Well it was one of those days when you wake and think shit, we really need to avoid losing today. In fact I’d been nervous about it all week and that’s been reflected in my sleep patterns. Typically I woke up earlier than I’d have liked and despite not leaving the house until 9.30 and trying to drive slowly and calmly I found myself outside The Reebox at 11.25 furiously smoking a tab.

The Royal Oak seemed like the best place to park and pint when it was suggested that it was only fifteen minutes walk from the ground and that the carvery was only £3.50 a pop. However, in these times of high relegation haunted stress, food was the last thing on my mind.

Thankfully we found the pub easily enough despite directions telling us it was off junction 6 of the M62, which the Sat Nav told us was near Liverpool. However, we eventually realised that it was in fact the M61, (erm, what kind of a detective will you make?) A few quick pints were downed, craic was had and the mood rose before kick-off despite the stroll to the ground taking 25 minutes and not the advertised fifteen.

After sorting the gaggle of friends and family out with their tickets outside the ground, it was time to take my seat in front of the fat drunken racist. It seems to me that when we take a big following to away games I always get a dickhead sat behind me. His way to encourage the team was to call Jones a nigger and suggest he should be selling sunglasses on the beach.

To suggest this imbecile was the ugliest and stupidest man in the world would be a compliment to him. I don’t want to waste too many words on the buffoon, but you’d have realised his level of intelligence if you’d been stood by me when he slagged Leadbitter off by telling him he was a fat lazy Irishman, a whole seventy minutes before Reid came on.

We played five across the middle and I guess it worked. Once we got to grips with Bolton, we kept the ball well without much penetration, but the majority of our chances came from long range efforts. As you’d expect they played the ball down the channels in an attempt to win corners, free kicks and long throw ins. Thankfully we copped quite well with the inevitable set pieces.

Steeeeeeeeeeed had a great first half and was our main outlet, but Megson put two players on him in the second and that supply line was all but cut off. However, we still had the majority of the play and Bolton gave us little trouble until the final five minutes when the blood pressure rose once more with a flurry of corners and a great save from Marton.

I’d have settled for a point before the game and so too would have Ricky, but Stoke doing Hull was the icing on the cake and a slightly healthier looking league table this evening tells me that Newcastle United are joint bottom of the league and those are words I like to write.

At the final whistle there was very little left to do than return to The Royal Oak, with the stress all but gone. After not eating all day, I suddenly felt hungry at the smell of the carvery and it was all too much to say no to.

The beautiful scenery of The Lakes on a sunny spring night after many dark and cold drives this season was a pleasant backdrop to the journey home, as was the good music and the conversation which was based on what we were going to do with our summer.

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel now; bring on the close season, some sunshine, travel and festivals. I’ve had enough of this sorry excuse of a season. Waiter, bring me Premiership safety and a European road trip for starters…

Final Score: 0-0

ALS Man Of The Match: Bardo

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