Where there’s a plan there’s a touch of hope ... David Rawson's Rotherham United fan column

It’s not the competition it was. The gap in quality between the reserves of a gilded Premier League squad and pretty much anyone in the Championship is so big that the chances of a cup “shock” get smaller every year.

For most clubs, it’s an irritating distraction from the main storyline of their season, rather than a core part of its narrative. But it’s still part of our culture that an interesting draw can put the spotlight on you, a run can boost your finances, the offer of a “free hit” fixture against better opposition can give you confidence and momentum for the league.

There was some of the latter against Fulham. One mistake, one bit of instinctive quality from a really good player in really good form, and we were out. But overall we were, if not exactly competitive, at least “in the game” until the end.

We now have a clear plan, a way of playing that the players are comfortable enough with to execute competently and consistently.We’re not exactly hard to beat - you’ll have as much possession against as you could possibly need and there’s always the prospect of a gift-wrapped chance on goal - but we are a bit of a chore to play against. We’re one of those irritating jobs around the house that you know you have to do, the kind that end up taking more time and effort than you’d like. The kind you sometimes leave for later and then find you never quite got done when it’s too late.

That wasn’t true even three weeks ago. It’s a start. It’s something.It’s familiar, too.

Warnock’s team in that season had a similar plan, a similar way of playing. The story of that season began with a team learning to believe that it could, if nothing else, be a bit obstinate, a bit stubborn, a pain to play against. Learning that sometimes what you frustrate in others could be as important as what you create yourself. Of course, that team learnt to create chances, too, and then take them. This one hasn’t managed that, not really.

Lightning, surely, isn’t going to strike the same place twice. Surely.

But then you see the clench-fisted defiance in a now-fit Morrison, the sudden blossoming of real confidence in Eaves’ game.

And you just start to wonder.

Maybe, just maybe …