Wouldn’t it have been nice to have looked forward to Match of the Day?
With the Blossom Hill chilling, the Chinese sizzling and the wife out of the way for the evening, everything was in place for a good old Saturday night in front of the box.
But because lowly, crisis-ridden Portsmouth ended up doing the double over us earlier in the day, I ended up watching the snooker instead.
Watching Graeme Dott and Mark Selby did at least remind me of the Wolves this season, as the prospect of seeing us on BBC1 proved too much to take.
The glib pair of non-entities were again doing what they do best…Sucking the life out of snooker with their no-personality, no-risk, no-break strategies.
But fair play to them. They use every last drop of talent they have and work their backsides off for 8 hours to make up for their shortcomings.
A bit like Mick’s men this season. We’ve been dour, difficult and one-dimensional of late, but we’re safe, and our loss on the south coast matters little.
The irony was that we created more chances in the 90 minutes than we have in the last six games put together.
And were it not for an inspired performance by David James, we could have won the game 7-3.
As it was, we were on the wrong end of a beating ourselves, through a handful of self-inflicted mistakes that we’ve not been used to seeing.
Some dodgy Elokobi defending accounted for Dindane’s opener, and we were criminally bad again moments after equalising through Doyle.
Utaka enjoyed too much time from a simple throw to make it 2-1, beating Hahnemann at his near post, before Michael Brown added some gloss to the scoreline to with a second half strike on the break.
In between which, SEB missed an absolute gilt edged sitter, while Foley shot straight at James when it looked easier to score.
SEB then fluffed his lines again after Brown had bagged, as we created more chances than most of April’s games put together.
But who cares?
I’d wager that we all do a little bit, purely because any defeat hurts in any context, and ruins our best laid plans for a Saturday night!
But most of us are still freezing page 324 on Ceefax and rejoicing at our Premier League preservation, so one ruined Saturday night matters little when there’s so many more to look forward to.
Maybe with Dindane, Yebda and Boeteng in Wolves shirts next season, the days of Dott and Selby will become a distant memory. Here’s bloody hoping!