There are few things better than a phone-in caller who tries to add credibility to their opinion by claiming to have played or officiated at ‘quite a high level’. 

These are the fine-margin experiences that allow you exclusive access to the inner psychology of elite professional athletes. Because nothing gives you such acute insight like three years in the North Bicester Church League (Third Division).

I’ve had the privilege of similar experiences; in my days on the margins of my secondary school first team, I also carried the heaviest burdens of competitive sport. In essence, I was blamed for anything that ever went wrong.

I remember one occasion: I’d been given a late call-up for a cup tie. We’d won in the first round, without me, and confidence was high. There was fevered talk of a cup run and dreams of one day stepping onto the hallowed turf of Banbury United or wherever the final was going to be held.

It was widely accepted that my presence weakened the side, even I knew that. In the first half I was beaten for pace by an annoyingly nippy winger who went on to score the opening goal. By half-time, it was 2-0 and we’d barely got out of our half. I’d spent most of the half trying and failing to contain their blitzkrieg of attacking. 

For the second half our PE teacher turned to one of those all-time classic tactical ploys of schoolboy football. In essence, the whole team moved positions; I went up front where I could do less damage, our goalkeeper played in midfield, defenders became wingers.

It made little difference. In a rare attack, I ran into the box and found myself concertinaring to the floor as the ball ran harmlessly to their ‘keeper. He stood over me and said, ‘you’re not getting anything for dives like that’. I didn’t have the heart or wit to tell him my jellified legs had just given way because I was tired and, with everyone staring at me, I now just wanted to cry.

Deep into injury time we won a corner. ‘Get something on it’ bellowed one of my teammates as I trotted into position. I remember feeling elated that they thought I might be able to do that. And, if we could score one, I thought, maybe we could get another. And maybe we could win. 

The corner was played in low; I ghosted into a pocket in the middle of the six-yard box, I was primed, alert, composed. Keep calm, I thought. There was a loud clump as the corner taker’s boot contacted with more turf than ball. It barely reached the penalty box, rolling along the ground and slowing in the sodden turf. Their keeper crouched down and picked it up. The referee blew the final whistle as he cleared it up field.

We trudged back to the changing room. Nobody talked to me, which wasn’t so bad, I wasn’t friends with any of them. They were too busy talking to the girls from the netball team who’d come to giggle their way through the final stages of our epic encounter. I knew everyone would blame me simply because I wasn’t them. I didn’t know that their alpha instincts would mean that at least two of them would be grandfathers before they were forty.

Alone with my thoughts, exiting the reverie of the game, I questioned the madness that had consumed me. Not just the idea that I might score, the insanity that we might then go on to equalise. I truly believed we could do it, even though that belief couldn’t survive any rational analysis. 

I’ve often thought of that mental state as we’ve progressed through this season. Are we just kidding ourselves that we might get out of our predicament? Why do we believe we can when there’s no evidence that we can do it?

In part, it’s the fact we become so consumed by it. I’ve worked out that this season I’ve missed watching four games so far, two of which were the opening games against Portsmouth and Hull. The combination of saturation TV coverage and a few extra away days has meant there’s been almost no escape.

Middlesbrough away gave me the opportunity to step away and have a normal, non-football Saturday. Of course, I followed the game, but I wasn’t in the game. My helicopter view allowed me the perspective of Leicester narrowly missing out on a win and Portsmouth taking three points, probably making them safe, or, at least, uncatchable for us.

It helped me realise that for all our frustrations, we’re trying overcome three huge clubs – Blackburn, West Brom and Leicester – two of whom have won the Premier League in living memory. In some ways, stepping back and seeing the mountain we’ve got to climb has been calming.

I enjoyed the freedom of thought; of not scheduling my day around a game, of not being consumed by the sensory overload. Being a football fan is a form of addiction, and like any addiction, you’re not so much chasing the next high, you’re chasing a repeat of the first high. You’re effectively setting yourself up to fail, the disappointment when you do is devastating.

Like most, I’d expected a battering from Middlesbrough, and with results going against us, I thought that might finally put the doubt to bed and, effectively, confirm our relegation. What’s more, I didn’t mind so much because I wasn’t there to be disappointed.

But, for once we seem to have caught our opponents at a good time. Coventry broke Boro’s six-game winning run on Monday, and as we saw a few weeks ago, frustrating a side with heightened anxiety can produce results. Stan Mills and Myles Peart-Harris both hit the woodwork, it could easily have been another Leicester, in the end it turned out to be another Coventry, and that’s fine.

The point puts us on 29 points, exactly what Derby were on last season and Sheffield Wednesday the season before that. Both survived; albeit without having to overhaul a five-point gap. We’re still in it, even though anyone looking at the table, the gap and who we have to overcome will already have us playing in League One next season.

I’m not sure the aim is ‘kick on’; chasing a run is so self-conscious it creates unnecessary pressure to perform. Psychologically we just build an even bigger hurdle to climb over, like our inability to score, if we think about it too much, there’s a point where it feels impossible. When it does happen, we’ll wonder why we found it so hard. The aim is not to overthink these things, the only goal now is to live in the moment and play Stoke on Wednesday. Then, we’ll see what happens.