Happy wife, happy life ... rock on Mark Robins
LAST Monday afternoon I was in a boozer in Paris, watching the final day of the Championship regular season unfold on the BBC’S live feed.
It was a delight.
Nursing a pale ale, the twists and turns on the screen as Sunderland grabbed their play-off chance and Millwall blew theirs... it was gripping.
But my eyes were fixed – transfixed actually – on Coventry City’s progress at Middlesbrough.
That one was personal.
I know there are other people up and down the country who, for their own reasons, wanted this or that team to get into the post-season shake-up.
None of them, however, live with my wife.
Sky Blue to the core – and don’t we know it in our house.
This is a woman who still hasn’t forgiven any of the following individuals, and some of these grudges go back over two decades:
Gordon Strachan
He was in charge when Coventry City were relegated from the Premier League in 2001. Mrs M burst into tears. And it was at Villa Park. Not good.
Craig Bellamy
He once said something bad about the club in a newspaper article. Never been forgiven.
Dion Dublin
He didn’t turn out for Coventry in a match ahead of his £6million move to Aston Villa. That was
1998. One match, 25 years ago
– and still referred to as “Judas”.
I’ve given up telling her he’s one of the good guys.
Clever, hard-working, loyal, honest – and I love my wife dearly for all those reasons – but her football club has caused me no end of angst.
Highlights?
Precious few, until Mark Robins took charge six years ago. Any previous positives were massively outweighed by the general chaos. In no particular order, we’ve had demotion from the Premier League, the takeover by clueless, and eventually despised, owners SISU. Then a financial meltdown, followed by a row over the Ricoh Stadium (as was) before a move to Northampton. Then a move to St Andrew’s and, eventually, back to Coventry. When the club slipped into League Two in 2017, life became excruciating.
One Saturday evening in December 2018, I kid ye not, I was going into the shower ahead of a night out.
At that point Coventry were happily winning 1-0 at Walsall. It was the 88th minute.
And by the time I’d come out, they’d lost 2-1.
Myself and my 15-year-old daughter – I snatched her into the bosom of
Birmingham City, which now doesn’t look like a great move – have been conditioned to the following:
Every victory is not considered in any way other than it being three points that keeps Coventry City three points further away from a relegation battle.
Every player who once donned a Sky Blue shirt is now “bound” to score against them. Believe me, it gets boring after two decades.
Every time Sunderland are playing – anywhere – she automatically wants the other side to win.
That one goes back to 1977, Jimmy Hill, relegation and all that.
She was six months old when it happened. I told you she can bear a grudge.
So you can imagine my horror, watching on in Paris, when the following conversation unfolded after the final whistle at the Riverside last week.
I texted my daughter. Me: Your mother is driving me mad, already. Daughter: Do not even start with me. Daughter: She went and shopped and told me not to tell her the score.
Daughter: Then, when it was over, I pranked her.
Daughter: And told her she didn’t get in the play-offs.
Daughter: Then I told her she did. Daughter: And water went in her eyes.
Me: OMG! Are you mental?
Me: Why would you do that? Daughter: Just in a silly quirky mood. Me: I’m surprised you are still in one piece.
Daughter: And then she still moaned about Sunderland...
In my eyes at least, Robins is a god. And if there is such an entity, may he smile down on me and my offspring today at noon.
If he doesn’t, pray for the Moxley Two, will you?