Ashamedly I’ll admit to feeling a little nonchalant about the start of the new season, events conspiring to not light the spark of fervour for another season of battle in the Premier League and whilst it is the fashionable thing to do, I can’t blame it on the credit crunch. It’s the start of September and normally by now the first away trip will have either been completed or at least planned, though I use the word planned in the very loosest sense.

Failure of Steve McClaren, who’s proving to be just as bad at a dutch accent as he is at managing, to ensure England qualified for Euro2008 meant I spent three weeks of the summer just watching football without the anguish and emotional roller coaster ride of having to support your team, and to quote Katy Perry ‘I liked it’.

I must admit I was still looking forward to the announcement of the fixture list, that chance to find the opening and closing fixtures, pick out an away game or two to overnight too and live in hope the Boxing Day game will be at home offering at least some respite from the onslaught of Christmas festivities. As if punishment for having the temerity, others would also say luck, to have won the FA Cup in the previous season, the opening games looked hand picked to dish out swift justice for getting above ourselves. The nailed on nil pointers after three games stopped looking like Hull or Stoke and looked increasingly likely to be rather closer to home.

It did all start somewhat sooner than the Euro’s and the fixture list arrival, a couple of weeks after walking out of Wembley with the realisation I’d just seen Portsmouth win the FA Cup. Supporters of teams who roll up with silverware on a regular basis will not understand, but for me in winning the cup have I seen my personal pinnacle? Can things get any better? I’m maybe wrapped up in the old Portsmouth, the one found struggling away to Gillingham, overshadowed by our more successful neighbours and in as good a financial state as our dilapidated current ground is. It’s hard not to let go of what the past held.

Two out of three games down and on nil points along came Football’s very own natural Prozac, an away win at Everton and by three goals to nil. A somewhat flattering scoreline decreed some neutrals, and the MOTD team, but sparked up the hopes and interest for the season ahead. Gone the feeling that winning the cup was like sleeping with a supermodel, and then going back to the wife for the season after. I’m not back with the model just yet but I’m guessing you should never write off all hope.