During the death throws of our league days it was hardly unusual for us to enter the last twenty minutes of a game a goal down. I, and many others, would look out longingly as the cars parked in front of the Vue cinema began winding their way home.

Part of me wanted to join them but my principles said stay. A corner would raise my interest and hope, yet in my head I knew, by every logical measure possible, that victory was a near impossibility.

Which neatly summarises my attitude to this season as a whole. I want to be excited by our form and unlikely push for promotion, but every objective assessment tells me that it will all come to nought. We will end mid-table and some distance from the play-offs. Our post-Christmas form has given us some fleeting excitement. Fleeting and ultimately meaningless.

Then, of course, we give Eastbourne a good stuffing and I get to thinking that maybe destiny is with us after all. Then the draw with Forest Green brings me to my senses. The midweek games cause us to fall a further 3 points behind. Doubtlessly, our noses will be blooded further before there is a true picture of where we sit.

So, I want to walk away from this season and my head is telling me to do just that. But the sheer bloody enjoyment of the last three months wants it all to continue.

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