Match Report - Plymouth Argyle at home

Heartache comes in many forms, and right now we seem to be experiencing most of them. Plymouth came to the Ricoh, in a "fetching and brave orange and green outfit" as G2 described it, or "away kit" as she was quickly informed.

After his shocking performance against Palace, Melts in your mouth had gamefully pulled something in training, and Homer stepped painfully into his tiny boots. More Reasons carried on up front, and Mrs Doyle was back serving tea and tackling back in midfield. In theory, a slower but more robust team than last week, looking to turn the season around before we're fighting Forest, Doncaster and Southampton for 24th place.

The game was ok. We looked alright, but lacked creativity. It's less than 48 hours since kick-off, and I've already forgotten the details, but we went into half time level. The referee had been advised politely to look up the definition of the word "consistency" during half time, following a random performance in the first 45 minutes. In the Corporate lounge, the new cashless bar forgot to charge me for drinks, which wasn't what I expected a cashless bar to do, and the half time beef batch was ok, but not as good as last week's port and stuffing offering.

In the second half, we did ok, More Reasons missed a sitter after good work from Homer, who I thought was probably man of the match. The referee, who had mis-heard the advice and had been looking at "inconsistent" throughout half time, had been booking players left, right and centre, and ignoring yellow cards offences in exactly the same places for the entire half, leaving me for one wondering what the correct Monica is for consistently inconsistent?

Then with 3 minutes to go, No-one, who was just on as a sub, went on a mazy run and Sharon forgot to tackle him, leaving Vivienne grasping at thin air. Daylight robbery. Could it get any worse?

Well, yes. 93rd minute, Vivienne goes up for a corner, using his huge 5 foot eleven frame to strike fear and chaos into the large Plymouth centre backs. Until this point I hadn't realised just how slow he was in a sprint. As the ball was played over his head and Plymouth broke away from inside their own half, two on one, with only an empty goal and a Hobbit guarding it, I realised that his pace was reminiscent of Jan Molby in his prime (beef).

Somehow, No-one managed to miss an open goal. We laughed so much we failed to hear the final whistle. Game over.

The Coalman after the game was visibly annoyed, but his view that we are low on confidence, and the only way to regain confidence was to win again, did smack slightly of stating the bleeding obvious.

A poor show, but better than Palace at home. Same number of points though. Something needs to change, and quickly