This time last year I was full of optimism. It lasted precisely seven minutes and nine seconds.
That’s how long it took a poor Millwall side (they were relegated) to go one-nil up on their way to an opening day victory against my Leeds boys.
It’s this sort of experience that has no doubt had a bearing on the young lad who was a mascot before our last pre-season friendly against Everton on Saturday.
Interviewed on the pitch before kick off, the youngster was asked if he thought Leeds would be promoted this year.
“No,’’ he dolefully replied, “probably not.’’
The guffaws that echoed around Elland Road were just the unseemly sound of Yorkshiremen putting on a collective brave face.
My eight-month-old son is a Leeds fan, although he doesn’t know it yet – this despite me repeatedly singing to him: “You’re Leeds and you know you are.’’
I know this sort of indoctrination is quite possibly child cruelty but to paraphase Del Boy: “This time next year, we’ll be in the Premiership’’.
Posh fans will be hopeful of a successful season and a return to the Championship. With echoes of Tony Blair, the club’s charismatic chairman Darragh MacAnthony has made clear his manifesto and it’s “promotion, promotion, promotion.’’
Speaking as a supporter of a club that has had in charge the likes of Peter Ridsdale, Ken Bates and now Massimo Cellino – who for those of you who are not familiar with makes a box of frogs seem the epitome of sanity – I think Posh are lucky to have Mr MacAnthony.
A definite plus is his passion for the club although the downside is he often seems a blue touch paper away from going off with a bang. One assumes one of his other aims for the season – to sell Posh to a rich Russian who can take the club to the Premiership and make Posh fans happy – is tongue in cheek.
In any case I hope Posh fans stay happy for longer than seven minutes, nine seconds on Saturday. And I hope I do too.
Moan, moan, moan
My column last week about Peterborians moaning found me accused by some people of moaning about people moaning.
By moaning about me moaning about people moaning, the moaners have proved my point.
There was some civic puffing of the collective city chest with the news that Peterborough is the third best place in the country to live if you commute to London.
I think it’s what you call a back handed compliment.
Diary Of A Bad Dad
Mrs T seemed unusually interested in the PT story about a new generation of supermarket tills that have been introduced at Tesco’s in Hampton.
The dreaded “unexpected item in the bagging area’’ has gone from the new tills although I’m not sure what it’s been replaced with. “Are you a shoplifter?’’ perhaps. ’
Mrs T was not convinced. “It doesn’t matter what it says, it won’t be Toddler T proof,’’ she wailed.
It turns out that very day she had endured a stressful time using a self-serve till with Toddler T “helping her’’.
Her list of “unexpected items’’in said bagging area included a half-eaten lollipop, Toddler T’s sun hat and some random beads. And that wasn’t counting the bananas that Toddler T kept lifting up and putting back down again.
We all know the self-serve tills are designed to cut costs for the supermarket by reducing staff, but it wasn’t working that day.
In the end Mrs T had the services of her own personal shopping assistant as the poor woman on duty had to spend her time sorting out Toddler T’s sabotage.
Perhaps the way forward is to have “mum and toddler only’’ tills. Although they’d only work if the check-out assistant was prepared to wear a Peppa Pig costume.