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For those of you yet to be aquainted with the above term, think yourselves lucky. Those for whom the words 'Championship' and 'Manager' conjour images of dark, sleepless nights in front of a glowing screen, knuckles white and eyes wide know just what I'm on about.

Championship Manager, or Football Manager as it's now known (long story), is, on the face of it, a football management simulation game for the PC. In reality, it's an addictive, relationship-wrecking, insomia-inducing, social life-shredding, dream-making, time-bending, beautiful yet deadly drug of a passtime.

You pick your team, buy and sell players, choose tactics, set training schedules, talk to the media, and then send out your boys to battle whilst you sit back and tremble with excitement. Crikey, I haven't even mentioned the bottom-clenching thrill of the cup draws yet! It may all sound a little geekish, but if you haven't ever played it then hush. Try it.

It's around about this time of year when a small, granular seed of excitement begins to swell within me, and the urge returns. With the transfer window about to open, the opportunities of players joining or leaving seem boundless. Picking up the morning paper takes on a new significance. And all this could be in my own hands! I could be the manager... I could be buying the next super-star... I could be making the news!!!

In goes the disc, and I am flown to a far away land where I am the boss, and my name is on the cheques...

Now, if I'm honest, I rarely play the game as manager of Coventry. I think it's just the added weight of responsibilty that I place on myself that's too much to bear. But what I do is start a game as Coventry each time I buy the new version of the game (released annually, just about), just to test the water, so to speak.

Even then, it's not like I play the game properly. Oh no, instead of using my freedom to buy any player I want, I restrict myself to buying only the players that City have bought in real-life. Essentially, I just want to be in the manager's shoes at that very point in time. Hence, my goes as Coventry are generally pretty pallid affairs.

I usually start by editing the players to be as life-like as I can (the CM researchers often get it wrong when it comes to Coventry players' preferred positions), and maybe making a small cash injection into the bank just for emergencies.

Coventry City, in Championship Manager terms, is never an easy ship to sail. So heartbreaking it is to ever see my beloved club relegated with me at the helm that, should at any time in the game relegation ever become a mathematical certainty, I will 'accidently' turn off my computer and declare the misfortune of a powercut to be the culprit. Nevertheless, during these times of toil, there have emerged some golden nuggets of footballing ability.

So, without further (Freddy) ado, here are my top five Coventry City players from Championship Managers, past and present:

5. Ellery Cairo

He was the answer to our prayers when the young, lightning-quick, Dutch wing-wizzard joined from Hertha Berlin. At a time when we needed wingers (hang, on, we still do!), Cairo impressed in a pre-season friendly, but did very little else and drifted away again. In CM, however, he was the business, and one to definitely hang on to.

4. Eoin Jess

Horrendously over-valued in the game. So much so that on one go I became embarrassed for the poor man, went into the game editor and lowered his value to something we'd all believe. A player who wasn't really a striker, nor a midfielder, but play him as a trequartista (in the hole) and he shone like Clinton Morrison's boots.

3. Steve Ogrizovic

As dependable as an Ikea shopping bag, he was as much guaranteed his number 1 jersey in my games as he was in real-life. The only worry with Oggy was getting to that point with a few months to go in the season, praying that he wasn't going to announce his retirement. Just one more year, Steve! Please!!!

2. Ysrael Zuniga

One could be forgiven for forgetting this guy ever donned a Sky Blue shirt. And why? Because, my friends, he was rubbish. Managing a measly three goals in two seasons, the Peruvian was shipped over to Argentina where he continued not to score many goals. Apparently he's now a dentist. Still, in the CM world this guy was a winner, and regularly scored more times in a weekend than Russell Brand.

1. Stuart Giddings

My heart still sinks when I think of what this guy could/should have become. Perhaps his prowess in CM clouded my mind, but Giddings at one stage looked like he was the new Stuart Pearce. A knee injury later and he became... well, he now plays for Hinckley United. Always highly valued in the game, always a consistant performer, Giddings was to my Coventry goes what Bourbons creams are to the biscuit world.

Weddings aren't supposed to happen in December.

Thus, I reckon I can be forgiven for my absent-mindedness in forgetting I'd been invited to this one, only to be reminded the week before.

A hectic dash to the nearest fixture list ensued, and then came the inevitable crushing blow: Covenry were playing that day. And worse: it was at home, hence I'm effectively throwing away twenty quid by missing it.

A quick peak at the score (I say quick - anyone who's tried to WAP anything knows that 'quick' it is not), before the meal told me it was 1-1. By the time the speeches had finished, we'd drawn 2-2.

Two Ipswich equalisers. More frustration. Although, I didn't feel too bad about missing the game now.

As soon as I returned home I got straight online to see if Chris Coleman's Christmas wish had come true.

"Mid-table by Christmas."

It's been a mantra we've all heard more times than Noddy Holder reminding us that it is indeed Christmas time. Thanks Noddy, but with seasonal paraphernalia spilling from every shop, home, and TV channel, the last thing we need is a crazed Brummy screaming it in our faces.

Now, a mathematician would argue that mid-table in the Championship is somewhere between 12th and 13th place. A football fan, however, would tell you that mid-table in the Championship is anything from 10th to 15th.

So, sitting in 14th, the Sky Blues are just about where Coleman wants them to be.

Now there's a new mantra, for a new goal. And it is simply this:

"January."

A word that's been on the lips of every City fan, and often on the manager too. This season's holy grail, or panacea is perhaps more accurate. Just the mere mention of the word soothes the nerves and calms the mind.

It's of course the transfer window. An opening into new possibilities and dreams. Our stuttering, patched up squad can be transformed into to a fully fledged Championship force, capable of producing the free-flowing, attacking, faultless football that we've all been waiting for!

Never mind that managers are all reluctant to let go of their talent so early in to the season but for hugely over-inflated transfer fees, the likes of which you might as well forget about unless your club's owner's surname is Al-something-or-other. Or unless they can have your star player in return (and he WILL score against us next time we play them).

Forget about all that!

January, your sweet solace is almost upon us...

Having been invited to accompany a couple of x-pat CCFC fans, to visit the home of Malaga CF, it was with a combination of fore-bearing and intrigue that I set off on Sunday 19th October. The arrangements were to meet in Harry's bar at 14h00, for a 17h00 Kick-off with time for a quick pint before heading into deepest, darkest Malaga. We arrived at just before 3 o'clock and headed for the club shop for a look around. Feeling a little left out, the other guys all had Malaga shirts on, I plumped for a light-weight jacket with the club crest on, at least I would be ok if it peed down.

It was then time for a beer in one of the local hostelries, which I was reliably informed was home to the "Ultra's" a group of Spanish skinhead's, who dress themselves up as football fans once a week. Perhaps more re-assuring was the presence of the English Malaga supporters club, from Benalmadena, who have attached themselves to what is purported to be the biggest British supported club outside of the UK. They arrived by coach and quickly unfurled a huge George Cross flag, with Malaga CF emblazoned across the middle, and calmed the mood somewhat.

After taking in much needed liquid refreshment, we made our way to the Estadio La Rosaleda, and were presented with our "Free Programmes", before taking our seats at the very top tier, behind the goal. It was a bit like the old "Crow's Nest" at Highfield Road, in the old Spion Kop. It afforded us a great view, but was a real test of endurance if you needed the boy's room!

One of our guys had purchased a packet of, what can only be described as bird seed. The trick was to crack open the shell, before devouring the nut from within, a trick which all the locals took great delight in achieving, before spitting the shell into the gangway, or Hood of the fan seated in front in my case. A challenge indeed lay ahead, and not a footballer in sight.

The players then arrived and the chanting started almost immediately, the atmosphere throughout the game was electric, with a group of fans to our right, which including the british contingent, singing their hearts out, from start to finish.

Against the run of play, Getafe, the visitors, took the lead. Malaga's keeper Arnau (who resembled Dimi in more ways than one) made a hash of a long shot, which somehow found its way into the net. Roared on by the home support (19,761 to be exact) Malaga scored a deserved equaliser, from top scorer Baha, Before Duda scored a cracking goal to take the lead. HT 2 - 1

Having fought my way through the thousands of nut shells, I breathlessly made my way back up the steep incline, calves burning with pain, to my seat. The second half mirrored the first, with Malaga controlling play, without looking like scoring and the fans having a real ball. FT 2 - 1

And so the time had come to leave, with ¾ of our nuts still untouched, we attempted to make our way out through the millions of discarded shells, some of which seemed to cut out the daylight, after a long and sometimes difficult descent, we made our way back to the bar, and managed a couple more bottles of San Miguel at €1.00 per bottle, before heading back to Sunny Cabopino for something proper to eat. It wasn't quite the Ricoh Arena, there was an atmosphere for a start, but a good day was had by all!

Next-up at home: Barcelona!

Last night's game felt more like a dress rehearsal for a football match than an actual game.

A hushed atmosphere, a feeling like the game didn't matter all that much (like a friendly, or a testimonial), and a horrible sense of inevitability about the scoreline.

Ward's penalty - well taken though it was - was not in the script. As if he'd ad libbed City's one-goal lead, something he'd be discouraged from refraining in the first performance.

Burnley's two-goal denouement, however, felt right on-book, applauded by the Assistant Directors behind me (or could that have been BBC Burnley, or whatever they're called...)

But one warm water bottle of comfort on a cold Ricoh night was the sight of Robbie Simpson on the pitch again.

And didn't he do well?

Simpson improves with every game, and I think he's now worthy of a starting place - either on the right, or (preferably) as a striker.

He's strong as an ox, direct as a dart, and doesn't seem as timid as the other players. Timid of making a mistake, or not playing to the system. None of that with Robbie. He was a breath of (cold) fresh air last night.

No dress rehearsals on Saturday, please, City - it's performance time.

You never see birds doing great big loop-the-loops in the sky, do you?

I'm sure if they have the capability to fly then they must be able to manage it with a bit of practice.

But you never see them even try, what a waste of talent!

I suspect, however, that they can.

I bet that as soon as my head hits the pillow, under the shroud of night, there are scores of blokey birds (y'know, the confident type) showing off to lady birds their soaring loop-the-loops; doing a bit of low-to-the-pavement flying; and maybe even some upside-down stuff.

Then, when I wake up in the morning it all stops, in case I get excited by it all and try to catch one of these winged fellows and keep him for a pet, or for my very bird circus show.

I get the same feeling when I watch Coventry play.

I suspect that a player like Jay Tabb for instance, probably has the capability to go on a mazy run past four dumbfounded defenders before thunking the ball in to the top corner.

Maybe he does in behind-closed-doors training sessions when everyone's back is turned. Because in matches these days he does so many backward passes that sometimes I wonder if he knows which way he's supposed to be shooting!

Take Marcus Hall, for example. Watch him warm up before a game and you'll catch glimpses of some deft touches and silky skills. See him in a match and he can't get rid of the ball quick enough! Like it's one of those games with a water-balloon inside that's gonna burst any second and make him all wet and embarrassed.

I don't mean to pick on Jay and Marcus. They're two of my favourite players, which is probably why I watch them - like I watch birds - with that fascination for what might be.

Here's an idea: next home game, why don't we all cover our eyes and promise not to peek. Then the players won't feel all self-conscious and nervous and might feel able to show off their skills a bit.

Who knows, Clinton might even score a goal?

We'll miss it all, of course, but it's okay, we can watch it on TV later. Just don't tell the players it's on...