I love it when I'm proved right. Except when it means we lose.

Yes, it's another football blog folks.

Sorry about this, but in the summer, there'll be a veritable feast of time and space for me to create nonsense about things that aren't football.

But yes, I was right. In the league that no-one can predict, we've seen Wolves maintain their lead to see them finish up Champions with a game to spare.
Reading have been through a poor patch of form and come out the other side with a little run that sees them go into that fascinating game against Birmingham making it one big playoff final to see who goes up automatically and who gets another go at Wembley.

And, appropriately, my lot have had a nightmare. A fantastic run saw us looking like we would easily reach second in 4-1 and 3-1 wins against Derby and Burnley respectively, but 6 games in 18 days put paid to that when we were thumped 6-0 at Preston, closely followed by a near-defeat and only a point at Charlton, and a complete shambles of a final ever league game at Ninian Park against Ipswich.

But at Cardiff City, it doesn't happen any other way.

In 2002, we were in what is now League 1, and Leeds United were top of the Premiership and Champions League semi finalists.

We beat them 2-1 in the FA Cup and that, really, started their downfall.

We lost in the next game at Hartlepool and went out in the next round to Tranmere.

In the year we reached the FA Cup final; last year in fact, we were taken to court by... someone, something, nobody's quite sure what, but we were in a very precarious position. Paying the lawyers £50,000 a day and at one point we were half an hour away from administration.

Then you've got last weekend. The final weekend at Ninian Park, ever. We only needed one point against an Ipswich team who'd changed their manager during the week and ought to have been in disarray. But no. Not Cardiff City FC. Instead we lay down on the ground and said "Here, Jon Stead, you take the ball, we're too tired to do anything with it, please, you're our guest".

And the post match "End of an Era" celebrations consisted of the team we had just booed off coming back on the pitch with their children - in white t-shirts - to do a lap of honour, but not before being showered with confetti to the point of being buried out of view of the supporters in the stands and terraces. One fan joked that what they were being covered in was their shredded contracts. It wouldn't be at all surprising. We'd looked forward, though, to collecting our signed footballs which were to be kicked in the stands by the players.
But, once again, no. The 'footballs' were beachballs which were more than likely stolen from Barry Island and scribbled on by Wayne Nash and some of his cronies in the bowels of the Canton stand.

There was a fair wind as well, so the players found the ball coming straight back to them when they tried to kick it into the crowd. The same thing happened in the post match celebrations.

So, now we head to Sheffield Wednesday requiring that point, fully expecting a demonstration for the club in how to do a simple end of season celebration, not just a stadium goodbye, and with the demand of a voucher exchange at a services, somewhere. A scheme delightfully thought up by South Yorkshire police to allow us to stop off for refreshments on the long journey from Cardiff.

It's just a shame some of us aren't coming from Cardiff.