Following the news that Stevie C expects to land just one emergency loan, some Pompey may will now be hitting their internal panic buttons and claiming that the club is going nowhere.

Certainly the titheads who comment underneath the articles on The News website seem to be, writing oh so gramatically acurate statements that this ‘weren’t wot [they] expected from the new owners’. HOWEVER, all is not lost.

Understandably, we were expecting two or three extra players in under the emergency loan system, certainly that’s what The News led us to believe, linking us with Stoke City’s Pugh, Shotton and Tonge. According to Stevie C himself though ‘We probably have enough money in the budget to bring in one loan signing.’

This is hardly going to help us surge up the table, but in all honesty, did anyone with a couple of brain cells to rub together really expect that?

We’ve got a new board, and are only just beginning to turn a financial corner. So this shouldn’t be seen as a lack of investment, nor a lack of foresight on Cotterill’s part. It is not a case of the board and management shooting themselves in the foot by not splashing out. If anything, the strict budget is something to look at and admire. It’s a sign of intent that CSI don’t want us going down a Redknapp and Storrie style shitter.

What we don’t have is a squad with enough strength in depth to realistically break the top ten. We’ve got an abundance of strikers, all boasting not particularly brilliant records in recent years. This is mainly evident in Dave Kitson, whose form seemingly fluctuates between ‘slightly more use than a chocolate teapot’ (on a good day) and ‘slightly less use than men’s tits’.

What we do have is a squad capable of holding their own comfortably in mid-table. 12th, perhaps 11th at a push is what most of us should realistically be looking at.

At the back, we’re looking good. Halford has returned and has already begun to forge an impressive partnership with Pearce (in my mind, the best bit of our summer business). We also have Rocha, Ben-Haim, Mokoena (yes I know, but he’s a step up from Sonko) and Hermann.

In the middle, I would argue we’re okay. We’re in a far better position than last year, but I’d like to see Liam Lawrence patched up with a bit more than sticky-back plastic and sellotape to stop his leg from falling off. Our real problem is the lack of a genuine wide man on both flanks. Huseklepp and Varney, two more good signings can play wide, altough both are more at home pushing further up the pitch. On paper, we don’t have a winger who can effectively cover a marauding full-back. But that’s fine, because we don’t have one of those either.

Up top, it’s Kitson - who would struggle to hit water if you dropped him off a boat- Benjani, and Kanu. Kanu of course is in his 812th year of professional football. Recent injury problems have presumably knicked a few yards of pace from Benji, that loveable, Floella Benjamin resembling workhorse, and Kanu’s legs are operated by a hamster with particularly low stamina.

We, as a side, haven’t the pace to trouble a lot of teams. No doubt we’ll hold our own against those in and around us, and we’ve taken some promising points so far (particularly from Reading and Cardiff). But looking ahead to the West Ham game, there’s a doubt in my mind over our ability to really get in amongst the top teams. Especially when we get further into the season and fatigue kicks in.

But, is that really so bad? Two years ago, we very nearly didn’t have a club. One year ago, we didn’t have a settled squad. Two months ago, we didn’t have a squad. Now, we’ve got players on permanent contracts. Experienced players. At nineteen players, it’s still a shallow pool. But it’s a start. And it’s a fucking improvement on the past two years.

I once awoke after a drunken night,

To find Luke’s kebab on the table to my right,

It was 8.30, Was I hungry? Quite.

Ne’er before a more disgusting sight,

I ate it, it tasted alright.

Paint-based wit…

HOLA!

This will mean absolutely fuck all to you if you don’t love football, or love me. However, I thought I would try and put across my feelings about the glorious Portsmouth win over an, on-paper, very good Tottenham Hotspur side.

I shall confess, I enjoyed this win for four reasons. I HATE Harry Redknapp. I’m eternally grateful for everything he did whilst at Portsmouth (Promotion, the then Division One title, the FA Cup and saving us from the brink of relegation after he had royally fucked over Southampton (I’m only sort of sorry he did this). But he is a money-grabbing bastard who is about as reliable as that rope bridge in Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom.

Number two, I hate Tottenham. I always have done. It’s dad’s fault. He’s always hated Spurs. He grew up in the 70s and 80s, when Liverpool were the dog’s bollocks, so he made me hate them too.

Number three, a trio of ex-Portsmouth players were in the Tottenham team. Crouch, a man cobbled together entirely of golf clubs and sellotape. Niko Kranjcar a talented, but all too often lazy playmaker (though he was only on the bench). And Jermain Defoe. A tiny man who is a bigger cunt than any of those mentioned in Steven Berkoff’s ‘EAST’.

And number four. It was one of those moments where me and my Dad became, as one, deliriously happy. Again. But this felt much bigger than that cup final win in 2008. We beat a better team than we did then, with a far worse team than we had in 2008. It made me proud. Portsmouth were dogged, gritty. Tottenham were wasteful. After Piquionne’s (now also the nickname of my penis) 99th minute opener, I tore off through the house, removing my shirt in the process (I am aware this makes me a huge tosser, but I don’t care). But perhaps the biggest moment was the second goal, a Kevin Prince Boateng penalty. Now, Princey baby is actually quite shit at taking penalties ordinarily, so I feared the worst as he strode towards the ball. But he looked confident. As the ball rippled in the back of the net after passing Gomes, my father jumped at me. He’s a short fella, but I’m not the strongest of lads. However, at that point he seemed weightless. Adrenaline had made him lose all mass as I held him aloft like a trophy made of tissue paper.

After the season the football club I hold so dear has had, after all these years of support, this was the proudest moment for me as a Pompey fan. My first game at Fratton Park was a 5-2 over Swindon Town in division one. Sammy Igoe and Johnny Aloisi. Amazing. It should have been 5-1 as the late Aaron Flahavan collapsed in the goal mouth, allowing Swindon to roll the ball over the line when play should have been stopped. Bastards. I’m completely over that one, as you can tell. My first Premier League game at Fratton Park? That 1-0 win over Manchester United. Steve Stone. Brilliant. I wish I’d had a season ticket, but we could never afford it. So I’ve experienced crushing mediocrity, the dizzy heights of Premier League and cup success, and now the battling but ultimately futile efforts of King Avram and his team of misfits. I shall say again that I have never been prouder of my team than on Sunday night.

This club puts you through the ringer, but I wouldn’t trade it for any other.

Regards,

Ryan

I realise I am not on holiday now, and that I have not been on holiday for a good two months. However, to save Christopher feeling completely abandoned without me for a week, I decided to write him a small travel blog which I delivered to him via the medium of texting. He seemed to enjoy it, and I quite enjoyed writing it, so now I’m going to share it with you lot.

Ryan’s Holiday Travel Text Blog, Day One:
Spent the afternoon in Beverley. Unfortunately she’s a town, not a woman. I had grilled portobelo mushrooms and pesto tagliatelle for lunch, was top notch. Glorious cakes and Earl in a French style cafe, sadly no Hamlets though. Bought an MJ book and a book on the Third Reich. Now need a shit. xxx

Ryan’s Holiday Travel Text Blog, Day Two:
Rained all day. Cooked a curry for the people we’re staying with, which of course, was amazing. Went out for coffee and cake (am I turning into a Parisian dandy?). Theatre trip, though rain induced electric malfunction meant the performance was cancelled - bloody technology. Went and watched Harry Potter instead. Still convinced Radcliffe is related to a yew or an elm, and it was missing about 20 chapters. Now trapped in a car park as the gate system has failed. Monumental cock-up. Again, requiring a shit. xxx

Ryan’s Holiday Travel Text Blog, Day Three:
Why is the North so abundantly shit? Rain all day yesterday, and now rain in the city of Leeds, the basis of today’s excursions. However, it did eventually come good weather-wise. Also god on the shopping front. Bought seven albums for a not too shabby thirty pounds. And a jumper - predominantly pink no doubt. Meals today - sausage and chips in a giant Yorkshire pudding and a post-theatre kebab (I do like to experiment with local cuisine). Yes, yesterday’s weather affected indoor performance went ahead today. Was, disappointingly, only okay. Filey beach tomorrow. Wet and cold, one anticipates. xxxx

Ryan’s Holiday Travel Text Blog, Day Four:
Went to Filey beach and, rather shockingly, it wasn’t miserable. The usual Yorkshire wind and chill, yet sunny. Good weather for beach cricket, as it turned out. Spent a few hours on the beach, then fish and chips for lunch. Stupidly, I chose the largest size, ‘Special’. My display of bravado was shown up by my inability to finish my plate. Went to a local pub and had a few beverages. Saw a talented cover band. Though they did cover a Coldplay song, which somewhat damaged my opinion of them. xxx

Ryan’s Holiday Travel Text Blog, Day Five:
Started the day with tea, melon and toast with honey. Then went shopping in Hull for the day. Bought a couple of cardies (one pink, one fifties esque; shall be taking girls to sock-hops for dates) and some t-shirts. Then lunch at a nice cafe called ‘Vanilla’. Continued my middle-class pretense by scoffing eggs benedict and a pot of Earl Grey. Then on to bookshops, where I purchased ‘Beyond Good And Evil’ by Nietzsche. Will look forward to reading that. Just finished Simon’s bolognese, was most tasty. Now waiting for tiramisu. Xxxx

Not sure what hapenned to days six and seven. But they were fun and booze filled I can assure you.

In order to keep myself amused in the car, I was pretending to be Elton John. (‘Crocodile Rock’, I believe I’m singing in this photo).