February 15 2004

Iain Dowie

On this special day of hearts and red roses (Feb 14), Palace fans were given a feast of happy cuddles against Stoke. Jamesey blows a Valentine kiss (strictly non-literal) towards Iain Dowie's rugged mug

And it gets even better. Our 6-3 victory against the Pottery men surpassed my wildest hopes.

It is so long (if ever) since I have seen nine goals at Selhurst in a league game that I quite lost track of the score in the second half. Counting goals to that sort of magnitude has not been a common challenge in recent seasons.

Due to circumstances too complicated to be itemised here, I have only witnessed three Palace wins in the past six months...two homes and our Wimbledon "away" win very early in the season. I was starved of home victories, and did I get a bellyful against Stoke City.

Despite any niggles about penalties and whether they were right or wrong we looked a good side again who had a decent midfield (Aki and Hughesy) and a game plan that seemed to be understood by all.

I was startled to see the Palace warm-up in front of the Holmesdale. The distribution of what appeared to be red beach mats to the players and the following sun-tan postures adopted were interesting if perplexing.

But who cares. If Mr Dowie and his team carry on like this, the players can flamenco around the touchlines doing yogic mantras and balletic leaps if we continue to do the footballing business.

Wayne Routledge was a mixed blessing through most of the game, in my view. He is, as we all know, superbly skilled and brave, but gives the ball away far too regularly.

However his (sixth) goal was one of the best I have seen in all my years following the Glaziers/Eagles. I don't know whether that double pirouette in the box was intentional or fluke but it was magnificent and thrilling.

Contrary to some of our fans' views, I thought Ade Akinbiyi had a good game. Much to our delight he missed that open goal in the second half but looked like Pele/Maradonna/Cruyff compared with the sad and useless figure he cut in his time with us.

Finally, does the short-listing of the Palace cheerleaderettes, or whatever they are called, to America in December in some spurious competition mean that our long-suffering earholes will be spared the deafening racket of their accompanying music for a while? I desperately hope so.

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