Let's return to September 1999, when those of us with dull IT jobs pondered whether the threatened computer Armageddon nicknamed Y2K would indeed see the end of the civilised world - or at the very least the wiping of that database of overdue library books. And poll tax.

Back then we'd started the season with a whimper and save for a morale-boosting away win in Sofia, things domestically weren't clever.

However, plain old Bobby Robson had turned up to fill the vacancy on Barrack Road left by that Dutch pal of Bobby Lee and things were gradually looking brighter, with even Alan Shearer reputed to have grinned briefly in the run up to Sheffield Wednesday game. He had rather larger smile afterwards, plus a match ball.

Four years on and we were in toon again, still searching for our first domestic win and like '99, in opposition to a side featuring the dubious defensive talents of Emerson Thome.

Now perhaps a repeat of that miraculous eight-goal blast might have strained the bounds of credibility, but against a team of willing triers perpetually looking down rather than up, scraping a win wouldn't have been an impossible feat.

Unfortunately where Danny Wilson's Owls had been generous, Sam Allardyce's Trotters were decidedly more streetwise. Add in a dash of continental nous, or in the case of Campo, blatant cheating and hey presto, organised team frustrates Magpies. Again.

There had been something approaching an air of optimism detectable among the crowd, who were certainly more vocally supportive than of late, although still some way off a full force Toon gale.

That was helped by the apparent armistice between warring factions in the dressing room, dugout and the press box - Bellamy and Robert in particular being the recipients of a vote of confidence from both St.James' Park and Thomson House in the run up to the game.

So, a full-strength team with Bowyer rotated out of the ineffective right flank slot in favour of Solano and Woodgate back in the defence. Happy families then.

And had Speed's second minute header not struck the crossbar, it might have remained that way. Unfortunately we failed to get off to the morale-boosting start that crowd and players craved.

Half chances came and went but at least it was pleasing to see the likes of Griffin at least attempt a shot even if it didn't seriously test the visiting 'keeper. Shearer also managed one run on goal that saw him get a shot away that was blocked, a increasingly rare goalmouth incident from open play.

The second half followed a broadly similar pattern, with Bramble's effort shaking the woodwork and Dyer's effort blocked via a sliding tackle.

Had Speed or Bramble netted it would really have covered up a multitude of sins, but in the absence of any fortune we're left with another few days of navel-gazing and counter-productive introspection.

If that sounds like psycho-babble it's a clumsy way of saying we could be thinking about things too much - when we play well it seems intuitive, off the cuff, not something that can be plotted on a graph. Possibly the most frightening thing about that BBC Robson programme was the action that his flip chart saw....

The pressure on the Manager is discernible (even if it's mostly people denying it) and hardly conducive to flowing football.

However, contrast the discomfort LuaLua say or Viana may feel at not getting a look in, compared to the supporter looking for ninety minutes respite from their own economic reality, be it redundancy or whatever.

There should always be a pressure from within, a pressure to win and excel, to feel as if the wages have been earned. I think they used to call it professionalism. And after all, footballers have a fairly unique position in that they can turn games, history even, with one action. Many of the onlookers aren't so fortunate...

As it is, Boro breaking their duck on Sunday hardly helped and news that Breda had toppled Ajax was less than welcome. At the end of it all though there was a discernible improvement in performance, attitude and scoreline from the Birmingham game and at least a semblance of unity between those in the stands and on the field.

Life in the patient yet, methinks, but one look at the fixture list though is enough to dispel any thoughts of complacency. We're in the clarts, but we can improve our own lot without recourse to ragtag loan men like other strugglers.

Where we are conspicuously failing is in the creative department. It had been hoped that a re-invigorated Robert would have been matched on the opposite flank by a Peruvian with a point to prove, but they were both too easily stifled too often by the deep-lying Wanderers.

Dyer too also failed to buzz through the massed ranks (again), while it was often easy to forget that Bellamy had indeed returned to the fray, with his trademark gallop towards the box barely glimpsed. Add to that the laboured mis-passing of Gary Speed and we were just too predictable going forward. Undoubted effort (certainly from Robert), but a lack of craft and guile.

Depressing that this was Bobby's best XI, and that nobody demands inclusion as a result of positive performances either at reserve level or from the subs bench.

Looking for positives, the defence and 'keeper looked ok, although doubts remain over the condition of Woodgate. Titus again had a canny game, but once again the papers couldn't resist diving in and proclaiming him as our defensive messiah.

If anyone doubts the wisdom of our waffle-writing policy, then this game proved why we deliberately let the events of the day permeate through our addled heads rather than try and beat the football pink to the streets.

This could have been a two word report - "utter sh*te." But what would that have added to the debate? How would that have helped those not present to get a handle on the situation?

The crowd came, saw and sang, but crucially left without anything to cheer. There was some negative reaction at the end of each half, but most people seemed to accept that this wasn't our day and verbal firing squads would serve no useful purpose. At least that's delayed the inevitable newspaper article about the players being afraid to play at home for a week or two......

If there is a message in these random jottings it's that it's never as black as it seems, even if it is gut-wrenchingly sickening at the time. It's not Dads Army, Bobby isn't Captain Mainwaring and we're not Clive Dunn!

But, instead of "utter sh*te" how about "Don't Panic"? The time to be really miserable is when we've just been scuttled at Highbury.....

Biffa

Reports