would be relegated.  But I suppose if you make your career selling advertising for Pornographers, and its height is reached with your head firmly between Lord Sugar's buttocks, your idea of a gentleman is likely to be distorted. 

So I'm really pleased that she's the lynchpin in the search for the new manager who will lead us from the barren deserts of the Championship to the Promised Land of the Premiership.  One newspaper report this week suggested Carlo Ancelotti likes London so much he'd give us a shot.  From Champions League to Championship - yeah, right.  And given how well the last two managers with Chelsea associations turned out, would our business plan be 'third time lucky'?  But it's all fish and chip paper.

Today we played 'spot who won't be here next season'.  Some of those seem already to be not here this season.  No Carlton Cole nor Demba Ba nor Robbie Keane even on the bench.  I guess the latter has returned to Spurs 'Get Rid' file and the first two are in our 'For Sale' prospectus.  Matthew Upson's injury also prevented him from playing (as something has almost all the season) and he's out of contract.  Rob Green gave a very long goodbye salute to the fans who have supported him against all the 'You Let Your Country Down' moronic chants, and he has rarely let us down and will find a better club.  Danny Gabbidon is out of contract and another likely to leave, along with Wayne Bridge's £90k a week wages for his loan.  Hitzlsperger gave us less than half a season for a full season's wages and now will presumably be off.  Obinna (touted as a future West Ham legend by Pornographer No. 2) will also go back to his parent club in Milan from whence he is a serial loanee.  Kovac will have to find another comfortable bench as his contract ends.  Zavon Hines (who has been complaining about not playing enough and today showed why that has been) is another out of contract and presumably off.  And of course, Super Scott will have competition to sign him and can go with all my very best wishes for his efforts in this and previous seasons.  I hope he goes somewhere where he wins something as he deserves it.  A great player and, apparently, a thoroughly nice man.  After all, unlike Bellamy, he wasn't interested in taking the Man City millions midway through last season, and turned down Spurs overtures twice. 

The Controller has decreed that the season ticket shall be purchased for a further season (although the decree does not extend to son Jack.  Apparently a college course disbars him from attending - he's got a note from his mum to say so).  Joe and Jess are both in it for the long haul, and Connor needs his character building further if he is to grow into the cynical, embittered Irons supporter that is his birthright.

So now, I'll dust off my Barcelona chants for the benefit of the telly next weekend, and contemplate a season of Championship football.  What joy.

Review of the Season Part Five: U - Z

U is for United:  Not West Ham, obviously, as you can see from the shambolic performances on the pitch reinforced by Lee Dixon's account in The Independent of a public training session recently.  No, United are The Fans.  I know it's easy to be sentimental about some frankly pretty horrible people you can encounter regularly at footie, but WE ARE WEST HAM'S CLARET AND BLUE ARMY.  We'll be there long after the mercenaries have departed.  We've seen off Terence Brown and his Bond Scheme, endured the Icelandic excesses, and now we have The Pornographers.  It's our team, even if they (part) own it.

V is for Value.  Where to begin?  The cost of the season tickets in relation to the quality of the fare on offer?  Wayne Bridge at £90k a week to give (count 'em) three goals to the Arse?  Big Benni McCarthy whose wages and pay off to go produced precisely no goals (but, pound for pound you could say he was cheap!)  Or maybe Freddie Sears who put in a shift on a return from yet another loan that put Faubert and Barrera to shame.  Perhaps in the Championship more of the Academy will get a chance.  After all, they've got to be cheaper and couldn't be less committed than some of what we've seen.

W is for Woe, woe and thrice woe, as Frankie Howerd used to intone.  You couldn't make up the crass cock-ups this year.  Even after relegation is confirmed, The Pornographers show their class by firing the Manager they appointed within an hour and apparently the players had to intercede to ensure he got a ride back with the team.  Then we get their forensic analysis of what they need to do differently next time which seems to centre on appointing an East End manager.  East End of where?  Glasgow?  Or is Ray Winstone in with a shout?  Plus we're going to sell everybody because it wouldn't be fair to expect them to play in the Championship.  But they expect me to fork out to watch the bloody Championship.

X is for Kisses.  All of those directed at the badge by those who'll be off.  Not that it happened very often as we didn't score many.

Y is for Youth.  This season, at some time or other, James Tomkins, Jordan Spence, Junior Stanislas, Freddie Sears, Zavon Hines and Jack Collison have had time in the first team.  Only James Tomkins has got anywhere near to being a regular, and Zavon Hines is reportedly leaving at the end of his contract, but the Academy is rightly highly regarded for its past and present exploits in developing players.  Let's hope there are some more Mark Nobles to come through - under-appreciated, taken for granted by some fans, but a genuine Claret and Blue who always puts a shift in.

Z is for Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  The sleep of the nearly dead.  Wake me up when the Nightmare's over.  Mind you, then the sleep would put Rip van Winkle to shame.  But then, snatching catastrophe from the jaws of glory has always been the West Ham way, from having three world cup winners in a team that never challenged in the league, to having a team that genuinely challenged that is then not improved but cashed in on, to selling some of the most talented footballers of the last generation (and replacing them with the likes of Big Titi Camara), to losing semi-finals by fielding ineligible players for three minutes. Actually against that catalogie of cock-ups, relegation is small beer.  Championship, here we come!

Review of the Season Part Four: P - T

P is for The Pornographers.  Their ten-point plan to save the club began with 'Appoint the right Manager'.  So that went well.  Not content with continually undermining Gianfranco Zola last year and sacking him the moment the season was over, this year they stuck with an obvious incompetent and sacked him before the end of the season, but not in time to remedy his failings.  If I hear any more about how they love the club, I'll impale them on one of their dildos.

Q is for Quotidian.  A beautiful Shakespearean word meaning commonplace, everyday.  Like throwing away leads, letting goals in in the first fifteen minutes of games, conceding more goals from headers than any other team.  Basic defending really - but doing it right was obviously too commonplace for the team and the coaching staff couldn't be arsed to get it right.  Unlike Allardyce, say, or Hodgson, or O'Neill - or even Curbishley.

R is for Relegation.  You read it here first.  We have more chance of going to League 1 next year than back to the Premiership.  All our best players will be sold.  Every team we play will want the scalp of a 'big club'.  Our owners appointed Avram Grant and are now choosing the next manager.

S is for Super Scott Parker.  About to be Hammer of the Year for the third consecutive time, Football Writers Player of the Year, back in the England team and all the while carrying the team, even finding time for a half-time inspirational team talk when the team was losing 3-0.  I hope he goes to a club worthy of him.

T is for Teamwork.  Notably absent from West Ham (except for the board who choreographed complete absence from a crucial away game at Man City).  Where was the spirit, the determination?  Of course, Super Scott had it in spades, and Mark Noble wasn't far behind' giving himslef a hernia in the process.  But everybody else?  Even Demba Ba sulked in the last home game when moved to play wide, while Carlton Cole at least kept trying (the fans' patience as much as anything). 

The Fat Lady Sings! Wigan 3 -2 West Ham; 15 May

And now, the end is beyond nigh, it's arrived.  Another inspirational half-time team talk from Avram Grant saw West Ham turn a two goal lead into a three-two defeat and relegation after six years in the Premiership Promised Land.

Of course, at half-time all of the unlikely sequence of results was happening for a miracle.  West Ham were winning two-nil, Birmingham were losing to Fulham, and Spurs were winning (which would mean their season was alive on the last day when they play Birmingham).  All West Ham had to do was hold on to a two-goal lead.  But for the sixth time this season, that proved beyond them and Wigan came back.  Good luck to them - they have more bottle and talent than West Ham, as well as a better manager.

In truth, relegation is not a result of today, but of too many dire performances throughout the season.  A sequence of five losses and a draw from the six games prior to today's match was never going to be cause for optimism (except in Avram Grant's self-parodic, positive thinking email messages each week.  I can't wait for this week's).

So, it's off to Barnsley .... and Millwall.  After next week's wake.

Review of the Season Part 3: K - O

K is for Karren Brady.  Vice-chairman and moving force behind the Olympic Park move (even going so far as to float the idea we could be renamed West Ham Olympic to demonstrate her cutting edge marketing nous and total lack of any grasp of West Ham's fanbase).  Of course, she has another job on The Apprentice.  Either her experiences with The Pornographers are insufficient, or she has a penchant for sucking up to loud-mouthed wide boys. She should be fired (preferably from a cannon).

L is for Losing.  What we've become good at, especially away from home, despite the tremendous support which is always thanked by whomever is temporarily in charge.  Now, of course, relegation will mean losing all that multi-millions in Sky money.  It might also mean losing some of the over-priced and underperforming mercenaires from the team (£90k a week for Wayne Bridge - not even the Golden Gate Bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge together is worth that).

M is for Manchester United.  Not because they've won the Premiership for the 19th time and will, I hope, lose comprehensively to Barcelona.  They've encapsulated our season.  One of the few (only?) highs of the season was the Carling Cup game when two-goal Jonathon Spencer contributed to our 4-0 win never having scored before.  In our league game, we went 2 goals up and Vidic should have been sent off. Then who knows?  In the event we capitulated and lost 2-4, a good mini-revival ended and we were done.  But we still won the season 6-5 on aggregate.

N is for Newcastle.  Away, when they were in disarray following the sacking of Chris Hughton, the appointment of Pardew and the sale of Andy Carroll.  Still West Ham away?  That'll do nicely for a 5-0 stroll.

O is for Orient.  The mystic east and, please god, derailers of West Ham's journey to the Olympic Park.  Never thought Barry Hearn was much of a saviour but who knows?

Review of the Season Part Two: F - J

F is for Failure, the Fuckers.  Let's be clear, last season was a near-miss disaster and this season we look like going one worse.  So who's failed?  Obviously not The Pornographers, because they've managed down the terrible debt they inherited in order to put the team on a more stable footing.  Obviously not the Vice- Chairman 'cos she got the second season with The Apprentice gig and drove forward the Olympic Park Plan (as well as letting it be known that appointing Avram was not her idea).  Obviously not the players 'cos they will all be able to move on after relegation to other Premier League clubs since they couldn't be expected to play in The Championship, even though they've played us into The Championship.  Obviously not Avram ("judge me after 15 games") because of the terrible injuries to players and lack of financial resources.  So it'll be us, the fans, at fault again.

G is for Goals.  Those we let in regularly, those we fail to score regularly.  My son, Joel, told me he'd read some stat that if shots that had hit the woodwork were counted as goals, West Ham would have been mid-table.  And if my aunt had balls she'd be a dead ringer for Avram Grant ...

H is for Hubris.  Champions League?  We're not having a laugh.  Every new owner in recent years of every club anywhere talks about being in the Champions League in a small number of years.  Except for the very deep pockets of Abramovich, and the even deeper pockets of the Shady Sheikhs, none deliver.  Still, in The Championship owners promise promotion.  And equally few deliver.

I is for Irons in the Soul.  All season long I've wrestled with the dross served up masquerading as football.  I've claimed that I will not renew my season ticket, that going is now no joy, no catharsis.  The Controller, however, has spoken.  I have been told to renew my season ticket.  Now, that's either because, as she claims, giving up is a change too far for me and the family.  Or it's because she knows I may remain as obsessed by the score and also be close enough to infect her with depression if I don't go.  Take your pick.

J is for Jessica, Joel and Jack, fruit of my loins, my fellow sufferers.  If there is one thing that makes going worth while it is you (and Connor, of course).  Thank you.

Blackburned? West Ham 1-1 Blackburn; 7 May

I can't really be arsed.  Just like Robbie Keane.  Thank god it's nearly over.

The Nightmare is almost over: Review of the season Part One: A-E

A is for Avram the Arsehole.  Appointed by The Pornographers last summer with a brief to improve on a campaign that produced the lowest points total for a team not to be relegated and consolidate West Ham's premiership position, he's clearly failed.  Unless, that is, somehow a team that's lost five consecutive games at the business end of the season suddenly wins at least two out of three.  Then he might just be Avram the Awesome.

B is for Blog.   This one was for me and my kids to celebrate following West Ham this season, and was instigated by The Controller.  As a professional writer, she seems to be keen to encourage others to write (up to a point - not as competition in her field).  There's not been much to celebrate and the multi-authorship hasn't really worked (one post each from Jess, Joe and Jack, come on guys, that's trying as much as the team), but in a perverse way, I've enjoyed it.

C is for Championship.  Which is where we've been headed ever since the shambolic capitulation at Villa in the first game of the season.  Remember, O'Neill walked out a few days before, they had an injury crisis and rookie manager.  We had bigged-up new players Reid (played in the World Cup) and Barrera (played in the World Cup).  They had a youth team midfield and one of their best players, Milner, about to defect to Citeh.  We were a shambles with no fight, so we've been consistent all season.

D is for DiCanio.  He's been cheerleading at Upton Park on several occasions this season and making appearances in the programme. In interviews he talks of his love for West Ham (second only to Mussolini?).  But, really, I think he'd be best out on the pitch even now.  At least he never gave up.

E is for Exit, the sense of coming to an end.  Avram will go, unlamented, at the end of the season whatever happens.  But will I go, too?  My son Joel commented at the last home game that it was blindingly obvious that I didn't want to be there, because it was so obviously going to be misery.  But when there's a game I'm not at, I try to see a live stream, or watch on the telly, or get phone updates.  It's clearly a drug, but not Ecstasy.

May Day! Man City West Ham: 1 May

On international workers of the world day, West Ham's own workhorse, Scott Parker won't be able to audition for potential new employers because he's injured.  The substitute workhorse (but not a donkey) Mark Noble is also out injured.

So even before the match we have distress calls.

I shall be watching at my house in Norfolk expecting another heavy defeat. We start the game bottom with the weekend results bringing Wigan and Wolves a point each, as well as Backpool, and with Blackburn picking up three points.  The only contender for relegation to fare badly so far is Sunderland, and by the last game of the season it could be all over for them and us.

So we have a genuine distress call on May Day.

I shall keep the laptop fittingly on my lap as I watch the continued demise of the team.  But first, the next instalment in Arsenal's hard-luck season.  Is there a rule that Vidic can't be sent off?  He should have gone against us when we were two up and now he's managed a blatant handball in the area and been allowed to play on.

But still Arsenal managed to win for the first time in 'n' games and now here we are in the Man City tunnel with Upson as captain. He'll be one of the out of contract players The Pornographer no. 1 thinks can't be relied on to give their all for the cause.  So at least he'll be consistent with his performances all season.  Just like Robbie Keane who's also picked to play.

So here we go.

Two minutes and we haven't conceded.  Only eighty-eight and extra time to go ....

The commentator has just told us that no team in Premier League history bottom with four teams to go has ever avoided relegation.  So a chance to make history!

So ten minutes and we concede from thirty yards by a player who's never scored for City before.  Opposing players must love playing West Ham - no challenge, plenty of space to play and a charging player who turns his back to avoid getting hurt.  The only thing we can hope for is complacency overtaking the opposition, but just in case that shoul happen we've scored an own goal on fifteen minutes.  It took Chelsea over fifty minutes to score two, so how many will we concede today?

So what should we do now?  Try to keep it at only two or try to score?  Or just give up?

Who'll be gone this summer from this team?  Rob Green surely will go to a team that has a defence of sorts.  Jacobsen is on loan and will go.  Upson seems already gone.  Gabbidon is surely not worth keeping but will be difficult to shift.  Sears and Spector will no doubt stay and we won't be able to get rid of Rigor unless we can find a skip.  Keane, thank god, won't be coming, and I suppose Ba will Be off.  But we'll still have Barrera and Reid.

Thirty-one minutes and Keane misses an open goal for the second week in a row.  At least he's consistent.

GOAL!!!  Demba BA BA BA!!!  So can we keep it to 2-1?  Nobody could expect an equaliser, not even The Controller with the facile optimism of ignorance.

41 minutes and a perfect example of Rigor - no pressure, crap pass when we could have had a chance.  But the commentators praise his effort to chase back (which he wouldn't have to do if he could pass to a teammate).

So half-time and we've scored two goals.  Unfortunately one was for City so we're losing.

Now we've had the Avram half-time team talk to inspire the second half. 

And after ten minutes we've tried very hard, but also tried hard to give a goal away.  So far we haven't succeeded and so we're losing but still only by one goal though how Silva can miss on 62 minutes I don't know.  Is he related to Robbie Keane?

A wasted free kick from Hitzlsperger.  Why has he given up shooting?  But at least Keane has taken his posing to the bench.  We're completely on top so it's only a matter of time before we concede.

A quarter hour to go and we're playing well but we don't look like scoring and City look like they've woken up. 

Under ten minutes left and whatever is said about the performance, we're losing again.  For the fifth game in a row.

Three minutes extra time and surely we must get some kind of chance?  Not at all.  And the same could be said for our season

Slip, slidin' away: Chelsea 3 - 0 West Ham; 23 April

Me and Elvis never, ever, ever want to go to Chelsea.  It's west London, it's got Fat Frank and John Terry and wins for us there are as rare as hen's teeth or JT's outbursts of modesty and self-awareness.

I remember under Ron Greenwood when we were (as ever) flirting wth relegation, we were losing 3-0 at half-time.  Apparently he told the team to go out and enjoy the second half and we ended up either drawing or winning.  I wanted to say winning, but it may be false memory syndrome comforting me.  I don't know what Avram says at half-time , but it doesn't work on this season's evidence (unless it's go out and give up, which clearly does work on many occasions).

But today was not a game anybody at all expected West Ham to get anything from, and anybody at all was right.  We ended the game bottom of the league and with the worst goal difference with the exception of Wigan (and that only because Sunderland found their scoring touch today, just before they have to play us).

Of course that's not the whole story, but it is the bit that matters.  With Super Scott knackered from a season of carrying the team so successfully he's a shoe-in for Hammer of the Year for the third successive year, back in the England team and the Sports Writers' Player of the Year, and Matthew Upson literally, instead of figuratively, missing from the, ahem, 'heart' of the West Ham defence, two of the spine were missing.  That left Rob Green as captain and brilliant goalie again, and Carlton Cole as ex-Chelsea player and perennial under-achiever as lone striker. 

For all that, it was another nearly performance.  We nearly scored three times in the first half, we nearly kept Chelsea scoreless until half-time, we nearly equalised when it was only 1-0 and Robbie Keane showed why 'Appy 'Arry is happy to get rid of him by missing an open goal.  I see fly-boy 'Arry is up to his old tricks of tapping up players by talking about super Scott leaving when we're relegated.  And not for £15 million he was apparently quoted earlier this season. 

And we nearly got the date right for a committed performance - because if we'd played like this last week when it mattered more, we would surely have won.  But it appears we can only turn up when no-one expects it and it won't matter.  So expect another great (but ultimately losing ) performance at Man City next week, before we subside against Blackburn, Wigan and or Sunderland (one, two or all three).  Because those are the games that will really matter.

Inevitably Fat Frank scored, and Torres as well finally.  But both of those were only to be expected against us.  Malouda salted the wound in the 92nd minute and all we can do is be thankful that we won't be playing Chelsea next year and that when we're relegated, we won't be topping up Keane's pension plan.  So that's the silver lining this week, as I prepare to savour Super Scott's last few performances for us.

The Final Countdown? West Ham 1 -2 Aston Villa; 16 April

It's still not over, but the large diva has gargled and his practising her scales to warm up her vocal chords for the performance.

This was a game I didn't want to be at, as my son Joel remarked on, right at the beginning (and he was the only member of my family to be there, Jess and Connor visiting my new granddaughter, Merryn, and Jack 'doing couple things' with Jessie Rose - all three were better off).

In the morning The Controller and I had returned from four days in Norfolk.  That was meant to be a break from the high-level stress surrounding a certain/probable/possible/unlikely/failed move which has spent weeks oscillating up and down that nerve-shredding continuum.  It was also a distraction from the continuing decline of my mum's Alzheimer's condition and the running engagement with Social Services over the "care" package, which is due to be reviewed this week (a process akin to mud-wrestling crossed with blackmail and a soupcon of Hippocratic hypocrisy).  And it was four days away from a job that is about trying to control wanton destruction of public services wrapped in pieties about 'fairness' and 'necessity'. 

Up to a point it worked, although there was regular contact with the estate agents to chart the rise and fall of optimism, the social worker left a message on my phone to suggest a later meeting when Joel and I have both arranged time off work specifically around the time social services scheduled only the week before, and work will still be there.

And I celebrated my Beatles Birthday.

Football is supposed to be the great distractor from all of that,  The objective correlative that all my gloom can be focused on, if the team is doing badly (the default position), or the shining light of inspiration and joy, if the team does well (the Halley's Comet frequency option).

But it's not working.  I expect failure and my expectations are met.  I don't expect a high level of organisation, because that's been absent all season.  I don't expect awe-inspiring displays of skill, because that's been absent since, well, the last time we were relegated.  I hoped for, but didn't expect, fight and effort, and my hopes were disappointed.

Villa were better by far.  But so are almost every other team in the division and the players seem to have a fatalistic acceptance that they're going to be relegated.  Without Super Scott, knackered by his season-long efforts to carry the team, there was no spirit, so losing to an injury time goal was no surprise at all. Although Rob Green would have been within his rights for punching Mark Noble for Villa's first goal.

There are two more home games to go.  Joel has predicted we'll stay up by winning our last three games, even though he expected us to lose to Villa (and to Chelsea and Man City), but that's the optimism of youth (aka pissing in the wind).

Right now, I think I've had it, like the 'team'.  Most of them won't be there next year, anyway, and nor, I should think, will Avram.  But The Pornographers (purchasers of and dispensers of Big Benni - now that's how to waste money.  And where are stunning new buys Winston Reid and Pablo Barrera?  Will they shine in The Championship?) may stick around.  And the move to the Olympic Stadium so beloved of Lord Sugar's suck-up will still be 'progressing'.

Me?  Probably not - if we move, money will be tight and why spend it on something that so patently makes me unhappy?  The only thing to do is wait and see at the end of the season, and then do as The Controller says.