By Andy Munro

I purposely didn’t read the Evening Mail last week because I didn’t want to be assailed by comments of players insisting that they weren’t going to let the fans down, swearing undying allegiance, offering to run through brick walls  and all the usual stuff. I also couldn’t bear to watch Saturday’s Match of the Day with Wolves and Blackpool doing the necessary.

Of course, when it came down to it Blues were found wanting and, to be frank, we could have been four nil down in the first 15 minutes. Even the normally reliable Roger Johnson played like Curtis Davies on acid. It was a diabolical performance with absolutely nothing to commend it. With the possible exceptions of Seb ‘Shop Window’ Larsson, Stevie Carr and the ever more impressive Beausejour, the individual performances ranged from the horrific to, at best, completely forgettable.

The bottom line is that our paper-thin squad has no depth in quality terms and, even at its best, lacks genuine pace allied to goalscoring guile. I have to reluctantly agree with Tom Ross in his view that “It’s all about the strikers.”Even though he arguably brought us our finest hour, I have to put some of the blame at Big Eck’s door. His ‘trophy’ signings would have been better off being left on the mantelpiece. His reluctance to gamble with talented youngsters in this vital match, despite a long injury list, says it all. No Nathan Redmond on the bench and a free-scoring young striker left on it to get splinters in his backside.

Big Eck’s obsession with ‘due diligence’ has certainly cost us in signing players. Allegedly insisting on meeting their parents, checking on what they have for breakfast and demanding to see their last school report means we have been often outflanked by other clubs! In his defence, he doesn’t appear to have been backed by the board, who must be regretting their reticence to invest. They could well be saddled with a Championship ‘asset’ unlikely to set the Far East on fire

I suppose where there’s life there’s hope but unfortunately the fat lady is clearing her vocal chords ready to sing ‘When the Spurs Go Marching In’.

It could only happen to Blues that our finest hour, in winning our first major trophy at Wembley, is likely to be sullied by relegation. And on that subject, at least Sully won’t be laughing. To use the title of an old Hollies hit, he’s obviously King Midas In Reverse.