ONE foot through the office door and the resident Janner is on me like a flash. "Well, well . . . 2-0 up and you finish 3-2 down. Tsk, tsk."
Nothing can spoil my mood today, though. We gave the Aussies I right shellacking in the final Test of the Ashes series in Sydney and completed an emphatic 3-1 victory. All three victories came by an innings, a manner of defeat never experienced by our friends down under.
Four years ago I could never have imagined such a turn around. Leaving the Sydney Cricket Ground after two months following England's cricket team in all five tests, I had experienced the first-ever Ashes whitewash. Australia 5 England 0.
Come to think of it, it seems to be the kind of score I expect my beloved Gas to be on the receiving end of every time they play these days . . .
Still, if there is a lesson here it is that sport changes, the pendulum swings and from the lowest of lows you can somehow recover to experience unbelievable highs.
This is the nature of sport, why we love it so much.
In a very small way I experienced those same kind of feelings - complete elation to total despair - in 90 minutes at the Mem on Tuesday night.
Trucking up to the ground, even my mate Haydn, the eternal optimist, wasn't feeling confident. "I think we might lose tonight," he said.
Words I have rarely, if ever, heard him mutter.
Anyway, we took up a new position in the South Stand for this one, having failed to get entry into the family enclosure, which has somehow changed its rules and will only admit one adult, one child these days.
Neither of us expected anything from the game. Plymouth may have been struggling, but they still have pedigree as a Championship side last season. We are managerless, potless and shockingly low on confidence. Or so I thought.
Caretaker manager Darren Patterson's first decision was to shake things up a bit. He brought in youngster Eliot Richards to play instead of the more experienced but struggling Joe Kuffour up front.
And with Danny Coles injured he moved left back Gary Sawyer into his place, rather than elevate loan signing James Tunnicliffe to the starting line up. An interesting bit of tinkering.
Within 10 minutes we couldn't believe what was happening. Plymouth seemed to have turned up without a defence, and our leading scorer Will Hoskins had helped himself to two goals.
Wow - this was unchartered territory for Rovers this season.
Perhaps Patterson WAS the miracle worker we needed.
For the rest of the half we maintained our tempo, tackled like demons and looked capable of stretching our lead.
But as a Gashead, you know there is a nasty shock just around the corner.
The thing that came along to upset our applecart was the half-time whistle. We didn't need it.
And I don't know what happened in the home dressing room during the break but whatever motivational powers our caretaker used we certainly got a new Bristol Rovers after the break.
Timid, back tracking, fearful, incompetent . . .
If not a different team, it was certainly a fresh approach.
We handed back the initiative to a Plymouth Argyle side whose defence seemed to be operating an open-door policy before the break.
And they took it.
It was 2-1, then 2-2 and finally 3-2 as the Gas dispersed in front of our astonished eyes.
Astonished? Well, maybe not. This is Bristol Rovers, after all.
At the end the feeling was one of utter dejection, bottomless pain.
Three points adrift in the relegation zone and seemingly no fight and no hope.
Hopeless, in short.
Mighty West Country Warriors 2, Team made famous by a car insurance Advert 3.
If anything was going to prompt the board to say "enough" and go out and appoint a full-time manager, this was it.
Only it wasn't.
We're still waiting with an absolutely crucial game against fellow managerless strugglers Walsall next Tuesday.
Can't help thinking we've missed a trick here.
Still, even if my team's hopes are crumbling to dust, at least I've got the Ashes.
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