Up The Boro, Down the Boro

First to fourth. Like an over-optimistic British Olympian it's hard not to escape the feeling that we've forgotten to dip on the line. I'm not saying Boro's performances were pedestrian against Watford and Bournemouth. It was more like they were sponsored by Zimmer frames.

However, however, however. It's been a while since my nerves were this close to a cheese grater on a daily basis and while days like yesterday left me looking as cheery as a London commuter on a sweatbox train from Orpington (that's late, cramped, owned by a European State-funded train company and earning them a fortune), I am not complaining.

You can't help thinking that Bournemouth turned a massive corner, and as they have been the Championship entertainers this season they throughly deserve anything they get, and that second place will be Norwich's unless our lads turn em over a week on Friday. In which case the play-offs beckon, by which time I'll have moved on to pulling out my toenails for a bit of light relief.

But this has been a potty league, with more turn-ups than a 1970's jeans factory, so I'm ruling nowt out and nowt in. Much like a major political party's election manifesto.

Whatever happens, it'll be a damn sight more exciting than the league we're all fighting to get into. At least at the top. Chelsea are destined to win it, despite miracles from Charlie Adam. If Adam was sipping an ale at a bar I'd move to another bar. It's good to see him leave his mark on the game rather than an opponent's shin. But it didn't stop Chelsea from winning.

And what sort of champions are they going to be? I'll remember simulating central defenders, diddums ref-baiting, neurotic conspiracy theories and Diego Costa somehow staying on the park when all about him are getting their marching orders.

There has been one jewel, mind you. Eden Hazard. In English the name reads like a nickname for the serpent that tempted Eve, but he's got way more going for him than that. As and when his team lift the title, he's the main reason. While Costa's been dogged by niggles and nastiness, and Cesc once again bloomed and faded like cherry blossom, Hazard has been consistently the most dangerous attacking player in the competition.

He'd be my choice for Player of the Year. But I dunno, this season seems to have featured more reliance on outstanding individuals than any one previous to it. For Hazard at Chelsea, read Sanchez at Arsenal, De Gea at Man U, Kane at Spurs, absolutely no one at Man City, and in retrospect Suarez at Liverpool.

Of those De Gea deserves some sort of Purple Heart for bravery as he's played in front of the brittlest defence imaginable. I've seen Cadbury's Flakes with more spine. Indeed the current league position of Manchester United is one of the great mysteries of the season.

Van Gaal, who resembles more and more a man built entirely from molten rock - if he was in a superhero comic he'd be called Lava Man - has somehow happened across a team that looks quite good. The benefit of having a deep but injury-plagued squad is that eventually you hit on a formula that works.

Moyes must be thudding his head against a door rather like I was yesterday lunchtime when he hears that Marouane Fellaini is currently irreplaceable at the Theatre of Dreams. Juan Mata is playing brilliantly but wouldn't have started had Di Maria not got himself sent off. Van Persie's absence has led to Rooney playing up top again rather than like a kind of Paul Scholes Lite. It's all looking lovely for Louis.

And all the while the likes of Jones, Smalling and Rojo take it in turns to play the Three Stooges at the back, they still win matches. I tell you the Lava Man must have control of some dark forces. I wouldn't be surprised if the Hadron Collider discovers the Van Gaal Particle in the next six months.

Liverpool's season is in danger of imminent collapse. The sight of a 20-year-old turning down a 100 grand a week has never sat well with the great British Football Fan and whoever told Raheem Sterling to go on telly and tell the world that he just wanted to concentrate on his football needs a good slap. I'm happy to oblige if we can find the bloke. If the boy meant what he said he'd be on the training pitch not chatting to the Beeb in a sly manner.

After a brief period of stability Rodgers is rocking again but he's only got himself to blame. It was Brendan's idea to buy Balotelli, which is the managerial equivalent of trying to climb a hill while tied to a whale. Mario has never been anything less than a drain on resources and Rodgers was a fool to sign him.

The bottom of the table, where I still hope to find Boro this time next year, is a scrap of epic proportions. Leicester won't escape, but everyone else lives in hope. I fear for Hull, but then I always have. Of the others, well it's a toss-up but no one would be that sad to see perennial wallowers in former glory Aston Villa to take the long plummet. Chances are Burnley will save them.

But none of that is particularly important. What matters is Rotherham at home on Saturday. C'mon you Millers, you're as good as safe. Take the weekend off!