I've been a Manchester City supporter for almost 28 years, but last week I had to write, almost gleefully, about their FA Cup demise.

Priot to that I had the most uncomfortable experience of listening to live radio commentary of the third round tie between City and Nottingham Forest.

I was dearly hoping Melton's own footballing star Paul Anderson, on loan at Forest from Liverpool, would fully show off his skills to a wider audience on a big stage.

But all the while I was also praying that City - the team I hate to love - would spare me the latest in a long line of FA Cup humiliations.

"Two goals for Paul in a 5-2 City win would be ideal" I told Mrs Harby in a pitifully optimistic way.

Sadly, as many Forest fans have since been reminding me, City subsided to an embarrassing 3-0 defeat which could, and perhaps should, have been even worse.

The hosts were feeble, while Forest showed skill, energy and guile far belying their position at the foot of the Championship.

When I took on the job here in rural Leicestershire, the chances of City blighting my professional life as well as my personal seemed slim. But little did I know my stint here would coincide with Melton producing a footballer good enough to be signed by English club giants Liverpool.

Friends and colleagues have sympathised after reading my story which was planted bold as brass on this week's back page - 'that must have been tough to write'.

But as all football fans know, no matter how bad you were last Saturday, next weekend will be a different story.

Surely things can't get any worse.

What's that? Holwell are entering FA Cup qualifying for the first time ever next season? Maybe things just could...

HERE WE GO AGAIN:
How typical of English sport that our national cricket team has once again chosen the self-destruct button as ideal preparation for the Ashes.

The Australians, bless 'em, must be looking on hardly able to believe their luck or hide their sniggering.

Having lost two successive series for the first time in decades, and with most of their senior worldbeaters finally opting for their pipe and slippers, the Aussies were there for the taking.

But while world cricket becomes ever more professional, adapting, as it must, to the 21st century, the backbone of our game has been exposed, once again, as reassuringly amateur.