Football, who cares?

I shouldn't, and I think I'm beginning to finally get the message. Blues lost 5-1 to Villa yesterday, and aside from a bit of a rant with dad after the final whistle, it was out of my system and gone. I'd like to think it's because I have a fresh perspective on life - I'm typing this with my beautiful five-month old daughter asleep in her chair having rearranged the dining room yesterday to take up more permanent residence here (I can see the desk is already getting covered...). There are more important things in life than 22 overpaid grown men chasing a football on a field, and if it doesn't serve as a welcome distraction from the so-called pressures of life, then there's no point in allowing it to wind you up.

I say all this, but perhaps it's more a case of resignation. Blues are odds-on to be relegated now, but it wasn't yesterday's embarrassment that caused it. It was the 1-1 draw at home to Derby at the end of January that signalled the death knell. We've failed to keep a single clean sheet since Boxing Day, drawn far too many games 1-1 and have won just four games under McLeish, who clearly has undergone a baptism of fire in this league. His reluctance to drop the god-awful Liam Ridgewell in the heart of Blues' defence is just one of many mind-boggling decisions which indicates he's at the beginning of a very steep Premiership learning curve. Right now, it appears he'll be on the next step of that curve with another club next season if he decides he doesn't want to drop into the Championship with us. I'm just praying we win a few more games next season than this, because I doubt very much that we'll be making a swift return to the land of perennial struggle. Better men than I have frittered their lives away supporting this club, so to pretend they will ever be a positive force in my life is just foolish. Right now, there are more important things to fret about.