Why is it that every time I decide to opt for some non-sporting entertainment, and said entertainment is on Tyneside (OK, I know it’s N**castle by another name, but it does happen to be the place most “name” music acts perform) the skunks play at home and ruin my pre-event pint? Still smiling from the result on Monday, I headed for the dark side on Wednesday and began cursing the mags as soon as I hit the traffic at Washington services. Still, it was better than the last time, when they’d been playing the smogs, and I was in a no-win situation. By the time I got parked up and into a pub, I only had ten minutes to mingle with the low-browed, boss-eyed, snaggle-toothed, tatty-heided, bent-nosed, slack-jawed, caccy-breathed, bow-legged, knock-kneed, humpty-backed, pot-bellied, knuckle-dragging hordes, which was nice, as I could feel my the invisible ink in the “FTM” tattoo on my forehead reacting to the heat. The only one who recognised me was thankfully of the homo sapiens variety, and works with me. As he walked on two legs and was actually holding their lass’s hand rather than hitting her with a broon bottle, I was safe from harm. Come on, Norwich, I prayed, but Delia’s dunces let me down, and I had to make do with a front row seat at the City Hall to enjoy my evening’s entertainment.

Having made the astonishing pre-match discoveries that there is a Sunderland supporting parrot called Ricky living in Wales and that Gateshead council has no spider expert (it’s Halloween tomorrow, that’s how the subject came up), I fully expected. an unchanged team, I didn’t expect it to be the 11 that finished Monday’s game. OK, Collins was impressive, but playing 5 at the back against the likes of Brighton, at home, has to be questioned. Sure, you can push your fullbacks forward, but Wright is a full back at the end of the day. Following Little Stevie’s battling but luckless performance on Monday night, and Sticky’s goal for the stiffs on Wednesday, I had a pre-match feeling that Brighton could be in for a bit of torrid time in the box, to such an extent that I backed Elliott for the first goal.

Over the 90 minutes, Brighton were reassuringly crap, despite vocal backing from a very impressive away following – perhaps they were taking the chance to visit a ground without a tree behind the goal. Several chances came our way, including a couple on mad scrambles, as Brighton, to their credit, refused to take the easy option and kick us up in the air. The ref decided to miss every obvious foul and give some dodgy ones, but most importantly ignored a couple of decent penalty shouts. Come the second half, and Brighton could resist temptation no longer, and began with the kicking of people up in the air, and wrestling at free-kicks, resulting in some impressive pro-active stuff from the linesman. Cometh the hour, cometh Mickey Bridges, on for Stewart, and the change was instant. Calm, precise, deceptively good in the air, and adept at holding up play, and was involved a few minutes later when a shot came back off the bar, then off a leg, and finally off Hooolio’s knee in to the net. The ref immediately made an arse of himself for booking Mr Twinkletoes for overcelebrating (standing on the adverts – a real incentive to riot, I don’t think). Bridges and Hoolio kinked up well for the move of the match which ended with Elliott firing over from three yards, but things were put right on 80 minutes when the impressive Lawrence saw his cross blocked, went past his man to collect the loose ball, and was very obviously knocked over. While Bridges might have seen this as the ideal opportunity to break his duck, Liam wasn’t letting go of the ball he’d landed on, and put it away nicely to make the scoreline a bit more realistic.

In the end, as Mick Mc said, the win’s the important thing, but we should really start to wallop teams like Brighton. Their sub, the magnificently monikered Adby Jarret, was on the field for 30 minutes, and committed a foul every time he went near the ball. Their no. 7, whose name escapes me, was obviously on the dole when the job of “winger with Brighton” was offered, and he had no choice but to take it, otherwise his benefit would have been stopped. The records will show that we had as many bookings as they did, which is as lop-sided a statistic as you’ll find – a foul count would be a more accurate reflection of events.

Performance wise, we were never going to let one in, despite Myrrhe’s liking for playing football in and around his own box (that’s me being picky). Collins likes to play it to feet, but I don’t like three centre halves in the same team, as I’ve said. Whitley had a good game, and while Whitehead did what he does best, we lost a bit of bite in midfield when our Ulsterman left the field. Mickey Bridgs simply oozes class and comes close to my man of the match, but it has to go to Hoooooolio for scoring, for providing good crosses (to no avail until Bridges arrived on the scene), and generally being back somewhere near his dancing footed best. A real entertainer, I salute you, and don’t bugger off in January, please. I can see a roy future for Bridges and Arca together – they seemed to understand each other very well.

I’m off now to search the internet for extra life-insurance cover for Friday night, having proved my fitness by doing 1752 paces between ALS towers and the North West corner and back (including 18 celebrating the second goal, apparently) analysis courtesy of the Walkers step-o-meter that I found before the match. These little gems area sure-fire way of turning our glorious nation from a bunch of wobbly fat gits into finely-honed athletes, and I’ll be carrying mine to the pub tonight.

Keep the faith

Sobs