Misery

So near but yet so far. The promised land of The Premiership - a land of milk and honey, flash cars and media exposure, wages delivered in a fleet of Securitas vans, players who think and perform speedily, a brand of football that has encircled our planet... Manchester United, Liverpool, Arsenal, Aston Villa.... A dream world.

Hull City are like Jude Fawley in Hardy's "Jude The Obscure". The spires of Christminster remain so far away though we can see them on the horizon - shining brightly. On Saturday morning, we were second in The Championship. Around Hull the hype had been whipped up to a frenzy. Twelve thousand season tickets for next year had already been sold. And so we went to Sheffield United's Bramall Lane - the only fixture I can sensibly walk to. Quietly and not a little nervously, we sat in the home supporters' Valad stand and watched The Tigers beaten by a better team on the day. No excuses. We were crap. The Blades fans were chanting "Are you Wednesday in disguise?" to the tune of "Bread of Heaven".

Two-nil to the ten-man Blades - Captain Morgan was sent off. Strange how a despondent mood then descends like a North Sea fog, to make the rest of the weekend feel like it should share titles with Stephen King's famous novel. Two games to go - Crystal Palace at home and Ipswich away - hardly a springboard into The Premiership - more like a deathtrap. Oh woe is me!