Essentially, to stay up, we need to win 10 games between now and the end of the season. Now, Chesterfield are a decent enough team. They're organised, strong, determined. They're not going down, but they're not going up either. So, if you can't beat them at home, you're unlikely to find another 9 more winnable fixtures.
The Millers fielded both Diagouraga and Ian Henderson, who's on loan until he finds all the bits of his knee that Keane dislodged in the Carling Cup earlier in the season. Bopp returned to the midfield and Mills took his place in central defence, allowing Worrell to return to right back in place of Wiseman. Brogan kept his place at left back, with Robertson returning from injury to the bench.
Chesterfield included ex Miller and Michael Stipe impersonator Paul Shaw alongside Caleb Folan up front. The rest of the team was a collective of powerfully built lads, none of whom stood out but all of whom knew what they were supposed to do and did it.
A strong wind blew from Railway End to Tivoli, which Chesterfield, winning the toss, elected to have the benefit of second half, letting the Millers kick towards their own fans first half. Dimwit Gallacher blew the whistle, Henderson flicked the ball to Mills and he lumped it out of play. And so it began.
Chesterfield could have been in the lead inside 5 minutes. Allott and Smith combined, Smith's cross from the Miller's left took a deflection off Brogan, Mills ran under the ball leaving Folan to head powerfully down and goalwards. Cutler reacted well, tipping the rising ball over the bar. Decent chance, good save.
What was worrying, though, was that, until Cutler leapt into action, you didn't think there was much danger. Why? Because our team appeared unmoved by the threat. It was if they were simply allowing Folan to head the ball because it was a non-chance. No energy, no dynamism, no determination to win the ball.
The Millers responded with a neat cut inside by Woods and slipped pass to Facey. His control and turn was good and his pass was perfectly weighted and angled to allow Henderson to bend his run past Hazell and in towards goal. One touch, no backlift and a shot from just outside the area flew just over the bar.
That was the start of the Millers' attacking in the half. Disappointingly, it was also the end.
Chesterfield were strong and determined. Holmes slipped the ball inside to Shaw, who swirled a shot towards the top corned, which Cutler did well to tip over.
The Millers were weak and half-hearted. Bopp and Woods dug in, Sharps battled gamely against the awkward Folan, Facey chased long aerial clearances, Henderson was on his toes and lively, Brogan diligent and alert. The rest? At best, inept (Mills whalloping significant amounts of fresh clear of his box whilst ignoring the ball, on one occasion allowing the ball to drop to Shaw who failed to control, the ball dribbling through to Cutler), at worst an active hindrance.
Step forward Diagouraga. No, please, do. Not being funny, like, but well, you appear to be almost entirely bypassed and unable to get into the game. And not terribly bothered. There's something, horribly, creepily, Vernazza-ish about you.
It is too early to tell what Diagouraga adds to the team. It is not too early to see what he does not.
It's not aerial ability, because anyone, but anyone can beat him in the air. When you're 6'2" and the lead singer of R.E.M. leaps above you to win the ball, you're officially of no use when the ball is skyborne.
It's not tackling ability, because he doesn't. At best, he runs politely alongside his opponent, watching amiably as they move past him and then slowing from really not very fast to, well, stop. Tracking back is for wimps. And players remotely interested in the team they're playing for. Not you then, Mr D.
So, it must be his touch and passing, musn't it? It is? Smashing, let's see it.
Oh.
His passing has the variety and imagination of a menu in a roadside cafe. But is nothing like as satisfying. His touch is neat and is usually followed by the sort of twisting and turning in a 2 yard circle which looks dead impressive but really means you haven't a clue what you're going to do with the ball. So much neat twiddling later, a five yard pass to Worrell is the best he can muster. Useless.
Not, though, as useless as Partridge. From his first touch (a woefully underhit and misdirected backpass which set Chesterfield on the attack) he was a one man exhibition of how not to play football.
He displayed his complete range of tricks. The one where he stops, cuts inside and gives the ball meekly to the first opposition player he comes across. The one where he knocks the ball aimlessly in front of him, runs into him marker and falls over. And the one where he stands just about still and waits for an opposition player to arrive so he can give the ball away.
He did play one good through ball. Nothing came of it. He did put in two crosses, which were no good. Defensively, he was diligent and firmly committed to not stopping any Chesterfield player doing anything they wanted to.
Yes, the above is a rant, but you're not missing any action. This is a dour battle, with Chesterfield just more bothered about winning than the Millers are. Bopp is going to fire in a shot which Facey will prod goalwards and Henderson will deflect into the goal, but he's miles off-side. Mostly, though, it's a scrap, but an unequal one. Only Bopp and Woods offer any proper challenge. Only Brogan looks like a defender. If we can get to half-time at 0-0, we might be able to sort this out.
Long throw, from the left. Weak defensive header out. Gaggle of midfielders discussing whether this is the worst series of Celebrity Big Brother ever instead of closing down Folan, who snaps a firm shot along the ground and into the bottom corner, past Cutler's dive. 33 minutes and it looks bleak.
45 minutes and it's all up. Bopp can't make the second half suffering from the after affects of flu, so Robertson comes on as left back and Brogan moves upfield. We now have one midfielder - Woods - who offers any proper challenge. Chesterfield withdraw Shaw into midfield, leaving Folan up on his own and gamble that they'll be able to stop us from breaking them down.
Gamble, that is, in the sense that betting on a race between a thoroughbred and a three legged shire-horse is a gamble. For the Millers' second half display is about as stimulating and exciting as a House of Lords select committee debate on social housing in the lower Clyde Valley. Replayed on Radio 4. At 2:34am. Through a cushion.
If you had to guess Knill's half time team talk from the performance it was along the lines of "now lads we're a goal down and kicking against the wind. The opposition are winning everything in the air. So, I want to lump it as hard and as high as you can."
Partridge came off after 5 minutes in which he may or may not have touched the ball. Newsham, his replacement, was broadly ineffective, but at least sought to get in the way a bit. Indeed, he had just about the best chance of the half, when he got across his marker well to meet Worrell's intelligent pulled back ball from the right wing, but his volley on the turn went over the bar.
Some other stuff happened, but frankly, who cares? Chesterfield are playing a style which is the footballing equivalent of Tupperware: completely mundane and dull and containing everything.
Seen as the football's rubbish (and anyone who thinks that we're getting even a point out of this is about as wrong as a photograph of Ann Widdecombe in lingerie) we may as well watch Dimwit Gallacher. For he's at least providing some mental stimulation: working out some of his decisions is a challenge.
Let's leave the decision in the first half where Downes leapt about Facey to knock the ball clear with his hand (result, free kick to Chesterfield): that's just rubbish refereeing and we can see that every week. Let's ignore the decision to give handball against Woods when a clearance hit from 0.0002 inches away from him smacked against his hand: that's the standard idiotic fare.
No, let's watch in awe a display of Premiership quality pettiness. Chesterfield have a throw which they take some 8 yards ahead of where the ball went out. They gain an unfair advantage, so he gives the throw to us. Worrell picks the ball up from where it's lying and throws it in. Dimwit Gallacher gives the throw back to Chesterfield. Worrell, you see, has taken the throw from behind where it should have been. He's gained a disadvantage for his team. And has been penalised for it. Stunning stuff, ref. Stunning.
But he's not finished, because he's now going to make up some new rules. Bet you didn't know dissent was an offence punishable by a direct free kick, did you? No? Well that's because it isn't. Unless you're Dimwit G, who books Brogan for chewing at him as the Chesterfield keeper is clearing the ball upfield and awards a free kick on half-way. If it weren't for the fact we were being comfortably beaten by a side who weren't having to try very hard, you'd be cross.
Someone, possibly Henderson, dipped a shot just over the bar in added time but no-one seriously thought an equaliser was on.
This is very very bad. Chesterfield are a decent enough League One side, but they appeared to be at least a division's worth better than us. They could be world beaters, but they could equally be rubbish: they were never tested enough for us to find out. Knill has faced some tough challenges as a manager, but this is his biggest footballing test. Somehow he's got to get a team that looks, on this showing, complete relegation certainties, another 30 points.
Someone said on the way out of the ground "if they play like that, might as well give it to Boothy". If they play like this, we might as pick Boothy for the first team.