The UEFA Cup doesn't matter. That's what we keep telling ourselves. At least that's what I keep repeating to myself as I rock back and forth very slowly, crawled up in the corner of the room as I hear the expert analysts on Channel 5 point out that Aston Villa are doing just dandy with a smaller squad, having played far more games than us. But Villa are settled and confident. We are nothing of the sort.

I some how manage to drag myself up from the floor and slump onto the sofa, only to suffer a relapse when I'm reminded of our crazy schedule under Ramos, who managed just fine with all the fixtures through out the UEFA Cup run. As I lay on my back mumbling something in tongues, I wonder if Redknapp is simply setting expectations so low that the simplicity of Premiership survival will be heralded as a miracle.

Did I get it all wrong? Did Harry get it wrong? Playing a mish-mashed team of youngsters, reserve players and out of form first teamers? Did we show contempt to the presitage of the UEFA Cup and its history and our history? And to our club? Was I wrong to dis-credit this competition, to agree with the sacrifice?

I black out.

I hear a voice. Is it in my head? Or is it the voice of reason?

We are in a relegation scrap....
Cup football doesn't matter.....
We need to keep our best players fit for the league....
There is no detrimental effect in losing 2-0. Our reserves lost 2-0....

I then hear another voice.

What about continuity?
Why can't we play our strongest team in every game and build on our confidence?
A win would breed a winning mentality....

I black out again.

I wake up, dizzy and confused, and ask myself the question, "Was it worth it? Was it worth accepting defeat before we even took the field of play?"

I pick myself up, and remember something I once read about how its better to fail aiming high than to succeed aiming low. There is no echo of glory this morning. Just the sound of regret as I whisper quietly for forgiveness.