How to shoot yourself in the foot in spectacular style

Never let it be said that the Newcastle team is packed full of overpaid, underenthusiastic, egotistical, illiterate thugs. They’re merely overpaid, underenthusiastic, egotistical and thuggish. To accuse them of illiteracy would be to ignore their perfectly-on-cue reading of the script towards the end of Sunday's game against Portsmouth.

For a third successive away match in the Premiership we were leading 1-0 with less than five minutes to go, only for a catastrophic lapse of concentration to hand the opposition an equaliser on a plate – and this time, of course, the gleeful scorer was our very own Lomano Tresor Lua Lua, inexplicably allowed to play against us under the terms of his loan deal and only too happy to get the chance to stick two fingers up at Bobby whose decision it was to loan him out in the first place. Sanity is in chronically short supply at St James’s Park these days. Lua Lua's customary celebrations seem to have riled some Newcastle fans, but ultimately he appears to have been rejected by the club and was only doing the job he's on the South Coast to do, presumably with Robson's blessing - it's the club at whom we should be feeling aggrieved.

They say that the mark of a great team is winning even when you play badly (see Chelsea against Man City on Saturday, for an example). We are not a great team – whether in those terms, or in any others you care to name. The 1-0 victory which I was very foolishly anticipating as the clock neared the 90 minute mark would have concealed several glaring deficiencies again – the incredible ineptness of our defensive play and the utter uselessness of the returning Bowyer, amongst other things.

There were, it has to be said, three positive things to come out of another afternoon of disappointment. Firstly, Bellamy grabbed his fourth goal in as many games since his comeback from injury – shame he’s the only player in a black and white shirt in anything approaching form at the moment. Secondly, we avoided defeat again. Thirdly, after the weekend’s results we remain in the much-coveted fourth place.

But all this really is clutching at straws. We deserved nothing at all from the game, but as it is we managed to throw away another vital two points, no doubt to the delight (but not necessarily the surprise) of Liverpool and Charlton, both of whom squandered points themselves. The manner of the self-inflicted wound no doubt provided a great deal of amusement, too.

If we were to get Woodgate back, and replace the current lethargy and arrogant complacency rife throughout the side with determination and endeavour, we would be capable of capitalising on our fortuitous position and putting together a decent run of results that would secure the Champions League spot. At the moment, though, we look hopelessly lacklustre and undeserving of Champions League football, and intent on making sure the race for fourth remains exciting right to the death. How very fucking generous and noble of us.

Thank fuck the 29th February only comes round once every four years.