A few years ago we went to Dublin for a short holiday. One morning we took the Dart to Bray. My overriding memory of this small town was the tiny, ramshackle ground of Bray United across the front of which was draped a banner with the bold slogan ‘The Field of Dreams’. It raised a chuckle but, on reflection, it was valid, for every football ground ought to be a field of dreams. At one time they were, but sadly, it seems that, for the likes of Bolton Wanderers, the time for dreaming is past. We can’t hope to win anything; it counts as success if we retain a place in the Premier League and remain solvent. Where’s the magic in that? These ramblings were prompted by this game against Sunderland, which provided scant material for building castles in the air.

We began with the eleven that have failed to inspire in the last couple of games: Jaaskelainen; Steinsson, Cahill, O’Brien, Samuel; Davies, Muamba, McCann, Cohen, Taylor; Elmander. A slight ray of sunshine was the presence of Mark Davies among the substitutes, following several weeks’ absence through injury. The Bolton support was again sparse, although the attendance figure was boosted by 5,000 visiting fans who gave their relegation-threatened team tremendous support throughout.

From a Bolton perspective the first half was an utter shambles. I remember us having just one shot, a snap left foot effort by the lively Steinsson, which went wide. For the most part we couldn’t control the ball, pass it to one of our own team or win it from the opposition. Consequently, it was little wonder that we couldn’t create any chances. In contrast, Sunderland passed the ball neatly and threatened to score several times. Their attacking tactic was fairly simple yet adequate to breach our defence. They played the ball forward to the lone striker, Kenwin Jones, and he laid it off to an advancing midfield player, usually Kieran Richardson. Fortunately for the Wanderers, Sunderland’s supporting players in general, and Richardson in particular, couldn’t hit a barn door and despite the number of chances, Jussi didn’t have a save to make. Even the prodigal Richardson might have scored had it not been for an excellent tackle by McCann, when the former United player was left clear following a bad error by O’Brien. Half time was a blessed relief.

On the resumption our gloom was lifted somewhat by the introduction of Mark Davies at the expense of the largely anonymous Cohen. We might now have something to applaud and the youngster was indeed prominent in an improved team performance. Another factor was that Davies moved into the middle and the hapless Elmander to wide midfield. The manager described the second half display as ‘terrific’. It wasn’t. It was merely less bad than the first half but at least we had some attempts on goal. After around twenty minutes we had our best passage of play in the game. We won a series of corners and there was one almighty scramble in their goalmouth when the ball could have gone anywhere. Sunderland were on the ropes; they were struggling to survive. A goal for the home side seemed imminent. So what did our mastermind of a coach do? He held up play by making a substitution. The heat was off, Sunderland regrouped and their equilibrium was restored. The player withdrawn was Elmander and he was having a stinker but surely you don’t make a change when you have just begun to batter the opposition. And especially if the replacement is Riga.

The visitors then enjoyed a further period in the ascendancy. Richardson missed yet another chance when O’Brien chested the ball in his direction and Jussi made a smart save with his foot to divert a dangerous cross by Cissé. The closing minutes, however, belonged to Bolton and we could well have snatched an undeserved victory. Mark Davies wasted a good chance when Davies headed down to him and Riga might have done better than drive an awkwardly bouncing ball into the ground in another melee. The most dramatic effort came in the final seconds when a penetrating Steinsson throw was headed on by Davies to Cahill. The centre back’s glancing header looked to be on its way into the top corner until the desperate hand of Fulop pushed it round the post.

So the spoils were shared and Bolton’s point ensured a degree of safety that only a pessimistic pedant would dispute. In achieving it, few rose above the mediocre. Gary Cahill was probably the pick as he was at least competent throughout. If his last second header had eluded Fulop my praise for him would have been unbounded. As it was, though he undoubtedly defended well and always looked happy on the ball, his distribution was not so consistent. Steinsson also did well. He did his job in defence and was our best attacker. He was once caught with arm raised, appealing for offside, only to find that his co-defenders hadn’t moved forward with him and in the dying minutes he appeared to get away with a cheeky hand ball, but he was still better than most. Davis Minor made a difference. He is not yet able to control a game in the manner of, say, Fabregas, but he remains the one man capable of the perceptive, penetrating pass. With him and Bibi in the midfield it wouldn’t look quite so utilitarian. His namesake and captain won everything in the air but it didn’t often lead to anything. Maybe if our midfield moved forward in support as did Sunderland’s he might have someone to head the ball to. Jussi did everything that was asked of him, except distribute the ball intelligently.

For the rest it was poor fare. Earlier this year I read Inverting the Pyramid by Jonathan Wilson. It’s a history of football tactics and much of it was fascinating. I offer a few quotes. ‘[players] would run with the ball at their feet, their team-mates lined up behind them in case the ball bounced loose in a tackle’; ‘interplay among forwards, if it happened at all, was rudimentary’; ‘passing, cooperation … were seen as inferior’. Maybe Mego read the same book but didn’t get past Chapter One; all these quotes refer to the game in the mid nineteenth century. In his post match interviews, the manager appeared to have been updating his CV, reminding listeners of the state of things when he took over, how he had improved the situation whilst realising a profit on transfers (debateable?), and how we had retained our Premier League status with the smallest squad in the league. You know why people usually update their CVs don’t you; no, it isn’t going to happen.

Of course it isn’t all Gary Megson’s fault that I can no longer dream. Much of what he says is true and he is right to claim the credit. It’s just so gruesome to watch. The real problem began with the ending of the maximum wage, which began the unlevelling of the playing field. The subsequent abolishment of the retain and transfer system, Bosman, Rupert Murdoch, Russian oligarchs and the rest made the gulf between the haves and the have nots into a chasm. Our neighbour at the Reebok was hoping we could finish above Wigan and Stoke so that we would be the top of ‘the rest’. For goodness sake, what kind of a dream is that?

One final word. There are rumours that we might be making a bid for Joey Barton. If that happens my next report will probably be my last. Straws on camel’s backs are one thing; blocks of concrete are another.