I DIDN'T so much groan inwardly as hold my head in my hands when I saw Sunday's team sheet. Five men across the middle and just our fifth choice striker up front?

Not an obvious recipe for success.

After confidently expecting victory with the first choice line-up before every other game this season, I went into this one thinking that a point would be an unexpected bonus.

A couple of hours later, I reflected on a couple of things. That post-match pint tasted so much better after a long overdue home win.

More importantly, I had done our makeshift team a great disservice. The walking wounded dug in magnificently and earned a well-deserved three points.

I thought Keith Gillespie and Garry Flitcroft had their best games for twelve months.

The much maligned Egil Ostenstadt ran himself into the ground as a lone ranger up front.

At long last, Tugay was back to form.

And if David Thompson carries on collecting man of the match awards at his current rate, he'll need to build an extension on his house.

After the plaudits, the form in our latest European game was a let-down.

If a depleted side can battle its way to a deserved three points against the likes of Leeds, the same should have been more than possible against vastly inferior opposition.

Instead the £200 per week men obtained a draw and an important away goal with the minimum of fuss.

Quite simply the commitment evident in abundance against Leeds was absent on Thursday.

I felt the club made a huge public relations blunder in their apparent apathy towards the competition. "Not important" was the message that came over.

Whether real or imaginary, that apparent complacency appeared to be reflected in the team's lacklustre performance.

The performance had longer term ramifications too. A friend of mine has vowed not to go to any more cup games of any description until we start taking them seriously.

You could see his point.

Secondly, if we aren't prepared to take the UEFA Cup seriously, what are we prepared to take seriously? Winning the Championship is a pipe dream.

Finally, on a lighter note, it was reassuring to read that my fellow scribe has not lost his unerring knack for putting his size ten in it.

What could be funnier than conceding a two-goal lead in the last ten minutes to a Premiership side? Let me think.

Conceding a last-minute equaliser to a nine-man First Division side maybe?

And at least we can afford to concede two late goals at Maine Road and come away with a point.

The Clarets are usually anything between four and seven goals down by that stage.