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Blog: Wolves left in the stickiest of situations

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You know when the only thing left in a box of chocolates is the hard sticky toffee, writes Wolves blogger Tim Spiers.

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You don't really want to eat it, but you do anyway because you have to – it completes the set and you never know you might actually enjoy it a little bit.

So endeth Wolves' 2012-13 season. A trip to Brighton which, for the football at least, no one seems to be overly fussed about.

Will we stay up? Highly unlikely. Will we even win the game? I doubt it. How about an exciting contest at least with the players giving their all? Probably not.

But will we be there to the bitter end, supporting the team even when all hope is lost? Well for some reason, yes.

As I seem to be saying quite a lot these days, I must have the word mug tattooed on my forehead.

But we also do it because there's always that niggling feeling in the back of your mind – what if, just what if, a miracle is about to take place at the Amex Stadium?

And, no ,I don't mean Karl Henry playing a forward pass (ba bum tish). If we did it, won 3-0 and found out Barnsley and Peterborough had been tanked, it'd be one of the greatest days in our history.

Forget the fact we shouldn't be in this position to begin with – if we escaped, from here, it would be mind-blowing.

So we put ourselves through it all again, the faint glimmer of false hope, the what ifs, the will they won't they.

But, whatever does happen tomorrow, one thing for certain is that come Monday morning, the recriminations must start in earnest.

Whatever division we're in people simply have to be held accountable for what has quite become one of the most embarrassing episodes in our rich and illustrious history.

Last weekend's defeat to Burnley saw us essentially hit rock-bottom. In a game we had – repeat, had – to win, we not only lost but we meekly surrendered.

It was to the point where I'm surprised we didn't ask the Burnley players to rest their tired little feet while we put the ball in the net for them.

Utter humiliation. And the scenes at full time, although unnecessary, were hardly surprising because people can't take anymore of this shambles, this farce, this shame.

However low you think Wolves can sink in these past two years, they just keep on defying those odds.

There's a merry-go-round of a blame game going on here with Steve Morgan, Jez Moxey, Mick McCarthy and Stale Solbakken all in the firing line.

But, last Saturday, the manager and most of the players deserved as much stick as they got.

Saunders made a complete hash of his in-game decisions, taking off our two most effective and creative players in Bjorn Sigurdarson and Stephen Hunt.

He also – and I still find this difficult to get my head round – left the back four and the two defensive midfielders firmly in place for the whole 90 minutes.

This was despite us needing – not wanting, but needing – to score three goals in that last half an hour to win a must-win football match.

And also despite 10-man Burnley having just one striker up front.

His tactics and selections are being increasingly made on a whim and although I appreciate he didn't start this mess, he's not been able to get us out of it in the slightest.

In fact he's dragged us deeper into it. He's also got to stop talking about the rotten luck we have had with injuries.

Just look at that starting-line-up from last Saturday and tell me it wasn't good enough to beat Burnley who, by the way, looked technically superior to us and far more organised.

As for the players themselves, the way their heads dropped yet again after a moment of adversity in Burnley's opener was just ludicrous.

They are supposed to be professional footballers but collectively their manner has been anything but this season.

The general direction of last weekend's post-match anger was aimed at Steve Morgan and he's more culpable than anyone in this ongoing, seemingly never-ending disgrace.

But what's done is done and for the past few weeks it's been the manager and the players who have deeply let us down at times.

The former through his inadequacies and the latter through their infuriating lack of emotion and endeavour on the pitch.

So we go to Brighton expecting very little from this sorry band of no-hopers, who let's face it want to be at Wolves less than Kate Moss at a baked camembert eating competition.

They might not care if the club stays up but there are thousands and thousands of people who do.

Their Saturday afternoons are dictated by the effort they show on the pitch and who will be miserable all summer at the prospect of League One football.

I guess stranger things have happened in football, but to be honest I'd settle for just a little bit of pride being restored in my battered and bruised club. Is that too much to ask?