A fan's-eye view from Turf Moor, with Stephen Cummings

FOUR more games to go. Four more purgatories to endure. Four more nerve-jangling, stomach-knotting, nail-biting sets of 90 minutes to get through.

I don't know about you, but all this flirting with relegation stuff is beginning to take its toll.

Given that four out of the last five campaigns have been tussles against the drop, you might have thought I'd have got used to it by now, welcomed it even ("Ah, Mr Relegation - come to show me your trap door again?") but I'm afraid that's not the case.

Saturday's result did nothing to ease the tension. Contrary to Stan's standpoint, I felt it was two points dropped rather than one gained. Bournemouth's lack of adventure in the final third warranted the introduction of a second striker long before Jepson's tardy arrival.

And as fellow supporters huddle around the television below the East Stand after the final whistle, it became apparent that fate had not been kind to us. Results had not gone our way and the cushion against relegation didn't seem half as comfy as it had at 3pm.

Nevertheless, we remain the masters of our own fate. Having said that, our final four fixtures put the fear of God into me. For a start, we never get anything at Stoke. Never.

Pigs will fly, hell will freeze over and Blackburn Rovers will be able to defend a 3-1 lead away from home before Burnley win at Stoke. Then, of course, all-conquering Fulham roll into town. Now here lies a glimmer of hope. With any luck, the Cottagers will have clinched the championship by the time they get to us.

And with footballers being footballers, there is every possibility they will have been indulging in Mersonesque excesses in the days leading up to the match.

Clutching at straws? Who, me?

Wigan tends to be another miserable away day for the Clarets - much like Stoke in fact.

Then again, at least their fans don't bore us with increasingly tedious renditions of Delilah.

Nope, I'm afraid it might all hinge on a trip to Northampton. That survival may depend on getting a result against a team managed by the most sour man in football does not thrill me tremendously.

So then, it looks as if I'd better send those crates of champagne down to Fulham.

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