Football supporters by nature are masters of the snap judgment.

Things always seem to be cut and dry, black and white, yes or no.

Ask a question, get an answer.

But for me, this season, following a Wolves side that have constantly flitted between the sublime and the ridiculous, it’s practically impossible to say anything for definite.

The Improvers

Nobody can.

And this issue has been further highlighted by a handful of individuals, who despite being emphatically written-off by the majority as ‘not good enough’, have stepped up their game and shown that it is possible for a player to improve and reach a higher level.

I present as evidence:

George Elokobi – Many felt Big George was too bulky (a fair criticism) to cope with the fleet-footed wingers of the Premier League. His positional sense was also lacking and the less said about his distribution the better.

But after a season of acclimatisation and a sustained run in the side, our flamboyant full-back is starting to deliver. In the home wins over Chelsea and Man Utd particularly, I felt we saw what George is capable of when he concentrates for the full 90 minutes. Consistency remains an issue, but that left-back slot no longer seems a significant area of weakness for us. Can he become the long-term answer?

Richard Stearman – If there’s one player I have to hold my hand up to and say ‘I got it wrong’, it would be Richard Stearman. I cursed his name last season for that ridiculous sending off against Wigan and after coming into the side this year, I remained convinced he wasn’t up to scratch. He made an embarrassing gaffe in the 3-1 defeat at White Hart Lane and a similar slip in concentration cost us a goal at home to Sunderland.

But credit to Stears, he’s making better decisions and has cut out the sloppy mistakes. He’s always had the tools to be a top player, but now he’s activated a larger percentage of his brain, he’s a significantly more reliable and subsequently better defender.

Sylvan Ebanks-Blake - Watching our beloved number 9 misfire during his first Premier League season was enough to make any Wolves supporter sob into their scarf. With every missed opportunity, confidence diminished and eventually went completely down the plughole at home to Wigan when he somehow missed an open goal; skewing a miserable shot wide when it seemed impossible not to score. His overall play was even worse, constantly a yard off the pace and seemingly lacking the strength, pace or vision to do any damage in the Premier League.

What a difference a summer makes though. SEB scored twice in the first three games to match his tally for the entire of last season and has noticeably modified his game to suit the demands of the Premiership. He’s holding the ball up better, getting involved in the play and seems a yard quicker to every ball. He didn’t look fit to lace Kevin Doyle’s boots this time last year, but is now pushing the Irishman all the way for a starting role, despite the fact that Mick shelled out 7 million smackers for another forward in the summer. A vital late winner at home to Sunderland will live long in the memory and you just sense he’ll add a few more to his tally before the season’s out.

These three opinion-changing players aren’t the only ones to develop. I could just as easily have profiled Hennessy, Berra and Jarvis with substantial evidence to support each of their respective cases.

So I end by putting this question to you: Who is your most improved player of the season?

Has anyone ever watched those Premier League Years compilation programmes on Sky Sports?

You know the ones. They last for about three hours a time and apart from a reminder of how great a finisher Ian Wright was and how terrible your memory is, they tell you nothing you didn’t already know about the game.

Calm down! Don't you know it will even itself out?

But there was one time just recently, in 1997/98, when my eyes were fixated on the TV screen as if the events were being beamed into my living room live.

It was Barnsley. It was Oakwell. And it involved a grown man trying desperately hard to convey his sheer anger and disbelief at the injustice his team had just been subjected to. (It may have been Liverpool, who scored a 9^th minute equalizer just moments before the ref blew for full time, amongst other things)

Through teary eyes he gesticulated at the camera, getting more frustrated with himself as he tried so hard to articulate his disgust, willing the lens to listen. Someone to listen. Roll of thunder, hear his cry.

His watery gaze imploring. His voice fading, fading, fading into silence.

Time for narrator Claire Tomlinson to interject and show us a league table at that point of the season. Barnsley bottom. Liverpool top 3. Job done. Roll to V/T.

That poor bugger’s anguish just about made the final cut. Nobody really noticed. Certainly nobody cared, while Andy Gray told the chap to enjoy the Premier League ride with the big boys.

Fourteen years on, and every time I see a blatant act of refereeing incompetence this season I see that fan’s tortured face.

One of the oldest clichés in the book says that luck – and decisions – even themselves out over the course of the season.

Try telling that to the Barnsley fan, or any Wolves fan who has witnessed the utter travesties this season which have directly impacted on our current points haul.

In some ways the cliché is correct. Luck does even itself out. Some teams in the Premier League get, say, 90 per cent of it, while the less fashionable ones get a 10 per-cent split.

Even 5Live’s Alan Green grudgingly conceded that referees do sub-consciously award decisions to the bigger teams because they are precisely that, irrespective of whether they are at a place like White Hart Lane or Molineux.

Let’s look at just six pieces of evidence so far this season, off the top of my head.

• Jarvis trip by Perch at home to Newcastle while we’re winning 1-0. No penalty given.
• Gallas assault on Jarvis at White Hart Lane while we were winning 1-0. No penalty given.
• Stephen Warnock crunching, cynical tackle against Villa not earning second yellow. Warnock sets up winner.
• Fabregas leg breaking effort on Ward. No red, Cesc sets up the second for Arsenal.
• Hutton red card offence. Yellow given.
• Stearman headed goal after Gomez attempts decapitation. Free kick for Gomez.

Even the most conservative estimate would equate those disgusting decisions to a loss of four points. Four points that would put us above the Albion, Blackburn, Blues and others.

Let’s look at our dodgy decisions? Hmm. I’ll come back to you on that.

Many might have forgotten last season too, when Richard Dunne rugby tackled Doyle at home to Villa in the box, or Fellaini maimed Doyle at Goodison 10 seconds before the home side scored, or Portsmouth’s defender Wilson catching the ball in his own box with a big goofy smile on his face.

So incensed was Gary Megson during Albion’s first Premiership season that he sent the league a tape to review. Probably got thrown in the bin, like our appeal against Chris Iwelumo’s red card when he dared to get kicked in the chest.

At best, referees are easily swayed. At worst, they are cheats.

Meanwhile, fans like me, you, and that hard suffering Barnsley soul scream with pain, knowing that in the Premier League, NOBODY hears your scream.

When the ‘seamless’ video walls resembled a crossword puzzle or the Southbank was awash with Tesco carrier bags, the hierarchy at our club copped some flak. And justly so.

As recently as January 30 they were at it again, charging preposterous prices for an FA Cup tie against Stoke City, including the best part of a tenner for a two-year-old toddler.

Touching tributes

On Sunday at 3.55pm however, a team of diligent and quietly efficient workers planned and executed the most emotionally touching, thoughtful and poignant moments I have ever had the pride to witness.

While the passing of Dean Richards has touched us all since hearing the terrible news before the Blackpool game, the sheer gravity of the tragedy had never truly hit home until the moment Deano’s wife and children took to the pitch. Well, not by me at least.

My stiff upper lip softened within a micro second of seeing Deano’s brave wife and two precious boys set off on one of most daunting walks that they will ever have to face together.

Like their heroic father, they accomplished the task with effortless grace and earned the admiration of an extended family of Wolves fans.

It’s not even 24 hours since they stood alongside Don Goodman, Graham Taylor and co, and I can’t stop thinking of the three of them right now. Their journey back home. Their school run at 8am this morning.

Neither can I stop thinking of their Dad, who received his final – and most rousing – tribute from the stadium that sang him a hundred songs before.

Underpinning these emotions, these thoughts, is the club that made Deano a hero. Our club. Our beloved Wolverhampton Wanderers.

So in a message to Jez Moxey, Steve Morgan and every one of your team that was involved in proceedings on Sunday afternoon, thank you so much for putting the puff in my chest and the watery gaze in my eyes – that still refuse to dry.

When our Grandads and fathers tell us about our great, great moments of yesteryear, when old gold glistened under Molineux floodlights, we cherish their stories and tell our own kids. But ultimately, our generation has to take their word for it.

On Sunday afternoon in front of 29,000 fans, tens of millions of television viewers across the globe, Graeme Souness and Ray Wilkins in that little green box under the video wall, a glorious bygone era wasn’t required.

The whole world saw it, and might even have felt it in their throat for a second or two before kick-off.

They saw a class act, which I couldn’t be more bloody grateful to support right now.

Thank you Wolves.