WE have a dance troupe at the Mem called the Blue Flames.
They are a group of schoolgirls aged roughly between 10 and 15 who have to prance about on the pitch in front of a bunch of grumpy old men, and young ones too, during the half-time break.
As cheerleaders go, they are strictly League 2 level. More Stavros Flatley than Riverdance. Mind you, even Gene Kelly would struggle on our pitch - he may have coped with singing in the rain, but Dancing in a Swamp?
Yet I felt a twinge of sympathy for them on Saturday. They were all ready to perform their routine when the announcer revealed: "I'm sorry, but the CD they have given me doesn't work."
It resulted in this bunch of hardy young ladies having to perform their steps to an entirely different song in temperatures dropping by the second. The tune was "Can You Dig It?" by the Mock Turtles. I wasn't sure if it was some kind of subliminal message from the Groundsman, to be honest.
Still, I guess the girls made the best of a bad job.
Fitting really, because that's what our new boss Mark McGhee was forced to do on Saturday. Some more miserable Gasheads among us might say it is what we are asking him to do, full stop.
To say he pulled it off would be some kind of understatement.
In his first home game in charge, Mr McGhee found himself robbed of a significant number of his first-team squad.
Yet his make do and mend baptism - not helped by the loss of our in-form right back Danny Woodards after just a few minutes - proved a resounding success.
A 2-1 win against 10 man Bradford might not sound particularly convincing, and it was squeeky bum time towards the end particularly when Chris Zebroski mowed down speedy sub Kyal Reid yet the referee failed to point to the penalty spot, but I must admit it was my most enjoyable day at the Mem for a very long time.
At last I was seeing a Rovers team who were prepared to compete for every ball - despite the fact they were depleted by injuries.
The fans on the Blackthorne were loud and supportive, the moans were kept to a minimum, and the action was pretty intense throughout.
A few weeks ago we would have been bullied out of a game like this. Make no mistake, Bradford were prepared to put themselves about.
But the introduction of an experienced and dominant centre back in Aaron Downes and an unflappable keeper in Michael Poke has made the world of difference.
Downes has been just the partner needed by the young but raw on-loan Leicester defender Cian Bolger and the two of them won headers all day long, sometimes under intense pressure from some physical Bradford challenges.
And what first impressions of Mr McGhee?
AS we stood on the family enclosure before kick off I asked: "Isn't that Mark McGhee out there in the tracksuit?"
"Ooh, I don't know. It looks a bit like him," said my pal Haydn.
The guy in question was taking a full part in the pre-game training, chatting affably to some of the players.
But, as far as I could tell, there was no announcement beforehand that our new manager had taken the pitch, no salute to the crowd, no turning to all four sides of the ground to clap his new fanbase.
When he left the pitch after the warm ups my mate agreed. "Yeah, you're right. It's him."
I liked this understated approach, in stark contrast to Paul Buckle's arrival in a fanfare of publicity and premature glory.
And nothing changed when McGhee walked back across the pitch before kick off, wearing the same tracksuit.
He acknowledged the salute of the Uplands Terrace behind the dug out, took time out to sign a few autographs for younger fans and then got down to work.
My first impressions of him were of a total professional here to concentrate on doing a job rather than get wrapped up in all the hype that inevitably surrounds new managers.
I guess at the age of 54 he has seen it all before, and certainly the way Rovers lined up in the opening half gave further evidence of a man who was trying to think differently to get the best out of the limited number of options he had available.
A case in point was a more advanced role for our on-loan midfielder Andy Dorman, suggesting that the new boss had seen him play for St Mirren while he was doing a job north of the border.
At St Mirren Dorman racked up 24 goals in 108 appearances and became a fans' favourite, yet he has played a holding role in midfield since the start of his loan spell with the Gas and has yet to hit the target.
Interesting.
McGhee had the advantage of an early goal as Lee Brown, in his new advanced role, struck the opener. But then things changed with Woodards leaving the field.
It meant Rovers were forced to cut their cloth, bringing Michael Smith across to the right back role to which he is more accustomed and pushing Brown back to left back.
A shame, not just because Woodards has become a key player for the Gas but because it meant we couldn't see more of the starting formation and tactics.
Still, it seems that slowly the optimism is coming back to a club choked by frustration and blunted expectations. Ten points out of 12 and the fear of relegation seems to be fading away.
Can't wait to see what Mr McGhee does with a full squad at his disposal and perhaps the option to dip into the transfer market.
Reasons I'm not a football manager, number 93.
Ten minutes into the second half I turned to my mate and remarked: "That Elliot Richards is struggling. His control doesn't seem to be up to much and I think he's our weak link at the moment. McGhee should take him off."
Fast forward five minutes and I'm jumping for joy with the rest of the Gasheads as young Richards charges through onto a defensive mistake to blast our second goal under the Bradford keeper.
I'd like to say I'll keep my mouth shut in future - but I don't think I'd be able to stick to that promise.
Sunday 29 January 2012
Tuesday 24 January 2012
Never mind the b*!!*&%s
I'VE just passed another milestone. I won't give away my age but I work out I've now been supporting Bristol Rovers for 45 years.
To mark the occasion I had a great surprise present from my brother.
He recently bumped into the legend that is Paul Cook, the former drummer of the Sex Pistols, and managed to get a personally signed autograph for me.
It said simply: "To Nick, Bollox, Paul Cook."
I was overwhelmed. After all, it's such a great word, Bollox. Forget the literal sense, I find it is an expletive you can use in virtually any circumstance: Particularly when associated with my beloved football team.
In fact, I believe it was the one word I uttered as I stared pretty vacantly at the TV as the score came in from Whaddon Road on Saturday. After a pause for it to sink in I then pronounced: "Well... bollox!" The expression combined perfectly the emotions of high exhiliration and barely disguisable shock that I, and I imagine Gasheads throughout the world, were feeling at the knowledge that we had pulled ourselves up to the lofty heights of 17th in League Two - having taken our recent unbeaten run to THREE games.
And while we were all getting a bit carried away with such an unexpected early bonus, our new manager was having none of it. He refused to take the credit, passing it on to the players for their professionalism and hard work.
He said he hadn't changed anything in particular and had taken a backseat to Shaun North, who has been our caretaker coach this last couple of weeks.
Pardon me, but Bollox.
Certainly the players are gaining in confidence but I think knowing that there is a highly experienced, no-nonsense manager now at the helm of the club might have had a little bearing on how things turned out.
He was on the training ground for two days before the game, for instance. Players were tweeting about how much they had enjoyed training. He had tickled the formation slightly, so that we had gone from a 5-4-1 to a 4-4-2, after first consulting the players on what they thought.
Of course, this is all "new manager syndrome". There have been plenty of false dawns in the past.
But at least Saturday's result and overall performance proved that the players we have at the club ARE good enough, and recent suggestions that few of them were better than Conference level are well off the mark.
Certainly the two new loan players at the heart of the defence - goalkeeper Michael Poke and centre half Aaron Downes - have played a big part. The thought of securing two clean sheets in three games would have been the stuff of fantasy a month ago.
But also the much-maligned Chris Zebroski is proving his worth at this level, and our hard pushed midfielder Craig Stanley is becoming some sort of Gas icon having been roundly abused in some quarters a little while ago.
Let's hope the transformation continues and the supporters can carry on getting behind the team and putting some of the recent negativity behind them - the support at Cheltenham was, by all accounts, phenomenal.
The next test coming up is Bradford City at home, on Saturday. Glad to say, being on a week's holiday from my job in London, I'll be able to see at first hand what effect our new manager has had having been preparing the team for this game all week.
A home win to go with our recent achievements would be, pardon the pun, the Dog's Bollox.
To mark the occasion I had a great surprise present from my brother.
He recently bumped into the legend that is Paul Cook, the former drummer of the Sex Pistols, and managed to get a personally signed autograph for me.
It said simply: "To Nick, Bollox, Paul Cook."
I was overwhelmed. After all, it's such a great word, Bollox. Forget the literal sense, I find it is an expletive you can use in virtually any circumstance: Particularly when associated with my beloved football team.
In fact, I believe it was the one word I uttered as I stared pretty vacantly at the TV as the score came in from Whaddon Road on Saturday. After a pause for it to sink in I then pronounced: "Well... bollox!" The expression combined perfectly the emotions of high exhiliration and barely disguisable shock that I, and I imagine Gasheads throughout the world, were feeling at the knowledge that we had pulled ourselves up to the lofty heights of 17th in League Two - having taken our recent unbeaten run to THREE games.
And while we were all getting a bit carried away with such an unexpected early bonus, our new manager was having none of it. He refused to take the credit, passing it on to the players for their professionalism and hard work.
He said he hadn't changed anything in particular and had taken a backseat to Shaun North, who has been our caretaker coach this last couple of weeks.
Pardon me, but Bollox.
Certainly the players are gaining in confidence but I think knowing that there is a highly experienced, no-nonsense manager now at the helm of the club might have had a little bearing on how things turned out.
He was on the training ground for two days before the game, for instance. Players were tweeting about how much they had enjoyed training. He had tickled the formation slightly, so that we had gone from a 5-4-1 to a 4-4-2, after first consulting the players on what they thought.
Of course, this is all "new manager syndrome". There have been plenty of false dawns in the past.
But at least Saturday's result and overall performance proved that the players we have at the club ARE good enough, and recent suggestions that few of them were better than Conference level are well off the mark.
Certainly the two new loan players at the heart of the defence - goalkeeper Michael Poke and centre half Aaron Downes - have played a big part. The thought of securing two clean sheets in three games would have been the stuff of fantasy a month ago.
But also the much-maligned Chris Zebroski is proving his worth at this level, and our hard pushed midfielder Craig Stanley is becoming some sort of Gas icon having been roundly abused in some quarters a little while ago.
Let's hope the transformation continues and the supporters can carry on getting behind the team and putting some of the recent negativity behind them - the support at Cheltenham was, by all accounts, phenomenal.
The next test coming up is Bradford City at home, on Saturday. Glad to say, being on a week's holiday from my job in London, I'll be able to see at first hand what effect our new manager has had having been preparing the team for this game all week.
A home win to go with our recent achievements would be, pardon the pun, the Dog's Bollox.
Wednesday 18 January 2012
McGhee wizz!
EIGHT years ago, living in Cardiff, I enjoyed one of those rare moments of unbridled joy as a Rovers fan.
There haven't been many.
But this was, in modern day parlance, a laugh-out-loud moment: Even though I was sitting alone in my car driving back from visiting my parents for Sunday lunch in Bristol.
To be honest on that day I just had to get out of the Welsh capital. There was no way I could stay there when that OTHER team, the one that resides at Ashton Gate, was appearing in a play-off final at the Millennium Stadium. I didn't think I could handle the city being taken over by crowing Bristol City fans.
To be fair, they were cast-iron favourites to win promotion and most of us couldn't see any other result. They were, after all, only playing Brighton. A team who had been in a downward spiral, without a ground and with very few resources to call on. They were homeless, having to eek out some kind of existence at an unfit-for-purpose athletics stadium known as the Withdean.
In short, they were Nomads. For fellow Gasheads, considering our experiences over the last 30 years, this all must sound vaguely familiar.
But it didn't pan out the way the critics expected. There were six minutes of a dour game to go when Brighton won a penalty and Leon Knight, the striker who had been banging in goals for them all season like some mini version of Jermain Defoe, sent our former keeper Steve Phillips the wrong way from the spot.
It might not have been pretty but it was a triumph of tactical nous.
Brighton's manager Mark McGhee explained: "We're not a free-scoring side because we don't have the legs in midfield. We try and break teams down and make life difficult for them."
In the opposite dressing room the Bristol City manager Danny Wilson admitted: "It was not the most attractive game. It was very bitty and there were very few chances. In the end it was decided by Lady Luck favouring Brighton."
On the way home from Bristol that night I happened to look in my mirror as I headed through Shirehampton. There was a huge banner, skull and crossbones on one side and BRFC on the other. In the middle it just said: "BACK TO SLEEP GIANTS".
It was a message from Rovers fans to our friends in the south who would have been able to read it clearly as their gloom-filled coaches headed home.
Oh, how I laughed.
And for that one moment of frivolity I would like to thank Mark McGhee, the man who was today named as the new manager of my beloved Gas.
It is an appointment seen by some as a bit of a gamble. He has been out of the game for two years and his last appointment at Aberdeen wasn't particularly successful.
But during a long career spanning Reading, Leicester, Wolves, Millwall, Brighton, Motherwell and Aberdeen, he has enjoyed plenty of highs and promotions to go with the odd failure.
I was a bit underwhelmed by the appointment at first but the more I think of it the happier I am.
This is a man who, I truly believe, can steady the ship and get us going in the right direction.
He is used to managing in unfavourable circumstances.
He has certainly proved that, tactically, he is no mug.
If he got Brighton to play on the beach that was the Withdean and win football matches, I am confident he can do the same thing for Rovers on the bog that is the Memorial Stadium.
Things have been made of his temperament and the possibility he might fall out with players.
I think it is more a case that he doesn't suffer fools gladly.
It was McGhee, for instance, who fell out with that same Leon Knight on a coach trip to Southampton one day, stopped the bus in the New Forest, and chucked the striker off. Anyone who has followed the prolific Knight's career will realise that he suffers from "The Great I am" syndrome.
People may say that he is just another Paul Buckle in the making. But Buckle is hardly much older than the players whereas McGhee has the medals to back up his approach.
He won the European Cup Winners Cup with Aberdeen under Sir Alex Ferguson, has sealed promotions with not only Brighton but Reading and Millwall too - all from the lower divisions - and helped Motherwell to the unbelievable heights of sealing a place in Europe.
Reading, Millwall, Brighton - all struggling in the depths of the Football League. Where are they now? All competing well in the Championship.
Who better to restore some sanity to a club that has blatantly "lost it" over the last few years?
There haven't been many.
But this was, in modern day parlance, a laugh-out-loud moment: Even though I was sitting alone in my car driving back from visiting my parents for Sunday lunch in Bristol.
To be honest on that day I just had to get out of the Welsh capital. There was no way I could stay there when that OTHER team, the one that resides at Ashton Gate, was appearing in a play-off final at the Millennium Stadium. I didn't think I could handle the city being taken over by crowing Bristol City fans.
To be fair, they were cast-iron favourites to win promotion and most of us couldn't see any other result. They were, after all, only playing Brighton. A team who had been in a downward spiral, without a ground and with very few resources to call on. They were homeless, having to eek out some kind of existence at an unfit-for-purpose athletics stadium known as the Withdean.
In short, they were Nomads. For fellow Gasheads, considering our experiences over the last 30 years, this all must sound vaguely familiar.
But it didn't pan out the way the critics expected. There were six minutes of a dour game to go when Brighton won a penalty and Leon Knight, the striker who had been banging in goals for them all season like some mini version of Jermain Defoe, sent our former keeper Steve Phillips the wrong way from the spot.
It might not have been pretty but it was a triumph of tactical nous.
Brighton's manager Mark McGhee explained: "We're not a free-scoring side because we don't have the legs in midfield. We try and break teams down and make life difficult for them."
In the opposite dressing room the Bristol City manager Danny Wilson admitted: "It was not the most attractive game. It was very bitty and there were very few chances. In the end it was decided by Lady Luck favouring Brighton."
On the way home from Bristol that night I happened to look in my mirror as I headed through Shirehampton. There was a huge banner, skull and crossbones on one side and BRFC on the other. In the middle it just said: "BACK TO SLEEP GIANTS".
It was a message from Rovers fans to our friends in the south who would have been able to read it clearly as their gloom-filled coaches headed home.
Oh, how I laughed.
And for that one moment of frivolity I would like to thank Mark McGhee, the man who was today named as the new manager of my beloved Gas.
It is an appointment seen by some as a bit of a gamble. He has been out of the game for two years and his last appointment at Aberdeen wasn't particularly successful.
But during a long career spanning Reading, Leicester, Wolves, Millwall, Brighton, Motherwell and Aberdeen, he has enjoyed plenty of highs and promotions to go with the odd failure.
I was a bit underwhelmed by the appointment at first but the more I think of it the happier I am.
This is a man who, I truly believe, can steady the ship and get us going in the right direction.
He is used to managing in unfavourable circumstances.
He has certainly proved that, tactically, he is no mug.
If he got Brighton to play on the beach that was the Withdean and win football matches, I am confident he can do the same thing for Rovers on the bog that is the Memorial Stadium.
Things have been made of his temperament and the possibility he might fall out with players.
I think it is more a case that he doesn't suffer fools gladly.
It was McGhee, for instance, who fell out with that same Leon Knight on a coach trip to Southampton one day, stopped the bus in the New Forest, and chucked the striker off. Anyone who has followed the prolific Knight's career will realise that he suffers from "The Great I am" syndrome.
People may say that he is just another Paul Buckle in the making. But Buckle is hardly much older than the players whereas McGhee has the medals to back up his approach.
He won the European Cup Winners Cup with Aberdeen under Sir Alex Ferguson, has sealed promotions with not only Brighton but Reading and Millwall too - all from the lower divisions - and helped Motherwell to the unbelievable heights of sealing a place in Europe.
Reading, Millwall, Brighton - all struggling in the depths of the Football League. Where are they now? All competing well in the Championship.
Who better to restore some sanity to a club that has blatantly "lost it" over the last few years?
Thursday 12 January 2012
Talent spotting
FIRST came former Doncaster manager Sean O'Driscoll, followed closely by Sky pundit and ex-Crystal Palace, Charlton and Hull boss Iain Dowie.
Suddenly, up on the rails appears former Walsall and Luton chief Richard Money, and after that the bookies tell us that ex-England legend Paul Ince is the clear favourite for the hot seat.
Meanwhile our chairman Nick Higgs is partaking of some winter sun in Italy. Fiddling, while Rome burns?
Quite honestly, any right-thinking Gashead is becoming heartily sick of the speculation, while secretly hoping the Bristol Rovers board flout tradition and produce an absolute gem to be our next manager. Maybe Mr Higgs will come back with Gianluca Vialli or Italy's World Cup winning manager Marcello Lippi in tow.
At least Shaun North, the man left in charge of the rapidly sinking Pirate ship, managed to keep us afloat by masterminding a 2-1 win at relegation rivals Hereford. Three much-needed points to keep us out of the drop zone for the time being.
Mind you, it made for painful listening on Radio Bristol. I was put through 94 minutes of inane chatter between the commentator and Bristol Rovers programme editor Keith Brookman.
I heard about four minutes of the action and the rest of the time had to put up with them telling me how Rovers were in control, didn't look like losing and were virtually guaranteed three points, even though at that point there were 15 minutes to go.
It was agony.
An example of what I had to listen to was: "Rovers played really well in the first half. They've looked pretty comfortable. Oh and that's a hopeful punt upfield by Hereford... oh it's landed in the path of Delroy Facey, and he scores!"
Pah, should have gone to the game myself. Only trouble is, there is no surer way to jinx the Gas than for me to travel to see them. Not only that but I would have to handle the disapproving glances from the wife, too.
Anyway, it's another big game on Saturday at home to promotion-chasing Crawley, who battered us earlier on this season. Hopefully those fans who wanted Paul Buckle sacked will respond to having their wishes granted by giving their vocal support on Saturday.
I can't say they proved very intimidating in our big FA Cup game against Aston Villa last Saturday. After all the excitement, we bowed out with barely a whimper, losing 3-1 to a Premier League side that didn't get out of first gear.
At the same time we were embarrassed on national TV by the state of the bog-like Memorial Ground pitch and the strange "timber yard" which suddenly appeared on the sidelines and swallowed up the ball following one hopeful defensive clearance by our porous defence.
Any "big-name" manager waiting in the wings might have been ever-so slightly discouraged by our public humiliation, I imagine.
I'm not sure, either, that the likes of Ince or Dowie are the answer.
Far better, to my mind, to get someone in who understands the unique qualities of the Gashead - someone, unlike Paul Buckle and Dave Penney, who can bond with the fans and produce the kind of fighting, attractive performances with which we can relate.
Geraint Williams and Keith Curle are still out there and I think I'd settle for either of these former Gas players than to sit around for a few more weeks while Sven Goran-Eriksson does the maths on whether he can afford to live in Bristol on such a modest salary.
Still, I've heard his agent has already been scouring the local nightclubs for eligible "talent".
Suddenly, up on the rails appears former Walsall and Luton chief Richard Money, and after that the bookies tell us that ex-England legend Paul Ince is the clear favourite for the hot seat.
Meanwhile our chairman Nick Higgs is partaking of some winter sun in Italy. Fiddling, while Rome burns?
Quite honestly, any right-thinking Gashead is becoming heartily sick of the speculation, while secretly hoping the Bristol Rovers board flout tradition and produce an absolute gem to be our next manager. Maybe Mr Higgs will come back with Gianluca Vialli or Italy's World Cup winning manager Marcello Lippi in tow.
At least Shaun North, the man left in charge of the rapidly sinking Pirate ship, managed to keep us afloat by masterminding a 2-1 win at relegation rivals Hereford. Three much-needed points to keep us out of the drop zone for the time being.
Mind you, it made for painful listening on Radio Bristol. I was put through 94 minutes of inane chatter between the commentator and Bristol Rovers programme editor Keith Brookman.
I heard about four minutes of the action and the rest of the time had to put up with them telling me how Rovers were in control, didn't look like losing and were virtually guaranteed three points, even though at that point there were 15 minutes to go.
It was agony.
An example of what I had to listen to was: "Rovers played really well in the first half. They've looked pretty comfortable. Oh and that's a hopeful punt upfield by Hereford... oh it's landed in the path of Delroy Facey, and he scores!"
Pah, should have gone to the game myself. Only trouble is, there is no surer way to jinx the Gas than for me to travel to see them. Not only that but I would have to handle the disapproving glances from the wife, too.
Anyway, it's another big game on Saturday at home to promotion-chasing Crawley, who battered us earlier on this season. Hopefully those fans who wanted Paul Buckle sacked will respond to having their wishes granted by giving their vocal support on Saturday.
I can't say they proved very intimidating in our big FA Cup game against Aston Villa last Saturday. After all the excitement, we bowed out with barely a whimper, losing 3-1 to a Premier League side that didn't get out of first gear.
At the same time we were embarrassed on national TV by the state of the bog-like Memorial Ground pitch and the strange "timber yard" which suddenly appeared on the sidelines and swallowed up the ball following one hopeful defensive clearance by our porous defence.
Any "big-name" manager waiting in the wings might have been ever-so slightly discouraged by our public humiliation, I imagine.
I'm not sure, either, that the likes of Ince or Dowie are the answer.
Far better, to my mind, to get someone in who understands the unique qualities of the Gashead - someone, unlike Paul Buckle and Dave Penney, who can bond with the fans and produce the kind of fighting, attractive performances with which we can relate.
Geraint Williams and Keith Curle are still out there and I think I'd settle for either of these former Gas players than to sit around for a few more weeks while Sven Goran-Eriksson does the maths on whether he can afford to live in Bristol on such a modest salary.
Still, I've heard his agent has already been scouring the local nightclubs for eligible "talent".
Thursday 5 January 2012
It's Paul over
FORGIVE me Gasheads for I have sinned. It has been almost a month since my last blog entry.
To be honest, I feared I was losing my faith.
Having been convinced that Paul Buckle and the board were going to take us to the promised land, it was soul-destroying to see us once again slump into the pergatory that is a relegation dogfight.
What's more, being on the Memorial Ground terraces was like witnessing the last days of Soddom and Gommorah.
It was a painful experience, with Gashead pitted against Gashead, and a wailing and gnashing of teeth that could be heard all the way down the Muller Road and back at Eastville.
And that was even before kick off.
As the Christmas period approached I was still full of confidence that we would be able to reverse the worrying decline in our fortunes over the previous few months.
Ok, we got a rude awakening at Gillingham - losing 4-1 after encouraging draws with promotion chasers Southend and Swindon - but I' never expect us to get anything against the Kent club.
I hate them. We've NEVER really had a good record there. It's a thankless journey to the end of the earth that normally results in no points, no encouragement and a depressing coach journey home.
But Plymouth on Boxing Day, another home game against Crewe on New Year's Eve, followed by a trip to Barnet on the Monday really encouraged the promised revival.
So it was I headed off to the Mem for a high noon kick off against seemingly doomed Plymouth, having been unable to see Rovers due to work commitments apart from our FA Cup moment in the spotlight, beating non-league Totten 6-1 on TV.
First off, I must say I was surprised at the negativity pervading the terraces even before kick off.
I might have expected a modicum of Xmas cheer to be shared with players and manager before kick off but from my place on the Uplands Terrace all I could hear was a diatribe of negativity from those around me. And it didn't improve even though we were 2-0 up at the break and - I thought - playing some decent football.
What happened after half time was nothing short of scandalous, though. It was as if a different team had taken the pitch and the lack of drive, effort and professionalism from certain players shocked me.
Here was a chance to kick on, to get the Xmas period off to a cracking start and launch ourselves on the quest for nine points from three games and a belated chance to challenge at the top end of the table.
But whatever those players had been told by the manager, whether they weren't fit enough to cope with the heavy pitch or whether they could physically FEEL the vibe of those who just wanted the manager out, it is difficult to tell.
Plymouth, who had looked toothless in the first half, got one goal back and their fans were suddenly in full voice while ours were perplexed, bemused and silent.
It was a situation crying out for a manager to make some decisive decisions, to ring the changes, switch tactics and inspire us to complete what should have been a routine victory.
But Paul Buckle remained routed to the bench, like a rabbit caught in headlights, unable to decide what his next move was.
And inevitably Plymouth equalised, then struck the winner in the last minute of injury time.
Of course, to a great many on the terraces it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. The boos rang out and the chants of "We Want Buckle Out" quickly followed.
And although I have been pushing for him to be given more time to get it right, I knew at that moment he would never win them back.
He should have gone then. But the board dithered and dallied.
The next result - a 5-2 home defeat by Crewe - proved that even the players had lost faith in him.
The 2-0 loss at Barnet was just the final nail in his coffin.
Finally, the directors moved to remove him from the post. Some might say it was a move of compassion, because the kind of abuse he was being subjected to was becoming beyond the pail.
We have always been a resilient lot, but I've never known a manager split the faithful in the way the former Torquay boss had done - in such a short space of time, too.
It made for a horrible atmosphere on the terraces and at the ground.
Rumours of Buckle calling Bristolians a four-letter word in the dressing room after one particular defeat, and his public proclamation that they should lower their already pretty low expectations were contributory factors to turning them against him.
And so we sack a third manager in 12 months. If you include caretakers Darren Patterson and Stuart Campbell, the next man will be the sixth at the helm in that time.
It worries me because it is the classic recipe for a club in meltdown and heading out of the Football League.
I hope I am wrong. I hope the next appointment is someone who can truly re-unite the fans, with the tactical nous to save us from the dreaded drop.
It's calling out for a wise old head, someone who has found themselves in similar situations, kept their cool and done the necessary.
I don't care if it is ugly, dirty, grinding - as long as it is enough to keep us up.
There are a few candidates: Gary Johnson, the ex-City boss, would be the worst choice in my book. Too many Gasheads hate him already. His last two clubs, Peterborough and Northampton, had a habit of conceding a torrent of goals, something which we are all too familiar with at the moment.
Sean O'Driscoll would inspire the pretty football Rovers fans crave, but can we afford to work at playing that way on heavy winter pitches where we are required to scrape and scrap for every point?
Iain Dowie hasn't been a success at his last few clubs, but what he did at Crystal Palace, taking them from the bottom three to Premier League promotion is difficult to forget.
But I like the sound of Keith Curle. Ex-Gashead, tough reputation, knows about defensive organisation and has spent time under the wise tutelage of Neil Warnock. He certainly isn't afraid of winning ugly and has been around a long time.
Before then, though, we will have Buckle's assistant Shaun North in charge for Saturday's big FA Cup third-round clash with Aston Villa. It's a nice distraction after such a horrible few weeks.
And at least we'll all be united for that one...
To be honest, I feared I was losing my faith.
Having been convinced that Paul Buckle and the board were going to take us to the promised land, it was soul-destroying to see us once again slump into the pergatory that is a relegation dogfight.
What's more, being on the Memorial Ground terraces was like witnessing the last days of Soddom and Gommorah.
It was a painful experience, with Gashead pitted against Gashead, and a wailing and gnashing of teeth that could be heard all the way down the Muller Road and back at Eastville.
And that was even before kick off.
As the Christmas period approached I was still full of confidence that we would be able to reverse the worrying decline in our fortunes over the previous few months.
Ok, we got a rude awakening at Gillingham - losing 4-1 after encouraging draws with promotion chasers Southend and Swindon - but I' never expect us to get anything against the Kent club.
I hate them. We've NEVER really had a good record there. It's a thankless journey to the end of the earth that normally results in no points, no encouragement and a depressing coach journey home.
But Plymouth on Boxing Day, another home game against Crewe on New Year's Eve, followed by a trip to Barnet on the Monday really encouraged the promised revival.
So it was I headed off to the Mem for a high noon kick off against seemingly doomed Plymouth, having been unable to see Rovers due to work commitments apart from our FA Cup moment in the spotlight, beating non-league Totten 6-1 on TV.
First off, I must say I was surprised at the negativity pervading the terraces even before kick off.
I might have expected a modicum of Xmas cheer to be shared with players and manager before kick off but from my place on the Uplands Terrace all I could hear was a diatribe of negativity from those around me. And it didn't improve even though we were 2-0 up at the break and - I thought - playing some decent football.
What happened after half time was nothing short of scandalous, though. It was as if a different team had taken the pitch and the lack of drive, effort and professionalism from certain players shocked me.
Here was a chance to kick on, to get the Xmas period off to a cracking start and launch ourselves on the quest for nine points from three games and a belated chance to challenge at the top end of the table.
But whatever those players had been told by the manager, whether they weren't fit enough to cope with the heavy pitch or whether they could physically FEEL the vibe of those who just wanted the manager out, it is difficult to tell.
Plymouth, who had looked toothless in the first half, got one goal back and their fans were suddenly in full voice while ours were perplexed, bemused and silent.
It was a situation crying out for a manager to make some decisive decisions, to ring the changes, switch tactics and inspire us to complete what should have been a routine victory.
But Paul Buckle remained routed to the bench, like a rabbit caught in headlights, unable to decide what his next move was.
And inevitably Plymouth equalised, then struck the winner in the last minute of injury time.
Of course, to a great many on the terraces it was a self-fulfilling prophecy. The boos rang out and the chants of "We Want Buckle Out" quickly followed.
And although I have been pushing for him to be given more time to get it right, I knew at that moment he would never win them back.
He should have gone then. But the board dithered and dallied.
The next result - a 5-2 home defeat by Crewe - proved that even the players had lost faith in him.
The 2-0 loss at Barnet was just the final nail in his coffin.
Finally, the directors moved to remove him from the post. Some might say it was a move of compassion, because the kind of abuse he was being subjected to was becoming beyond the pail.
We have always been a resilient lot, but I've never known a manager split the faithful in the way the former Torquay boss had done - in such a short space of time, too.
It made for a horrible atmosphere on the terraces and at the ground.
Rumours of Buckle calling Bristolians a four-letter word in the dressing room after one particular defeat, and his public proclamation that they should lower their already pretty low expectations were contributory factors to turning them against him.
And so we sack a third manager in 12 months. If you include caretakers Darren Patterson and Stuart Campbell, the next man will be the sixth at the helm in that time.
It worries me because it is the classic recipe for a club in meltdown and heading out of the Football League.
I hope I am wrong. I hope the next appointment is someone who can truly re-unite the fans, with the tactical nous to save us from the dreaded drop.
It's calling out for a wise old head, someone who has found themselves in similar situations, kept their cool and done the necessary.
I don't care if it is ugly, dirty, grinding - as long as it is enough to keep us up.
There are a few candidates: Gary Johnson, the ex-City boss, would be the worst choice in my book. Too many Gasheads hate him already. His last two clubs, Peterborough and Northampton, had a habit of conceding a torrent of goals, something which we are all too familiar with at the moment.
Sean O'Driscoll would inspire the pretty football Rovers fans crave, but can we afford to work at playing that way on heavy winter pitches where we are required to scrape and scrap for every point?
Iain Dowie hasn't been a success at his last few clubs, but what he did at Crystal Palace, taking them from the bottom three to Premier League promotion is difficult to forget.
But I like the sound of Keith Curle. Ex-Gashead, tough reputation, knows about defensive organisation and has spent time under the wise tutelage of Neil Warnock. He certainly isn't afraid of winning ugly and has been around a long time.
Before then, though, we will have Buckle's assistant Shaun North in charge for Saturday's big FA Cup third-round clash with Aston Villa. It's a nice distraction after such a horrible few weeks.
And at least we'll all be united for that one...
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