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.