Portsmouth fans have craved acceptance all their lives, but you should be careful what you wish for.I was happier when I had nothing. As daft as it sounds, Monty Python's four Yorkshiremen sketch springs all too readily to mind when I consider my lot as a Portsmouth supporter these days. As we get stuck into our fifth consecutive season of Premiership football, having broken our old transfer record three times this summer, I should be more excitable than I imagine Neil Warnock may be after a nosebag of jazz salt. The dizzy heights of ninth place last term - our highest finish in 50-odd years - an owner that spends money, rather than talks a lot about it (that's you, Milan Mandaric) ... this brave blue world was once merely the preserve of those who'd consumed an entire sheet of blotter acid.
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