Never mind the players, I’m not sure I’m ready for season of Ally McCoist

Unusual summer for me, to be ­honest, in this regard. The team I ­support went all the way to victory in the Club World Cup, which means that my 2024-25 campaign only ended on 13 July.

First time, definitely, in my career as a supporter that the fixtures for next year came out when the ­season still had almost a month to run.

Obviously we were all given three weeks off after the Club World Cup final, which a lot of us were crying out for by that stage. After all, we’d been in action since 16 August 2024 by that point, and 11 months without a proper break is a long time to be ­wondering whether Nicolas Jackson is ever going to fit in properly. (Eventual answer: apparently not.)

Much needed though that break was, however, it means I’m now going into this Premier League ­opening weekend with only two weeks of pre-season training under my belt. That’s absolutely unprecedented, as far as I’m concerned.

It has sent all the usual phased and tailored plans with regard to exercise and nutrition entirely to the wall, and I’m already starting to have serious doubts about whether the work I’ve managed to do in the available ­fortnight is going to be enough in terms of my fitness and energy levels going forward this season.

For instance, do I have adequate stamina at this stage to recommence arguing convincingly with my sons about the need to leave home a full hour and 10 minutes before kick-off? The problem is, they know we can do it in half an hour, door to door.

But I’m always mindful of that time, about three seasons ago, when there was an accident on the Wandsworth roundabout and the tailback up Trinity Road meant we ended up scrapping the stop-off at the sweet shop and actually running to the ground. We almost missed the kick-off, which is not something I’m prepared to risk doing again.

But I have to say, there are question marks over my intensity at this point.

Ordinarily summer gives us all a fair period of time without the worry and the hope and the constant preoccupation and the bilious antipathy to other teams, not to mention a couple of months to pretend to be interested in cricket. But that’s been cut right back this year. So there’s an extra feeling of “ratcheting up” at this point – of making a gear shift that mind and body aren’t quite ready for.

When the Uefa Super Cup final went to penalties this week I was aware of it taking some effort to hope with the appropriate strength of feeling that Tottenham Hotspur would blow it. And, of course, I did manage to feel that. But I know that it cost me some energy, and if that’s the case now, I do wonder where I will be in that regard come November, December.

The fact is, everything has been so compressed. And very soon I’m going to be back in the company of Darren Fletcher and Ally McCoist, and it feels like something I need to take a deep breath for.

I think it’s at that point that I’m really going to regret having had no room at all for the usual pre-season trip to the dunes for shuttle runs in a bin liner.

Furthermore, I caught sight of an article the other day about what 2025- 26 might bring for Jack Grealish, with his potential loan move to David Moyes’s Everton. And do you know what quickened inside me at the prospect of having to think about that kind of thing again? Absolutely nothing. Which is a worry.

Ordinarily, after a full pre-season, with the tanks topped up, I know that I’d be able to give the waxing and waning of the mercurial Manchester City winger at least some of my attention. This time, all I got was the overwhelming feeling that, for me, Jack Grealish’s future had come too soon.

Ah well. Game day today. Just need to get to the ground, soak up the atmosphere and get the first couple of minutes in my legs. All of this will take care of itself. It always does.

Photograph by Jacques Feeney/Getty Images