From champs to chumps, in three short years

This blog, of course, is chiefly concerned with the goings-on of the footballing world; but very occasionally, it will branch out to discuss one or two of the author's other sporting passions. For just as the fortunes of England's football team frequently provide a mixture of hope and torment, so do those of the nation's cricket and rugby union sides: and it is to the latter that we turn today. For following Saturday afternoon's humiliation at the hands of Argentina, English rugby now finds itself at comfortably its lowest ebb since before the revolution instigated by Geoff Cooke, and which would ultimately lead to World Cup glory in Sydney three years ago, kicked in during the months following England's inept elimination from the inauguaral World Cup in 1987.

Predictably, one man has been singled out as being responsible for the national team's astonishing fall from grace: head coach, Andy Robinson. Robinson, it must be acknowledged, has long borne the appearance of a man out of his depth, and promoted well beyond his station: during his time at the helm, there has never been a sense that he really knew how to reinvigorate the world champions, and take them in a new direction. Moreover, there must even be some degree of doubt as to his true coaching credentials: for although he led Bath to a glorious, one-off triumph away to Brive in the 1998 Heineken Cup final, their results during most of the rest of his time in charge were distinctly underwhelming.

But it would be woefully unfair, and entirely insufficient, simply to lay the blame for England's pathetic state wholly upon Robinson's woebegone shoulders: the causes lie far deeper, and the seeds of his side's downfall were sown before he even took over. The red rose's triumph in Australia was down in no small part to the policy of Robinson's predecessor, Sir Clive Woodward: namely, to continually select a settled, experienced side, and allow it to gain in confidence and authority by gorging itself on one victory after another. As a result, the players developed a tremendous sense of familiarity in one another: something which was never better demonstrated than during the pre-planned 'Zigzag' line-out move which led to Jonny Wilkinson's decisive drop goal in the dying moments of the final.

But Woodward's strategy also effectively barred the door to new players emerging and becoming integrated in the team. Given the desperate, yearning need for England to at last break through their historical barriers, and end the suffocating strangehold of the southern hemisphere over the game, his approach was entirely understandable: he would be judged solely on the World Cup. Had his team failed there, it would hardly have been an excuse for him to take solace in having introduced new talent; just as it wasn't one either for John Mitchell of New Zealand, or Bernard Laporte of France, both of whose sides were comprehensively exposed by far more seasoned opponents at the semi-final stage.

But international rugby is such an unforgiving environment that, for any team to remain at or near the top, it must continually embrace new blood and refresh its approach. The 1995-7 All Blacks and 1997-8 Springboks both swept all before them with similarly settled teams to that which England enjoyed between 2001 and 2003: but in doing so, they became wholly reliant on a group of uniquely talented, experienced players. So when New Zealand's John Hart and South Africa's Nick Mallett were forced to replace individuals who either retired, were injured, or simply lost form, the consequences were calamitous: with the 1998 All Blacks and 1999 Springboks among the worst sides ever to represent their two proud, rich rugby nations. And Woodward's England, comfortably the oldest team ever to win the World Cup, predictably encountered precisely the same problem: when Martin Johnson, Neil Back and Jason Leonard retired, and Wilkinson and Richard Hill were injured, their replacements simply hadn't been readied for such a demanding stage.

To make matters worse, England's attacking approach had become steadily narrower and more conservative after reaching its zenith when Australia were humbled in Melbourne in June 2003: indeed, that they were nonetheless able to grasp the Cup having already commenced the long descent back to earth is not only an immense tribute to how accomplished the team had become, but also the state of fear and deference which had been established in opponents. That England, in spite of their notorious reputation for peaking between World Cups, rather than during them, could have developed such an aura that Australia were plainly proud of having pushed them so close on their own soil in the final was a total vindication of Woodward's insistence upon taking on the southern hemisphere as often as possible: and it would hardly be surprising if, with their opponents having won an incredible eleven such encounters in a row by the time they stepped out in Sydney, and four out of four against Australia, the expectation somewhere in the back of the Wallabies' minds was that all things being equal, it was about to become twelve on the spin too.

To some extent, England's triumph had, for all its undoubted magnificence, been something close to a brilliantly-executed con trick: with opponents fooled into believing in Woodward's team's inevitable omnipotence. But somewhere along the line, the attacking brio with which the coach had revolutionised his side's whole approach in the late 1990s and earlier part of this decade had been lost: and he himself had clearly run out of ideas. Having reached the peak, Woodward should have followed Johnson, Back and (before much longer) Leonard into retirement: instead, mistakenly, he held on. And while his rivals, most notably New Zealand's newly-appointed coach, Graham Henry, rapidly absorbed the lessons provided by the World Cup, and immediately set about putting them into practice, the newly annointed Sir Clive seemed, if anything, to become still more stubbornly wedded to his stereotyped conservatism: failing to introduce new players, and insisting on the same, tired old routines in training as his team fell into palpable decline.

First the team's long unbeaten record at Twickenham was lost, against Ireland; then, in a disastrous tour of the southern hemisphere during the summer, an exhausted set of players suddenly discovered how quickly they had fallen behind. Woodward seemed to try exactly the same thing as he had successfully done a year earlier: to take the All Blacks on up front with a forward-based game, before attempting a more all-court approach against the Wallabies; but his players were tired, and the world game had already moved on. England were thrashed in all three matches: and before long, their much-decorated coach would be gone.

But the problem was that precious time had already been wasted: for any new coach needs to be appointed at the start of a four-year cycle, not least because, should he prove demonstrably not up to the task, there is still the chance to dispense with his services after, say, two years before reviving under someone else. Thus Australia were able to recover from the bewildering ineptitude of Greg Smith's miserable period in charge between 1995 and 1997 by recruiting the brilliant, and still curiously underrated Rod Macqueen, who had a full two years in which to develop his hugely impressive 1999 World Cup winners. The Rugby Football Union would not be afforded any such luxury in the case of Robinson: for just as it would be premature in the extreme to wield the axe after only a year in charge, by the time two years had elapsed, it would already be dangerously close to the next global jamboree in France, with far too little time available for any successor to have a realistic hope of putting together a team capable of successfully defending the world crown.

As a result, Robinson's period in charge has been characterised by dithering indecision, not just by the coach himself, but those who appointed him too: never being clear whether to boldly rip up an old side and start anew, or follow Woodward's lead in prioritising the result over the performance. So the exciting Henry Paul was selected to face the Wallabies in November 2004, only to have his confidence shattered by being hauled off, extraordinarily, after just 24 minutes; and the Newcastle tyro, Mathew Tait, was given his debut in the cauldron of Cardiff's Millennium Stadium in February 2005, only to be scapegoated and dropped following the inept performance of his team: much to the understandable fury of his club coach, Rob Andrew. Similarly, heroes from the World Cup such as Jason Robinson, Mike Tindall and Ben Cohen have been at times persisted with, at others dropped, even when for much of the time their lack of form and confidence has been a constant.

Remarkably, even Lawrence Dallaglio was brought back into the fold last season: even though it represented an obvious look back, and was bound to undermine the position and authority of England's new captain, Martin Corry. Given such profoundly incoherent leadership from their coach, it should scarcely be surprising that his side have played so poorly for much of his spell at the helm: with the breathtaking ineptitude of their display against an equally shocking French side in March 2005 somehow surpassed when the two teams met again in this year's Six Nations, England falling to their heaviest defeat in Paris for thirty-four years.

But it must also be acknowledged that throughout, Robinson has been forced to endure a chaotic state of off-field affairs which would have sorely tested even a combination of Woodward, Henry and Bob Dwyer in their prime. In the years before the World Cup, Woodward had enjoyed an unprecedented degree of time with his players: some twenty-two training days in total, on top of the week leading up to each international. Given the narrowness of his side's triumph, he wanted this period increased to twenty-four days: but their clubs felt differently, successfully insisting on just sixteen days being allowed. This precipitated Woodward's resignation, and has hamstrung Robinson too: not least because the ferocious nature of English club rugby has resulted in injury after injury to key players.

The club versus country dispute, so familiar to followers of football in this country, reached its nadir when the RFU was taken to court over its highly provocative and utterly needless decision to, at short notice, organise a fourth international this autumn to coincide with the opening of Twickenham's new south stand. As a result, Robinson, assuming he remains in charge, will not be able to select his best players for both the remaining games of the autumn series against South Africa; for under the Elite Player Agreement which so incurred his predecessor's wrath, players can only be selected for a maximum of three internationals during the autumn. Given, if a player is involved for less than half a match, it is not considered to count towards the total, perhaps we may even witness the farcical situation of individuals hauled off after 39 minutes: but in any case, it is hardly a background in which any international coach can be expected to prosper.

With Andrew, formerly the RFU's most vociferous critic, appointed in the summer as its elite performance director (and in effect, Robinson's boss), there are some encouraging signs of peace breaking out: but nevertheless, the fact that Twickenham should have deemed yet another international to be necessary, and indeed, that Premiership rugby ludicrously continues while top players are away on England duty (a bizarre situation which effectively punishes those clubs which have either signed or developed the most accomplished individuals), is simply a demonstration of the greed which continues to undermine the English game - with the needs of the players shamefully treated as the lowest priority of all.

There is one further line of defence for Robinson to hold up to his many critics: put simply, England are enduring a particularly fallow period in terms of the availability of world-class, game-breaking players. Like all sports, rugby is cyclical: and just as Woodward, for all his qualities of leadership, vision and genius, could not possibly have succeeded without the mountainous talents of players such as Johnson, Wilkinson, Dallaglio, Back and Hill, it is almost impossible to see how his successor can be expected to emulate his achievements with a far more inferior group of players. Corry, for instance, is a wholehearted leader who gives everything to the cause: but this observer can scarcely recall a more limited player becoming England captain during the past two decades.

But it must still be seriously questioned whether Robinson has made the best of a bad job: and concluded, regrettably, that he has not. The 2005 Six Nations revealed such an array of problems within the team that Robinson should, surely, have drawn a line, given up the next World Cup as a hopeless cause, and thrown his weight fully behind a new generation of players looking to build for 2011: instead, fallibly, he stumbled on, not knowing whether to stick or to twist. And when this year's International Championship proved, if anything, even worse, the RFU, caught like a rabbit in the headlights by the proximity of the fast-approaching World Cup, took the easy way out by firing Robinson's defensive coach, Phil Larder, and kicking coach, Dave Alred, rather than the man himself.

A coach who stayed too long, and failed to plan for the future; a shambling, incompetent successor; an indecisive, greedy union; a brutally demanding domestic game; a dearth of world-class players. All of this has led to where England now find themselves: and never mind retaining the World Cup, the real question on current form is whether they will even qualify from their group next autumn. Mindbogglingly, reports this morning suggest the RFU will resist the urge to dismiss Robinson, which if so, would be unadulterated folly: not least because two games against a bedraggled, weakened Springbok team may yet lead to a perception of false paradise, with the coach subsequently retained through the Six Nations, by which point it will be far too late to make a change.

Whether by merely reshuffling the England coaching staff, with Andrew given the job, or by boldly looking overseas to Mallett, Warren Gatland or Eddie Jones, it is now imperative that Robinson's contract is terminated: and even more so that the RFU and the clubs find a way to stop killing the goose which laid the golden egg. Otherwise, it may prove many years indeed before England return to the summit which took so much effort to reach, and led to such public rejoicing on that increasingly distant November morning.

Glory, Glory to the Hibees?

Given the enormous amount of football-related blogs which have appeared over the last year or two, finding a good one can be a tricky business. The fact that so many fans are now able to give voice to their opinions is one of the very best things about the worldwide web; but equally, without commercial expertise in publicising a particular blog, too often these opinions are invariably drowned out in the midst of so many others.

One such blog which doesn't appear to have been publicised much, but represents an excellent read, is We Love Fitba, a round-up of the weekly goings-on north of the border. Its articles are frequently well-written, amusing and thought-provoking, and given its author was kind enough to review my blog a week or two back, the least I can do is return the favour.

The man behind We Love Fitba is a Hibernian supporter - though thankfully, he doesn't go in for the tiresome, childish "ma team's bigger/better than yours" nonsense which frequently disfigures messageboard debate. Admittedly, there are one or two regular digs in the direction of Hearts: but even this Jambo would cheerfully acknowledge that the constant Romanov-inspired chaos down Gorgie way can hardly be ignored by any budding journalist or blogger. And there will surely be more in the way of this when his blog is next updated: because Hibs fans awoke this morning with the delighted feeling inspired by their team dumping a sorry excuse for a Hearts side out of the CIS Cup at Easter Road last night.

In some respects, Hibs have become everything that Hearts are not over recent years: accepting that, in the absence of a sugardaddy suddenly emerging, any attempt to challenge the Old Firm would represent financial suicide, they are now a byword for economic stability in the Scottish game: posting a profit in their most recent set of financial results, and concentrating their energies in bringing through young Scottish talent, to be sold on for profit to bigger clubs when the time is right. Derek Riordan, Garry O'Connor, Ian Murray and Gary Caldwell have all rapidly developed at the club, before leaving over the past eighteen months or so; and although, thanks to the Old Firm's continued capacity to poach players from rival clubs, only O'Connor actually fetched a fee, it is to Hibs' credit that they have largely been able to maintain their on-field progress in the absence of these individuals.

Much of this has been down to Tony Mowbray, who arrived at the club in Summer 2004, at a time when its supporters had been left deeply disenchanted both by the results and dreadful quality of football presided over by his hapless predecessor, Bobby Williamson. True, a talented group of youngsters had begun to emerge during Williamson's final year at the club, but it is inconceivable he would have led them to the same degree of success as Mowbray would enjoy: the former Kilmarnock and Plymouth boss being as clear a case as one could imagine of a square peg in a round managerial hole, with his notorious remark that those Hibees who wanted a more entertaining style of play from their team should "go to the cinema" proving the straw that broke the camel's back.

Into this breach stepped Mowbray, who thanks to his lack of prior experience in management represented a considerable gamble, and whose appointment was regarded as deeply underwhelming by many fans: but he won them over in no time with a brand of exciting, attacking football which, against all predictions, rapidly turned his side into the 'best of the rest' (an epithet which continued to apply even as Hearts detached themselves from the pack last season: although the reward was now merely 4th spot in the SPL, rather than third). Mowbray's classy, dignified manner also impressed, and represented a refreshing change from the kind of graceless whingeing which all too many managers are guilty of nowadays, both north and south of the border.

Of course, he was only able to prioritise in producing an attractive product above all else by deliberately keeping expectations low, and emphasising how large the gap to the Old Firm remained: it is questionable whether such a strategy would have been as successful at a club with a more demanding board or set of supporters. We'll soon find out, though, given he has recently been recruited by West Bromwich Albion: and despite an unconvincing start, this writer strongly suspects he will prove the man not only to take the Baggies back into the top flight, but - thanks to the football he believes in being far more ambitious than that presided over by Gary Megson or Bryan Robson - keep them there as well.

Hibs, meanwhile, are left trying to build upon the legacy Mowbray has left, in the guise of their new boss, John Collins: a wonderful player and deep thinker on the game, but who once more must be considered a risk given this is his first job in management too. For the question remains whether it was merely Mowbray's success which was responsible for the stability and excellent reputation the club now enjoys, or in fact, that it is much more deep-rooted, a consequence of chairman Rod Petrie's clever stewardship, and bound to continue seamlessly under whoever the manager might be.

Thanks to last night's victory, Collins now has an immediate and wonderful opportunity to make his mark: indeed, to cast himself in the fans' eyes as not just a playing legend, but a managerial one too. For with both halves of the Old Firm and Hearts now out of the competition, Hibs must surely be considered clear favourites to go on and win what would be only their second piece of silverware in the last 34 years: indeed, only Jim Jefferies' equally cheaply-assembled and attractive young Kilmarnock side appear capable of stopping them. But then, Hibs are also the club who, having played brilliantly in eliminating both Celtic and Rangers from this same tournament three seasons ago, then fell listlessly in the final to little Livingston; and missed glorious opportunities to reach the final of the Scottish Cup - the competition which has tormented the club for more than a century - in both 2000 and 2005 by losing to Aberdeen and Dundee United sides which had spent their seasons battling relegation.

Whenever Hearts fans have gloried in their team's second-place finish and triumph in the Scottish Cup last season, Hibs supporters have invariably retorted that in the first case, Rangers were (indeed, still are) a shambles; and in the second, that the Jambos were enormously fortunate both in their draw, and in scrambling past tiny Gretna on penalties in the final. True - though this argument has always struck me as a little strange, considering it was their own team which was summarily dismissed, 4-0, in the semi-finals, in what had been billed as the biggest Edinburgh derby for over a century. But now the boot is on the other foot: for it is inconceivable that any Hibee could continue to refer to their great rivals' 'easy' path to Cup glory last season if their club does not now take advantage of a draw which would appear just as simple to negotiate.

There is only so long a set of supporters (and especially those of a club with the status of one of Scotland's unquestioned big five) can continue to settle merely for attractive football, but no silverware: and one can't help but wonder how the fans will react if their team now fails once more to deliver something tangible. The defeat of Hearts, although hugely important in terms of bragging rights in the city, will essentially mean nothing if it does not lead to ultimate triumph in the competition. Although it pains this Jambo to say it, the prudent policy followed by the club in recent years, and the entertaining, promising side developed by Mowbray, deserves real reward: it is up to Collins and his team to ensure that the gaping opportunity provided by the remainder of this season's CIS Cup is now grasped.

Shepherd must carry the can for the shambles at St James'

Thus far, this blog has focused largely on the two clubs closest to this writer's heart - but over the weeks and months ahead, it will be branching out into covering all aspects of the footballing world: starting here, with an analysis of the appalling state of affairs at Newcastle United, one of England's truly great clubs, and one for which the author has more than a soft spot too. Last night, Newcastle's inept home defeat by Sheffield United plunged them into the Premiership's bottom two, and resulted in hundreds of fans calling for the resignation of Freddy Shepherd's board. Given the shocking degree of failure which Shepherd has presided over for the best part of a decade, the wonder is that the figure calling for his head did not in fact number several thousand; for the loyalty and patience of the Toon Army has, surely, been pushed to breaking point by his stewardship of their proud, famous club.

Shepherd, by way of reminder, is the man who was once notoriously recorded referring to the women of Newcastle as 'dogs', while lampooning the naive loyalty of the supporters, before incredibly being able to worm his way back onto the board and become chairman; who preposterously described the Magpies - a club with not a single piece of domestic silverware to its name for more than half a century - as one of the three biggest in the country, and the manager's position as one of the eight most sought after in the world; who callously dismissed the idea of sympathising with the financial predicament of the nation's smaller clubs with the words, "when we have 52,000 fans at each game, the last thing we are worried about is the Third Division"; who publicly boasted of being about to sign Wayne Rooney, only to be entirely predictably gazumped by Manchester United, leaving his club once more held up to universal ridicule; and who cut Sir Bobby Robson off at the knees by publicly announcing that 2004/5 was to be his final season as manager: so removing any authority Robson might still have had, and making inevitable the disastrous start which resulted in his exit.

Yet the above pales almost into insignificance when we begin to explore the far deeper problem: the profound lack of even a semblance of a long-term plan at the club, and constant sense that it has preferred the publicity and glamour offered by making big-money signings to the nitty-gritty of building a strong, successful squad. For Shepherd certainly cannot be accused of having failed to back his managers: Robson and Graeme Souness, to name just two, spent close on £120m between them. But all too often, vast quantities of this budget were thrown away on attack-minded, often flaky acquisitions, seemingly in a constant effort to demonstrate the ambition of the club: £10m on Laurent Robert, £9.5m on Albert Luque, £8.5m on Hugo Viana, £7m on Carl Cort, £4.1m on Christian Bassedas. And this is before we even consider the money spent on players who either were, or could yet prove a success, yet were always liable to render such expenditure a dangerous hostage to fortune by picking up a long-term injury: £6m on Craig Bellamy, £6m on Kieron Dyer, £16m on Michael Owen, £10m on Obafemi Martins.

Invariably, other top clubs use their transfer budgets in a far more measured way, with top-quality defensive signings regarded as just as important as their counterparts at the other end of the field, and above all, with the aim of ensuring that the squad is able to cover all foreseeable eventualities. Yet an injury to one mere (albeit key) player, Bellamy, derailed Newcastle's title challenge in 2001/2; a rash of them involving Bellamy, Dyer, Jermaine Jenas, Lee Bowyer and Jonathan Woodgate scuppered their UEFA Cup dreams, hopes of qualifying for the Champions League, and indeed, Robson's chances of staying in the job in the final months of 2003/4; and this writer's jaw dropped in disbelief as the club - one of England's big five - entered a critical UEFA Cup quarter-final/FA Cup semi-final double-header the following season dependent on the likes of Amdy Faye, Charles N'Zogbia, James Milner and Steven Taylor. Talents these four players may very well be - but put simply, none of Manchester United, Arsenal, Liverpool or Chelsea would have ever found themselves relying on such inexperienced individuals in a pair of such hugely important games.

It is tempting to put all of this down to bad luck: indeed, such an explanation proved irresistible to Robson and Souness when explaining the defeats and disappointments they oversaw. But it completely misses the point; for a policy of spending huge amounts of money on glamorous, 'big name' players, but ignoring the need for quantity as well as quality simply invites such a scenario. Robson, for all the vast improvement he oversaw during his first four years at the helm, never seemed prepared to tackle his team's obvious defensive deficiencies: when they met Manchester United in April 2003, for example, a game which the Magpies had to win in order to maintain their flickering title aspirations, the limitations of players such as Titus Bramble, Aaron Hughes and Olivier Bernard could not have been more ruthlessly exposed. United won 6-2, and in so doing underlined that, for all their immense expenditure, the gap between Newcastle and the championship was as big as ever: perhaps shell-shocked by this realisation, Robson's side never recovered during his remaining time at the club.

So why has the club continually pursued such a brazen, carefree strategy: one which, after another £15m was spent on just two players this past summer, has left it ludicrously undermanned in both defence and attack, and with an astoundingly thin squad overall? The answer must surely be that Shepherd is himself a fan, and buys into that romantic, widely-held idea that Newcastle supporters want an emphasis on out-and-out attacking football above all else. Kevin Keegan, of course, once suggested that the Toon Army would prefer to lose 4-3 than win 1-0, and endured the scars at Anfield in March 1996 to prove it; yet after a domestic trophy drought of what will shortly be 52 years, is this really the case?

To be sure, like all supporters, Geordies want to be entertained, and would probably prefer to win 4-3 than win 1-0; yet the mark of title-winning sides is an ability to play gloriously and expansively one week, and grind out a result the next. To have one but not the other simply does not work: so for example, Gerard Houllier's Liverpool made hay in various cup competitions, but came miserably unstuck in the league thanks to a predictable, inflexible strategy; and Arsene Wenger's Arsenal have discovered in recent years that all the most beautiful, flowing play in the world isn't going to win the championship unless it can be matched with fight and steel. Sir Alex Ferguson's Manchester United were best able to combine these two qualities in the 1990s, and Jose Mourinho's Chelsea have been so more lately: yet for some strange reason, Newcastle, whether under Robson or Keegan, never appeared to cotton on to basic footballing reality.

Still more disastrous was Shepherd's attempt in the earlier part of the decade to do much the same as his counterpart Peter Ridsdale at Leeds: to spend big in an attempt to gatecrash the Champions League, only to find that, once there, failure to match the inevitably higher wages and anticipated budget in the seasons ahead would have catastrophic results. David O'Leary's job was untenable after his Leeds side failed to reach the Champions League for two straight years; and Robson suffered the identical fate after his team floundered to fifth spot in 2003/4. True, they had finished third a year earlier, but their elimination on penalties to Partizan Belgrade in the qualifying round - in arguably the most pivotal game in the entire modern era of the club - meant that the writing was already on the wall: failure to finish in the top four in the season which followed would have horrendous ramifications.

And the thing is, Shepherd's policy was bound to fail. Just as Leeds had done before them, Newcastle were competing for Champions League spots with three exceptionally stable, well-run clubs in United, Arsenal and Liverpool: none of whom had broken the bank in achieving their pre-eminence over the English game. Newcastle could perhaps hope to take advantage of, say, one of them slipping up in any particular season, but there was already little margin for error, and once Roman Abramovich arrived at Chelsea in Summer 2003, the rules of the game completely changed. Newcastle, who had believed they were moving closer to United and Arsenal step by step, were simply blown out of the water, and left with almost no room to breathe: for even had they managed to pip Liverpool to the fourth and final qualifying position in May 2004, it would only have been a matter of time before the Reds inevitably reasserted themselves.

When you combine all this with a strategy based around signing expensive, exotic stars, rather than developing a robust squad, it's a recipe for short-term success, but long-term disaster. The only way for clubs to break into what is now an established Big Four is to build gradually, and never risk spending money which can only be recouped if the team proves as successful as is hoped. Such are the financial realities of football nowadays, failure to reach the Champions League when budgeting to do so is even more disastrous than being relegated from the Premiership when expecting to stay up: and if a club does not immediately recover the following season, the repercussions are both harsh and long lasting.

Unlike at Elland Road, Newcastle's debt is based on secure, long-term loans, and the Magpies are therefore highly unlikely to experience the horrific off-field problems which have crippled Leeds in recent years; but at differing points during this decade, Leeds, Newcastle and Manchester City have all chronically overstretched in an attempt to 'live the dream', and all three have suffered the on-field consequences: City, indeed, didn't even get near the top four, despite a wage bill under Keegan designed to catapult the club back into the big time. And it is no coincidence that they, like Newcastle, now face a season-long relegation battle: for Stuart Pearce and Glenn Roeder are both dealing with problems sown well before they took over in the hot seat.

But there have been other mistakes under Shepherd too: for while Robson's failure to reach the top four in 2003/4 made his position untenable, it was simply ludicrous to keep him in place only to sack him (and then, disgracefully, drag the settlement of his contract through a protracted legal process: Robson, remember, being the man who, as a Geordie himself, had identified perfectly with the supporters, had transformed the team from being one caught in a death spiral when he first took over to achieving successive finishes of fourth, third and fifth, made the club so popular that it was once more the second favourite team of much of the public, and conducted himself with typical class, grace and dignity throughout his entire time at the helm), a handful of games into the following campaign.

This not only left the club with a far narrower range of possible successors to choose from, but compromised whoever that figure would be: for any manager needs a full pre-season in order to get his own ideas across, and make his own signings too. For this to happen once would be bad enough; but at St James' Park, it has happened no less than three times over the past decade: Kenny Dalglish, Ruud Gullit and Robson all packing their bags within weeks of a new season being underway. To make matters worse, Shepherd's idea of the man to lead the club back to success turned out, incomprehensibly, to be Souness, who was in the process of failing with Blackburn, had a record of hounding out of various clubs anyone who said boo to a goose (and for Andrew Cole and David Dunn at Ewood Park, read all too quickly Bellamy and Robert at St James'), and never appeared to have the faintest inkling as to what Newcastle United were all about; and, it must be said, the choice of the combustible Scot's successor left more than a little to be desired too.

Glenn Roeder is, without question, a thoroughly decent, likeable man: but his record in management is not only atrocious, but has followed an alarming pattern. After almost taking Gillingham into the Conference, Roeder's subsequent spells with Watford and West Ham resulted in false, flattering seventh-placed finishes based on late-season runs achieved against teams already safe in mid-table and with little else to play for, followed by relegation the following year. And where did Newcastle finish last season, after a surprising late-season run mainly achieved against teams already safe in mid-table and with little to play for? You've guessed it: seventh.

Roeder can only do what he can: but the real question is, why is such a profoundly under-qualified figure in charge of a club which, given its unparalleled levels of failure over the past half a century, must be regarded as the most difficult to manage in the entire country? And that brings us back to where we began: Shepherd, who thanks to the complete failure of his stewardship, needed as cheap an option as one could possibly imagine; Shepherd, whose appalling mismanagement of the club's finances has led to a loss of over £12m over the past year, and a state of affairs so absurd that last night's game against the Blades - one which could have massive ramifications come the end of the season - was played less than 48 hours after a UEFA Cup trip to Palermo. And why? Because Newcastle - unlike any other club in the same situation - failed to ask the Premier League to move the game back to Sunday: they needed the money provided by SKY's screening of it on pay-per-view.

In their astonishing passion and devotion to the cause, despite enduring decade upon decade of heartbreak, Newcastle supporters are, along with their partners in under-achievement from the blue half of Manchester, simply the finest in the land: put simply, they deserve far, far better. But sometimes one can't help but sense that their loyalty is taken for granted; and indeed, that they can't bring themselves to even criticise, let alone condemn, a figure who continues to be revered simply because he owns the very thing which they hold so dear. But this time, surely, enough must be enough.

Over the past decade, this writer has seen more than his fair share of poor Magpies teams under Messrs Dalglish, Gullit and Souness; but never before has he genuinely believed that the club faced the real prospect of relegation. But with Sheffield United, Charlton, Fulham and Bolton already faced at St James', a pathetic one point having been taken from these games, none of the Big Four having even visited yet, and with a frighteningly thin squad which cannot be reinforced until January, Newcastle are in dire trouble. It is not a question of simply blaming the manager: the problems go far deeper, and start at the top.

Shepherd, the man who, lest we forget, has not so much fiddled while Rome burned as taken over £5m out of the club in share dividends while awarding himself a hefty half-a-million pound plus salary year on year, must either resign or the supporters must force him out; for given the shambles his policies have led to, to allow him to remain would be to tempt a truly horrendous fate. In football, when a fan thinks things cannot possibly get any worse, they quite often do: Magpies fans would do well to bear this in mind when deciding how to respond to the massive crisis now engulfing their great club.

Reality bites at Carrow Road

When this blog last reported on events at Norwich City, Canary fans were enjoying a rare bout of optimism. Peter Grant's tough, relentlessly positive approach to his new job was exactly what City supporters everywhere had been calling for: his openness and honesty being the very opposite of the tired, tactically inept, cliche ridden nonsense for which his once-successful predecessor had become notorious. Grant even presided over a clean sheet and away win in his first match in charge, leaving Norwich fans wondering whether maybe, just maybe, the last year had all just been a bad dream; and that a mere change at the top could have us surging back into contention for a return to the land of milk and honey.

Of course, unless your club happens to be Crystal Palace and Iain Dowie has just taken charge, life is rarely so simple. For subsequent events have illustrated the immensity of the task facing the new manager, as well as once more underlining the incompetence of the Canary board ever since Norwich were relegated. Fiddling while Rome burned, that they could find themselves presiding over a situation whereby, only nineteen months since the club beat Manchester United and embarked on a late, gallant attempt to avoid the drop, and with it still enjoying the privilege of parachute payments, the first team squad is so pathetically thin is an appalling indictment, both of Nigel Worthington's transfer policy and of Delia, Michael and co for sanctioning it seemingly without a second thought.

For while City's first choice XI is top six material at the very least, the lack of depth in the squad is frightening to behold. The season may still be relatively early, but statistics already tell a very clear story. Norwich were able to deploy an unchanged side which virtually picked itself in our first five league matches, and ten points were accrued; but as soon as injuries occurred to players like Darren Huckerby, Carl Robinson and Adam Drury, the team plummeted down the table, leaking a disgraceful 17 goals in six league games.

Grant was fortunate enough to have a full-strength side to select in his first two games in charge against Birmingham and Cardiff, and six points out of six immediately followed - but without Lee Croft last night, his side failed to beat Colchester in the kind of game which represents a routine home victory for any team harbouring even the slightest aspirations of challenging for promotion; and in the absence of Huckerby, Robert Earnshaw and Youssef Safri - arguably his three most important players - at the Britannia Stadium on Saturday, City collapsed to their heaviest defeat in the second flight since that day of ignominy at Portman Road in February 1998.

The facts may be simple, but they bear reiterating. When able to field our first choice side, Norwich have taken an excellent sixteen points from seven games, and conceded just four goals; but when affected by any absences at all (taking, for the sake of the argument, Huckerby's fourth-minute injury at Coventry as a game in the second category, and bearing in mind that it is as yet unclear who Grant considers to be his preferred goalkeeper), the result has been a shocking three points from eight games, and an unbelievable 23 goals lost: relegation form by any definition.

If it wasn't for the fact that, by all reports of his interviews for the job, Grant was astonishingly well-briefed on the team's strengths and weaknesses, he would surely be stupefied that a club so recently in the Premiership (and one which, remember, supposedly budgeted that year to finish bottom), could find itself in such a state: and it would be outrageous to attach any responsibility to him for it. Instead, real and searching questions need to be asked of a board who, with a spineless combination of myopia and inertia, have imperilled City's Championship future were the kind of injury crisis which bedevils many clubs each season to strike; all Grant can do is keep fingers, toes and everything else crossed that one does not.

That said though, there are a few small criticisms which can be made of his stewardship at this very early stage. The first is to remind him that, while his breathtakingly honest comments on a number of players' performances following the defeat of Cardiff were admirable, and in many ways exactly what the doctor ordered, it is still a highly risky strategy to publicly criticise individuals before he can be confident that he has them onside. When such an approach backfires, it is often more because of the attitude of a player rather than anything his manager might have done; but this observer cannot be the only Canary supporter who remembers rumours of many players celebrating when Martin O'Neill departed on that dark December morning eleven years ago. Given all that O'Neill has gone on to achieve, the joke, ultimately, was on them; but it would be a terrible pity were Grant's eventual exit to provoke a similar response.

Secondly, there may be a danger that the manager is expecting his charges to run before they can walk. At Stoke, not only was he forced by circumstances beyond his control into playing square pegs in round holes, but to judge by his thoughts afterwards, he is already demanding an ambitious combination of creative football and quickness of thought: even when considerably understrength, and adopting an alien 4-1-4-1 system with Gary Doherty in a wholly unfamiliar role shielding the back four. If he is ultimately to develop a side capable of not just getting back to the Premiership, but staying and establishing itself there, such an approach will certainly be necessary - but given the severe limitations of his current squad, shouldn't he be focusing on getting the basics right first before attempting anything more challenging?

My final point, though, is really just a nagging doubt which has peristed in my mind ever since Grant's appointment was announced. During his brief playing spell at Carrow Road, he talked a very good game: pointing, gesticulating and geeing up his colleagues on the park, and speaking confidently of his ambitions for the club off it; but in truth, even as part of a desperately poor City side, he too often completely failed to live up to his words, and few supporters were sorry to see him depart Norfolk in Summer 1998. One can only hope this does not prove an omen for his spell in the hot seat - and although it is very early days at this point, given the stark gap between publicly making immense physical and mental demands of his players, and overseeing a humiliating defeat last weekend, there are already superficial comparisons which can plainly be drawn.

Essentially, Grant is on a learning curve: which is of course inevitable, given his lack of managerial experience before taking over. What has been most encouraging has been the palpable sense that, while learning the ropes at Bournemouth and West Ham, he was literally grooming himself for this position: not least because it represents far and away his best opportunity of one day walking through the Parkhead doors in his dream job as manager of Celtic. In his highly refreshing approach thus far, he has already demonstrated that he will leave no stone unturned in his quest to lead the club back to success, and it will be fascinating to see how he gets on - but the reality is that, given the paucity of resources he has to play with, he is in much the same position as Worthington was on his appointment almost six years ago.

Barring a miracle occurring between now and May, at least two out of three of Huckerby, Earnshaw and Safri will surely depart by the summer; and with the parachute payments running out, Grant will be forced to totally rebuild the side. In truth, given all we've seen so far this season, this is really no bad thing: but the club finds itself back at square one, and it will take some considerable time, and require a great deal of patience and frustration on the part of the supporters, for it to begin to contend once more.