First the bad news – if Derby are victorious at Norwich on Tuesday night, we will no longer be able to win the Championship title.

That’s a major blow. Some of us still have eyes on those play-off places though. Let’s see – win against Ipswich and Preston at home, grab the spoils from Luton, halt Sunderland’s invincible run, swat aside Southend and Norwich at the KC, then do an Easter execution of Wolves….

The reality is, of course, that – away from home at least – we can’t beat a carpet at the moment, let alone a professional football team. City again suffered some acute travel nausea at the now seemingly completed Ricoh Arena, letting a mediocre Coventry side, still probably playing above their boredom threshold because Iain Dowie is assessing them, make short work of Phil Brown’s stunted 4-3-3.

No sign of Andy Dawson from the 16; either the foot bruising hadn’t quite vanished enough, or Mr Brown had inexplicably decided that a defender of high consistency hadn’t re-earned a starting role. So the XI which began was entirely unchanged – a novelty in itself – from the team which nonchalantly made Birmingham look like overachieving chancers seven days earlier. Therefore, from back to front it read Myhill; Delaney, Coles, Turner, Ricketts; Livermore, Ashbee, Parlour; Elliott, Windass, Forster.

And again, Forster was way ahead of anyone else.

The transformation of our 33 year old striker from ineffectual Parkinson puppet and woefully invisible target man to fighting, chasing mainstay of a more progressive forward line has been remarkable to watch. But not for the first time, the effort and endeavour of this excellent professional was not matched by his team-mates.

Crucially, there was a midfield problem, a proper one. Ashbee was as off the pace (though not as downright awful) as he was at Barnsley, while Livermore was drawn too wide and Parlour’s passing – apart from one marvellous chip to Ricketts in the second half – was way, way off colour. Coventry exposed each of these flaws with the intuitive Osbourne and the strong-running Tabb soon in orchestration mode.

The early goes at goal were from the hosts. Long serving left back Hall scampered down the flank, crossed low for efficient meathead Adebola to lay back in prairie-like space, but Doyle belted the chance well wide. Tabb then decided to test Myhill from serious distance, and only succeeded in testing the catching ability of some pie-eater halfway up the stand.

City settled a bit after these early flurries, and a fine ball from Delaney and a terrific roll-back-the-years flick from Windass set Forster a-sprinting, but keeper Marshall dived on the ball just as the enterprising striker’s toe was ready to connect. A spot of possession followed but, typically of City, we conceded a goal just when we looked like we might actually be interested in the game.

It was a foul, no question. However, the rage of Myhill towards a nonplussed linesman perhaps suggested that Livermore’s ugly trip on Doyle was not within the penalty area. The referee – a Somerset corn-chewer named Tanner – was in no doubt, and from a very distant vantage point at the opposite end we were in no position to hurl abuse at the official for making such a decision (there’d be ample opportunity to practise that in the second half). Doyle, proving that Arsenal’s rule on penalty winners not being permitted to take the kick is a load of cobblers concocted by spoilt players, dusted off Livermore’s stud marks and found the very corner of Myhill’s left side, the impressive accuracy proving important as our custodian guessed right and got quite far across. But 1-0 it was. And regrettably, we had a new addition to the Now That’s What I Call Songs We Must Hate Because Idiot Clubs With No Soul Play Them After Goals Vol 1 inlay card – the Beatles’ version of Twist And Shout. To be honest, I already disliked that song because of Ferris Bueller, but there’s no harm in adding further venom as football further drops into the showbiz abyss and leaves the conscience of sport behind.

City tried to bounce back, but were largely devoid of wit and a game plan. Hawkins fouled Elliott in, erm, a parlous position, but our ex-Arsenal stylist battered the set piece straight at Marshall. And that was it, really, in the 13 minutes between Coventry’s two goals.

The second was made by Osbourne – he looks good – who picked up a lukewarm City clearance and bent in a delicious centre which ex-Peterborough striker McKenzie headed home with considerable aplomb. The marking wasn’t as tight as it could have been, but the cross, it has to be said, was immaculate. Twist And Shout again – if they’d had a sense of humour they’d have used Chaka Demus and Pliers this time. At least that got to No.1.

So, 2-0 down against a distinctly average team, made to look slightly better than average by a limp, lame effort from City. It wasn’t anger-inducing, Samaritan-strangling rubbish – not the laconic, arrogant ghastliness of Barnsley or the criminal cluelessness of Colchester – but it was just empty, pedestrian, water-treading stuff. What little City did create never really looked overly-threatening, and quickly every Tigers fan established that we weren’t going to score here. The game was up.

Livermore struck one from 25 yards which, very briefly, looked bound for the top corner after more huntsmanship of a lost cause from Forster and a stout pullback from Windass. It missed by a few inches, no more. Then Forster again used his bloody-mindedness to reach the byline and fizz a low cross across goal which went straight through both Livermore and Elliott.

The whistle sounded and we were staring defeat – again – in the face. But weary faces became cheerier faces in the away concourse – which still houses some uncovered cables and protruding wires – when a quick glance at Sky Sports in the lager queue showed that everyone else in the six-strong shake-up except Luton were also being beaten. A quick debate about questions on sitcoms in pub quizzes with batfink and Officer Crabtree later, and we were ready to endure another 45.

Coventry were out of the blocks faster, a feat made all the more easy by Mr Brown’s switch of Coles to left back and Delaney back to his favoured position alongside Turner. For all the usefulness of our best central pairing’s restoration, it was very much a case of the horse already bolted, especially as Coles then proceeded to turn in a Lynch-esque performance of touchless, uncomposed defensive tragi-comedy.

The home side, encouraged by a manager whose credentials and reputation are sullied by his overstated protests at every minor indiscretion on the touchline, were in absolute control. City had a stinker of a second half, with effort not wholly absent but productivity at a real low. The referee gave some extremely dodgy decisions but, like the whistler at Barnsley, was ultimately blameless for City’s ineptitude and the stick he got from most – okay then, all – of the City fans as decision after decision didn’t go the Tigers’ way was predominantly pointless. However, it may have made some of the more inebriated City contingent feel like they’d been to a game.

Mr Brown put Marney on for Livermore – Ashbee was the one who should have departed – and the ‘other’ Deano managed to help City step up a level. A good cameo from Marney, with some crisp passing, strong tackling (yes, really) and proper chasing back. He was the catalyst for a minor burst of City pressure which still proved fruitless but at least kept hearts active.

Ashbee put Forster in the clear and the ageing striker again did the youthful Coventry stoppers for speed, but planted his shot just wide. Urrgh, this is Super Nicky’s only problem – he’s convinced everybody as to his attitude and facility to buckle down, but he needs to prove he can score. To be fair, this was his only real chance as, like in many a game of late, he spent much of it doing spadework down the flanks.

As such, Forster then set off in a wide left position, used Elliott as a decoy and crossed intelligently for Marney to aim a header goalwards. It was on target but lacking in power and Marshall’s left palm did what was needed. Ricketts then joined in down the other side and clipped a gorgeous cross – equivalent to Osbourne’s for Coventry’s second – on to the greying Windass forehead, but the keeper was equal to a much stronger connection this time, and had the luck of seeing his fisted stop deflect across goal off the onrushing Elliott and roll away harmlessly. Some go your way, some don’t.

Forster then set off on another chase, which again he won with yards to spare, and his pull back was perfect for Marney, but the super skills of the super-skilled midfielder deserted him, as his lax first touch allowed a sky blue stocking to administer a basic block.

Parlour was withdrawn after a game of little influence by his massive standards, and on came Parkin as City tried a 4-2-4. This had little effect, through no fault of the shaven and shorn Beast, and the game petered out. There was time to see Welsh come on for Ashbee – about half an hour later than he should have come on for Ashbee – and immediately pick up a knock which rendered him hobbling for the first minute of his five on the park. Coventry introduced that Fadiga fellow late on, with cries of City Reject from the dark-humoured Tiger Nation. He looked like he had a good first touch, but there was little else we could assess about him as the last whistle was imminent.

With the freebie Tiger Travel coaches parked outside the concourse and a handy – and most generous – reminder from the local gendarmes about the A63’s closure on the way home offered to the City faithful, it was time for the ref to blow, and duly he did. A glance quickly at those tellies again showed that everybody else had lost. So, despite the general vacuum of creativity and confidence on show in black and amber, the situation remained absolutely identical.

No harm done as far as the table was concerned, but the same couldn’t be said for City’s demeanour. It was a lifeless display, save for the guts of Forster and decent turnouts from Ricketts, Windass and, later, Marney, and it’s impossible to predict which City is going to turn up at each game, unless one goes by the easiest theory to believe – that City can currently beat anyone at home and nobody away.

If this is so, we can be grateful for the two consecutive fixtures at the KC which come next. Ipswich and Preston need to be turned over, especially as the mad contrast in form between home and away might also be in the players’ minds, making the subsequent trips to Luton and Sunderland serious hidings-to-nothing. We can’t expect heroic awaydays like Sheffield Wednesday or Derby every time, but for as long as this brand of featureless, inevitably disappointing football against eminently beatable teams stains our away performances, our future remains in a nervous balance. Consult your therapist for appropriate relaxation techniques prior to Tuesday. (MR)