wally with a brolly

A widely known aphorism contends that insanity can be defined as doing the same thing over and over again while expecting different results. Perhaps, then, this particular definition of  madness cannot be applied to me. After all, when I armed myself with a brolly and schlepped down to Loftus Road last night, I was fully alive to the possibility of a QPR defeat at the hands of an unglamorous visiting team (Rochdale this time), not least because of last season's debacle when Port "fucking" Vale of League Two rocked up in West London and came away victorious.

I didn't go to the Port Vale game but it was, by all accounts, a pretty dire evening for QPR supporters. I was however, among the collection of just 5,260 souls who witnessed the Rangers' home defeat to lowly Leyton Orient in August 2007. So I do have personal experience of an early rounds League Cup capitulation to unfancied opponents.

Even a win at the earliest stages of English football's least well-regarded 'major' competition can feel a bit flat. At the home of QPR, these games have been all about spending a late summer evening in the South Africa Road stand or the Loft, looking out at the swathes of empty seats over on the Ellerslie Road side of the ground. Four-figure 'crowds' are guaranteed, even with tickets being sold at a lower price than is charged for a league match. So the club elects only to open two sides of the stadium to home supporters. The travelling contingent, usually numbering a couple of hundred or so, spread themselves out in the School End. Players' shouts can be heard clearly. Individual supporters' voices carry eerily around the ground. So it was last night.

It had rained relentlessly for most of the day, so an umbrella was needed for the trip across town to Shepherds Bush. Thankfully, the precipitation had abated by the time I emerged from Wood Lane tube station.

Low attendance notwithstanding, with twenty minutes to go before the kickoff, the length of the queue for tickets for the main South Africa Road stand looked very long. I judged that I would still be lining up as the ref brought his whistle to his lips. So, despite the distinct possibility of another downpour, I plumped for a spot in the Paddocks. For the uninitiated, this is an area of uncovered seating at the base of the South Africa Road side. I reasoned that the umbrella could be deployed in the event of another downpour, but kept in mind that it would doubtless afford imperfect protection from the elements. London in August is about changeable weather, but mugginess tends to be a feature, so your correspondent was clad in a lightweight suit. Rain, rain, stay away, I thought. Piss on me another day (ideally a day when I'm all oilskin-and-sou'westered up). 

Well, I did not get pissed on. But I could have got pissed off, not only by the defeat which ensued, but also by the manner of that defeat. If I'd really cared about the match, that is. Which I didn't. I know that the main mission this season at QPR has to be avoiding relegation back to the division out of which the team worked so hard to climb. So I accept that continued progress in the League Cup is probably best avoided, given the added danger of picking up costly injuries and suspensions. 

I do not need the benefit of hindsight (in the form of reading manager Neil Warnock's post-match comments) to state without real fear of contradiction that QPR did not try to win the match. First team players such as recently signed striker Jay Bothroyd and talismanic playmaker Adel Taarabt ran around fairly listlessly, presumably just working on their match fitness and staying out of any situations likely to cause injury. The performances of others in the side simply added further further evidence for the contention that the Rangers have a woefully thin squad, with generally inadequate replacements waiting in the wings. So all this talk of 4-5 significant signings in the next few days is very welcome. I'm particularly keen to discover if midfield controversialist Joey Barton is really going to be sporting a hooped shirt soon.

A weird aspect of the game was the appearance on the pitch of two of yesterday's men. Martin Rowlands, once the club captain, turned in a very poor performance in the no. 38 shirt while the once much-loved wing wizard Lee Cook drifted all over the pitch with the number 37 on his back. Not registered as members of the Premier League squad, these two former QPR stalwarts must both be facing an uncertain future. It's dispiriting to see former fan favourites out of favour like this, and I'm not sure what point there was in picking them for this fixture. Although both would presumably be happier getting first team football at a lower level, neither did anything that would have won plaudits from any visiting scouts. If there was indeed no real intention to take this fixture seriously, I would personally have preferred to see more lads from the youth set up getting a game.

A couple of young hopefuls did make it onto the field of play last night - Harriman coming on at right back when first teamer Bradley Orr was withdrawn; the industrious but largely ineffective Bruno Andrade playing out wide. But neither truly shone and it still feels like a long, long time since QPR successfully brought a youngster up through the ranks and into a stranglehold on a place in the first team.

It was heartening, then, to notice that among the avalanche of good news coming out of the club this week, new club Chairman Tony Fernandes is emphasising the importance of  establishing a  proper, well-funded youth academy. Is QPR finally in the hands of someone with a principled, sensible vision for the long-term future of the club? Time will tell, but the early signs are encouraging, not least because of today's very welcome confirmation of a reduction in matchday ticket prices and refunds for season ticket holders. New CEO Phillip Beard, a key Fernandes appointee, I think, is making all the right noises about the club rebuilding the bond of trust it needs with loyal supporters. Under  Flavio 'boutique club' Briatore and Bernie 'I don't give a shit' Ecclestone, it felt that the club's owners saw its long-suffering fans as an inconvenience - peasants that they wanted to price out of the ground and replace with higher-spending types. Taken to its logical conclusion, that policy could have condemned QPR to a slow death.

The sudden optimism of this new Fernandes era is, I guess, the main reason that more people at last night's match did not voice disapproval of the poor performance. That said, a number of people in messageboardland have attested to feeling cheated by paying £15 to watch what amounted to a practice match. Me? I felt pretty relaxed about. It was better than watching telly or working late at the office. At half-time, I got to have a little nose around at the workings of those flashy new digital advertising hoardings that seem to be the norm in the Premier League. I got to hear an elderly steward reminiscing about the days of a single teaspoon being chained to the counter of a wooden tea hut at the ground. I also enjoyed some of the singing from the small but boisterous Rochdale contingent. Of their efforts, my favourite was their description of Bothroyd as "just a shit Emile Heskey." Simple pleasures. It got me out of the house.

That said, just to prove I'm not bonkers, that was definitely, definitely the last early-rounds League Cup fixture I'll ever attend. Unless it's free. Or unless I'm feeling a bit bored the next time one is played at the Bush.