We all have those little rituals and strange beliefs!

I am sitting in my house, its half past one on a dull August Friday afternoon and I could not be happier.

I do not intend to go any further than our back garden or maybe to Charlie's corner shop for some light evening refreshments later. You see my chronic supersition is that I believe if I see anyone in public wearing the shirt of our next match opponents on the eve of the game, then we are going to lose!

Living around 16 miles from Derby. I am somewhat apprehensive.

Okay my theory like most is subject to potential weakness. Like most English towns and cities, my town is infiltrated by cretinious saddoes who wallk around in the latest Liverpool, Arsenal, Chelsea and Man U shirts without any knowledge to those clubs. It was not that long ago that we could and would occasionally beat those teams. Our last encounter against of them in January in the Third Round of the FA Cup saw me spend the evening  before the game in the North West of England, I did not spot a "United" top and Leeds won!

I would also like to take you back to February 1997 - or the 14th to be precise. Leeds were due to face Portsmouth the following day in round 5 of the FA Cup. I was certain that was going to be "our year" as many of the favourites had faltered and George Graham had led Leeds to a 1-0 win at Arsenal in round four. Portsmouth were struggling in the old First Division and were (mis)managed by Terry Venables/Terry Fenwick. I returned to my place of work after lunch and spotted a kid strolling down Nottingham Road in Ashby-de-la-Zouch in a Portsmouth shirt! It was freezing cold but this kid had a short sleeved blue Pompey top on a whole 137 miles north of Fratton Park (I have checked on Gmap by the way!). I just knew it was an omen and a bad one it proved to be as Leeds turned in a woeful show and lost 3-2!

So between now and midnight, as long as I do not see a Derby shirt we shall be fine. It will be pretty hard as I feel we are in something of a news void and in desperate wont of a poigniant disaster (either that or Fleet Street's finest are all in Benidorm at the moment) as surely there can be no other explanation why Robbie Savage is the proverbial dog shit (yes I know dog shit would be a fine assessment of his playing abilities) but he is everywhere at the moment!

I know I should not wish ill on the world, but we have had Savage overload this week. The Daily Mirror proclaim him as "Mr Marmite" (you either "love him or hate him") and Radio Five Live announced that after tomorrow evenings game at Elland Road he will then be co-hosting Six-O-Six.

Personally I do not think it is as simplistic as an either love or hate emotion I have towards Robbie Savage. I think it is more bewilderment that such a fabricated, talentless twonk can be regarded as worthy of grabbing a nano-second of a relatively sane persons precious time.

Then again we live in a society where a single mother on benefits drags three of her eight offspring from Surrey to Tyneside to the funeral of a murderer, as in her opinion it was more fun than taking them to Legoland. So why should I be that surprised that Robbie Savage is now a national treasure!

Photo: Action Images via Reuters