Five hundred words of fist-clenching fury hardly seem necessary in the wake of a performance so convincing. But oddly enough, a double dosage of doom is more appropriate now than ever.
For 90 minutes we puffed and panted and, in the most part, dominated against a very poor Blackpool side. And yet we still could not win.
Calderwood’s clarion cry for seven points from nine has ended with a familiar whimper.
We strained ourselves to overlook ‘not being promoted is failure’, we saw beyond ‘we’ll gun for the play-offs, and we craned our necks to see beyond ‘judge me after ten games’.
Now the man has embarrassed himself again with another crowd-pleasing soundbite that has proved to be entirely without substance.
Fortunately, the City Ground audience were so woefully poor in both their support and their numbers that we have avoided a weekly lavishing from football’s most spineless sycophant.
We came desperately close to victory at Coventry and deserved beyond all doubt to beat Blackpool. We were nearly good enough to register six from Colin’s nine, and that would have been nearly good enough to satisfy his demand for seven.
Nearly is a word that suits Calderwood well. Since day one he has nearly done his job, but never has his performance has never been quite satisfactory. This season we are not even worthy of ‘nearly good enough’.
Though peppered with passable Championship players, we are struggling to support the weight of the deadwood we are carrying. Calderwood has neither the sense nor the ruthlessness to reverse our fortunes.
Calderwood’s parade of soundbites and consistent patience for patience’s sake are dragging us into an irreversible crisis. The reaction of the crowd at the end of Saturday’s game is evidence enough that his number has been called – if he goes on much longer he will leave a laughing a stock; calamitous promotion long forgotten.
His quip on Southampton being a ‘must win game…for them’ is almost a hammer blow to free speech.
I would rather he didn’t speak to the press at all than revive his ill-fated mind games that have triggered nothing but resentment and self-detriment in the past.
I refuse to squander another day waiting foolishly for news, but if Calderwood isn’t chopped on Monday I will be thinking twice before travelling to any further away games under his tenure.
My belief in the necessity of his dismissal has reached a stage that even a win is sullied by the knowledge that it will prolong the agony.
