A fan's-eye view from Ewood Park, with Phil Lloyd

I FAILED a late fitness test and didn't make it to The Hawthorns. Nothing manly or football-related, like a groin strain or cruciate ligaments, just a lousy cold.

Following the team without leaving the house, even for those like me who can remember the days before live local radio commentary and Teletext, is a fraught experience. If you weren't ill beforehand, you'll be a nervous wreck by the end.

Why is it that Rovers defend so badly on the radio? Of course, there's the noise of the crowd to unnerve you, even a pitifully-small 'why-play-the-Third-Round-before-Christmas?'-sized crowd.

And the radio doesn't let you see that Dailly had the move covered, or that the opposing striker was so inept he'd have struggled to score if he was the only player on the park!

Already befuddled by being unwell, the mind plays tricks and imagines the worst, sending you into a cold sweat. If you think it's futile shouting at 11 footballers when you're at the game, try shouting at your radio for 90 minutes and see what effect that has. Wonderful way to make a sore throat sorer.

Anyway, despite Don Mackay's unfailing pessimism, and Ceefax insisting that we were still 2-1 up 10 minutes after Albion's second equaliser, we were 2-2, had an interest in the Fourth Round draw, and the headache of another pre-Christmas game we didn't want. The fevered speculation about the managerial position hasn't helped the well-being of Rovers fans recently. While no-one can deny that Tony's marvellous medicine has eased the pain of this season, a temporary appointment doesn't look to me like a miracle cure.

It seems that we're gambling on the local witch doctor (sorry, Tony) in the absence of a skilled surgeon capable of returning us to Premiership health. On the positive side, at least it makes it less likely that we will start next season under Messrs. Todd, Kinnear, or (perish the thought) Ball.

I can't let this medical bulletin pass without mention of last Tuesday's disembowelling of Bolton. That's the sort of performance we've been craving!

I'm sure a diet of that fare every week would be dreadfully unhealthy, but I'm willing to take the risk, especially after we've been served up so many bowls of gruel that even Oliver Twist would have had enough!

Supporting Rovers? It's enough to make you proper poorly!

Converted for the new archive on 14 July 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.