Greetings fellow Champman fans. It’s Thursday morning which as you all know by now is a our regular trip north of the border to Alloa and Peter Jones. What’s in store this week?

Styrofoam coffee cups and bad drugs that don’t work anymore litter the rotting benches that line the dressing room. We’re top of the league and battling hard in the Champions League yet there’s a rancid smell of a relationship slowly crumbling to breaking point that can’t be fumigated. Heads like hammers, the cold autumn nights drawing in and a weight pulling the back of my eyes into my throat that won’t let up.

Another Euro 2004 hero is welcomed back on the ‘own goal’ scoresheet. That’s two victories over Rangers in as many games. Halfway isn’t enough.

Just as I painted those words on the dressing room wall, they get their revenge with an extra-time onslaught. Swanson couldn’t save our bacon this time…

Like a plane without any landing gear, the depression is spreading. “What won’t kill us now will make us better whores.” I don’t think my team talks are working these days.

And there we go. Three straight defeats. Put that one in the ground.

Our campaign is still salvageable enough though the danger still oozes through the fingers of our hands shielding our eyes like the ever-suffocating blob.

Thankfully F’Kinnaird come to the rescue and Hearts needs more than a defibrillator to jump start their season.

I rest up Martin for this fixture and place Gough up front. Him and Dair find the holes in the Swiss defence. (Really??? Ed.)

This time, Swanson does save our bacon. He tells me that Aberdeen are the celery of football.

Complete with wasp sting ointment and a bottle bicarbonate of soda, Godfrey manages to grab the limelight and disappears quickly down the tunnel at full time.

The Alloa Alumni reunion gatherings are gaining pace as Brebs gets on the scoresheet for the first time since his return and not a bullet less.

Nothing much apart from 90’s cricketing gags that will only stir the blood if you’re called Mike “That soil was resting in my pocket” Atherton.

With the help of a leg breaking tackle, that surely means we’re into the next round?

Thanks, Shirley.

I’ll die before I surrender, Tim. Bayern Munich, AGAIN!

Even though our only defeat was to Inter, we still managed to come top. “Don’t f*** the Princess, do the maid.” I remind the lads.

Nothing much can be added here.

Now the boy come home.

We’re on the receiving end of many own goals at the moment.

In a fervid 6 minutes, 5 goals are scored. Including another Alloa Alumni wishing to come home to kiss and tell.

Our league record against Rangers is still intact and only a cup defeat to their name.

Worrying times that our midfield starlet is carted off. Fortunately, is only bruising and he’s back in action the next week.

The devil’s in these detail which shows the season is already catching up with us.

The brilliant named Minder extra is signed up ready to fix the ponies.

Swanson reminds me “If there were more goals and fewer matches, it would be a perfect party.”

Not sure why we’re bothering with all this if we can only scrape past the great explorer. Off to explorer the source of their own uselessness.

And finally, we manage to drag ourselves over to Motherwell for a very drab draw. Which leaves us…

…top by some considerable margin. We’re champions of nothing so far this season

Och aye for now!