I promised you I would return from the international break with fire and brimstone burning a hole in my boxers. Chicken tikka balti has that effect. Picture the Japanese flag and you're not far wrong.
Two matches two wins. Brilliant. Surely it's time for us all to stand up and sing hallelujah from the rooftops. We are top of the league, we cannot get any higher until at least next August. Brucie bonus has led us to the apex of the Coca Cola. We were in the bottle neck with Cardiff, Wolves and the Baggies but thanks to a little push and a shake up we have emerged on top of the froth.
It's not all sweet though, there is a slight bitter diet after taste. The performance against Hull was not entirely convincing. The papers the next day said 2-1 and I guess we should just accept the win and move on. Blues fans seem polarised at this juncture on whether the victory is more important than the style. It is obvious that the three points are crucial and the only way to reclaim a Premiership spot but there is a train of thought that would like to see some entertainment in the belief that positive attacking play will bring its own eventual rewards.
Contrary to popular opinion I am not a statistic anorak. I don't take a pen with me to games and jot down the opta stats. However on Saturday I made a conscious effort to count the length of time it took the Blues to string together two passes. Not three, just two. Our abundance of quality players held out for twelve minutes before managing the difficult feat. I know Hull pressed hard and I know it's a tough league to get out of blah blah blah but surely eleven well paid sportsmen can pass to each other. Bruce said afterwards that the players were nervous in the first ten minutes as the crowd were clearly edgy and this rubbed off on his merry men. He's right. We were edgy, our heroes had failed to hold onto the ball for more than one pass in over ten minutes, we had every right to suspect it was going to be a difficult day.
I would like to think that the attitude, commitment and skill of the team would rub off on the crowd and drive those of us who have paid to witness the entertainment into a frenzy of jovial celebrating. I am fairly sure that my dreadful, awful singing is not listened to by anyone apart from the poor souls sat round me. The day a player asks me to shut up because my baritone/ soprano cat strangling is putting him off is the day I will put my karaoke microphone in the bin. The play on the pitch affects the crowd. First and foremost, we react to what we see.
Eventually of course things settled down and Dunn found ‘what's that coming over the hill, is it…' McSheffrey on the run and his perfect cross was tapped home by DJ Campbell. Bendtner nodded home the second just after half time and then things unsettled down.
Chances were created at both ends and I suppose those that crave entertainment and edge of the seat drama went home happy, especially after Hull pulled one back and then went clean through twice only to hit the post.
I thought it most admirable of Hull to give their lard arse coach driver a run out for the last fifteen minutes. The Hull fans responded in kind by calling him a ‘beast' and he certainly lived up to his nickname by getting dismissed for two ridiculous fouls. In hindsight though perhaps Hull brought on a fairly impotent and disinterested number eleven in sympathy due to the fact we had played most of the match with the same.
The bandwagon rolled into West London and it was refreshing to see an attacking line up away from home. It seems the Entertainment Committee have started to have some influence. Bruno headed us on our way with a goal to settle the nerves. QPR huffed and puffed but couldn't blow us down and even when big scary Bendtner got himself into the bath early the promotion hungry Blues ignored the numerical deficit to increase the numerical advantage through Jerome. Good lad. Simple really.
And so the tone is set. From now on it will be all out attack, full value for money, crazy score lines, packed houses, rousing sing songs and a half of flat lager on the way home to calm the nerves. Trust me. I'm not ok.
Keep right on. We are missing Cardiff out this time. Let someone else have a day in the sun.