Those of us who were ragin' at full time this afternoon (an' ah'll grant you, even I noticed a little disgruntlement as the players left the field...) should spare a thought for the eighty Smokies fans who made the trip to Fife. For the last year and a half every time their team's faced up to the black and gold army they've been found wanting (like, really, really rubbish compared tae us...) but today they must be positively incensed. While we all wandered home, pissed off, half soaked and frozen (aye, the fuckin' weather didnae help matters much either...), the wee ragbag of Lichties must have been the most bemused fuckers in Fife - how could they NOT have won this one?

Whatever way we want to look at it, for those of us with a black and gold bias, this afternoon's point was a point won and definitely not two points lost. The fact that we eventually managed tae scrabble enough together to win that point is testament not to the commitment and efforts of our team but rather a result of the down right ineffectual nature of the Arbroath finishing. They should have scored a bucket load - ah'm just grateful that they really are as shite as ah remember them; it was just us who made them look like a football team the day - thank fuck they couldnae score in a brothel wi a tenner etc, etc, etc!

However, as always, the faithful had made their way to Bayview with hopes high – the memories of last Saturday’s debacle in Stirling were certainly still fresh in our minds but today’s visitors were Arbroath, a sorry mob who couldn’t even beat nine of us last Autumn. Sure, we’d have to show them respect but, like Stranraer a fortnight ago, unequivocally they’d succumb to a Fife side that’s consistently outclassed them in recent seasons.

Just wish that some fucker had told McGlashan and his team beforehand. Right from kick-off it was clear that they had no fear of anything that we'd be throwing at them. Well, it would be more accurately described as there was fuck all being thrown at them by us that would give them any reason to be scared. We were as impotent as an alcoholic diabetic who couldnae remember the last time he got it up. Tired, languid, lethargic and utterly droopy. We were gonnae be doin' nobody today.

And in return, Arbroath appeared happy to simply tease and tease without quite having the strength, vigor or backbone(r) to go for any real penetration. We were a shambles; they were only marginally better but, consequently, their fans sounded like they were messing their pants - arguably, a pleasant enough sensation but, ultimately, altogether unsatisfying... and no' very comfortable when it gets cold.

That took about five seconds after the cheat blew his whistle for the first time. The forecast had been for showers of which there'd been none since before lunch time. Moments after the game started the temperature plummeted and the heavens opened. Arbroath were shite, we were shiter and ah was gettin' soaked. Already looked like it was going to be a fuckin' long afternoon...

And there certainly wasnae much electrifying activity on the pitch. The first real effort actually came from our visitors – while we were still footering about and playing with our boot laces, they knuckled down and got stuck in, Keith Gibson creating the first chance ten minutes in when his (granted, half hearted) effort was deflected wide.

That should have been the wake up call we needed but our response was rather lacklustre. The Boaby, Big Temps and Shagger were all working hard but up front it all appeared somewhat disjointed with passes going astray and decent runs unrewarded when team mates failed to think just quickly enough. But as the torrential rain continued to fall, at least we were able to identify a few contenders for the POTY Wet T-Shirt contest (ma money's on the Wonderhorse, by the way – sexy big beast).

Saturated, I retreated tae the relative calm of the stand (well, it was drier even if the mood in the camp was still sombre). It didnae look an awful lot better from there however, and as the half wore on it became more and more evident that goal scoring opportunities would be extremely hard to come by. The nearest we did come was just five minutes from the interval when Jay rose to meet a great Cameron cross, only to see his effort drift wide. It was a great attempt by the big defender but provided little to warm the cockles and soon we were headin' for the pie stall in search of anything that might heat us up a bit.

Ah hope that everyone's half time munchables tasted good cos on the park there was to be no turnaround in the second forty five. The gale had dropped but we were still blowin' out of our arses while the Lichties looked no' much better – pressing forward as best they could (and on occasion even firing in a speculative shot) but creating not much of anything at all. Scintillating stuff!

There was to be some entertainment, however. We surely know what Robbie Raeside spent his winter evenings up to, enrolling for night classes at Arbroath Community College. Ah heard that he'd actually planned to take "Conversational Spanish" but took a wrong turn and ended up in "Assertiveness and Confidence Building For Losers (Part One)". Fair play to the big tool – he's like a new man!

Every opportunity he got, he was in the ref's face. And when he got no satisfaction there, he turned his over zealous attentions to, of all bampots (erm, ah mean, people), Shaun Fagan. Staggeringly, for the first time in weeks, Fagan didnae get himself booked this afternoon. Ah'd love tae say that that was down to him being a model professional who remained cool under pressure and, in spite of severe provocation from the Smokies' defender, was able to walk aloofly away.

Congratulations Shaun. Except... From where ah was standin' it simply looked like the whistler completely missed your murderous tackle moments before and that's why Mr Raeside got so agitated. Ach well, if nothin' else, at least it woke us all up – there was little else tae keep us interested in what was going on out on the pitch.

Michael Brown didn't have much to do but just on the hour mark he made a decent low save to stop Arbroath's Bryan Scott. At the other end the boys kept on working hard but there didn't appear to be much heart in much of what we were doing. Well, that was apart from Dougie Cameron who continually pushed forward attempting to break down the Lichties defence and slide balls through to Shagger and the Crawf. Of all the players in black and gold, Dougie's consistency of purpose was the one bright point on an otherwise dull and dismal afternoon. For all his commitment, however, he and his team mates were ultimately caught out every time they got to the final third.

And that nearly proved to be our downfall. With time fast running out (as well as the patience of not a few of the fans), Arbroath headed forward in one final attempt to steal all three points. Breaking quickly from midfield, they wrongfooted the Fife defence and created just enough space to fire over a great looking cross. Marc McCulloch's header looked to be on target before Brown pulled out a crackin' save and pushed the ball clear. It had been a miserable afternoon all round but, thanks to the big keeper, at least the discomfort wasnae gonna be compounded further.

Shortly afterwards the cheat gave one final toot of his whistle (nae cracks about Robbie Raeside bein' in his face again...) and the boys trooped off, cold, wet and looking thoroughly dejected. The wee gang of Smokies whooped it up and cheered their team from the field, content that the point today has probably guaranteed second division fitba again next year (which should be good news for us - ah'm sure we'll be back to normal the next team the two sides meet). The home fans made their doleful way to the exits and made for a wretched spectacle winding their weary way away from the stadium.

We're all starting to wish that the season would just come to an end. However, we've got five games still to go - next up is a trip to the National Midden on Saturday. Ever one to look for the positives, ah can at least confirm that a victory against Queen's Park will GUARANTEE that they definitely can't catch us. So while it might be bad news that we've definitely missed the play-offs, we've surely got to take some heart from the fact that we've definitely missed the play-offs.

Sadly, ah'll no' be joining you all in Glasgow. Ah can't possibly let anyone know that ah'm missing the game because ah'll be at "parenting classes" (ie pain relief and breast feeding technique - can hardly wait) at Forthpark wi' Mrs FC. So, here's the official excuse - if anyone asks where I am tell them ah cannae make the game cos ah'm at the Short Hair Cat Club of Scotland Championship Show at the Rothes Halls (two quid a ticket - bring yer own pussy). But all other things being equal, ah'll see ye all again in a fortnight for the Alloa match - and, seein' as ah'm a real glutton for punishment, think ah'll gie the Champs League a miss on Wednesday an' head for Starks Piggery - we're bound tae beat they fuckers sooner or later!!! C'mon the Fife!