Ayr started this one no' takin' any chances at the back. The behemoth that is Kevin James (eleven feet tall in his stocking soles) was accompanied by the only slightly less titanic Scott Walker at the centre of the Honest Men's defence. Pitted against them, the guile, cunning, pace, and trickery of Shagger and the Boaby – if Paul hoisted Mr Linn onto his shoulders, they'd just about come up to Kevin James's chin.

Meanwhile, Sanny Templeman was bangin' his heid aff the dug-oot roof, bidin' his time on the subs' bench. Sitting to one side of him was Lloyd Young who's also been on fire lately; to the other, Shaun Fagan, who's just the manner of bampot you'd be calling out for in these kinds of games. Ah have tae hand it tae ye, mind, there were a few raised eyebrows when Cazza was reading out the team leet.

But, as Marky Mark pointed out to me, there was method in the boss's apparent madness. Not too many folk are aware of Bobby Linn's Caribbean heritage but the gaffer was hoping that maybe the wee man could limbo-dance under big James's legs, use his obi (an' no' the wan your father wore...) and prestidigitate the ball into the net. That was the theory anyway.

As the players ran out, ah was still pondering the whole idea – Bobby could have limboed under on his tippy toes and he still wouldnae have come up the the big bastard's knackers!

However, be that as it may, the team that started the game was still full of proven players and it was with some confidence that we kicked off on the most sultry evening of the year so far (well, it wasnae freezin' anyway!).

Looking to take the game to Ayr, we pressed forward but no sooner did we encroach into the final third than one of their defensive leviathans would trundle into view (it was a good job it was an evening match; the fuckers would have blotted out the sun otherwise) and straightforwardly clear the danger. They're no' pretty, they're no' very bright, their language is worse than mine but... they know what they're doing when they hoof the ball clear. As it was, their keeper had little to do but listen to the sizeable away crowd cheering every time one of his team mates touched the ball.

They had more cause for celebration after twelve minutes when United opened the scoring. The ball had been stuck in the Fife end that long it had been granted citizenship. From the middle of the park Roberts popped a speculative pass forward for the league's top score, Bryan Prunty, to attack. Michael Brown came racing from his line in an attempt to close the angle/make himself big/scare the youngster (take yer pick) and it was a simple job for the forward to lob the ball over him and into the back of the net.

The goal settled the visitors' nerves and they then went about extending their lead. In midfield they pretty much dominated, only Lee Makel appearing to have the haw-maws tae match them. In only his third game in black and gold, he looked cool and confident throughout a forty forty five minutes where most of his team mates were to struggle. Dougie C and Paul Stewart did their best out on the wings with Shagger and Linn both working hard up front but, all too often, Fozzie was simply strong-armed out of the way while they moved forward. Despite our best efforts, we were continually frustrated by an Ayr defence that was, to all intents and purpose, in complete control.

Buoyed by their might at the back, big James had the confidence to move forward and midway through the half should probably have scored when he somehow connived to knock the ball wide from his unchallenged header.

It didn't take them long, however, to have another pop at goal. Just on the half hour mark they moved forward with determination and, from twenty five yards, Dean Keenan blasted a shot goalwards. Brown looked helpless in the Fife goal but managed to get the fingertips of his gloves to the ball and it blasted off the bar and over – an oo-aah moment for the travelling fans and an outstanding save by the our number two keeper. The save provided the impetus we needed; digging deep we found the strength of character to push them back into their own half.

And just moments later we spurned a great opportunity to get back into the match. Finally finding a little space, we moved forward with some neat passing before McManus laid the ball back to Linn at the edge of the Ayr box. It was screaming out to be put away but the Boaby skliffed the ball and it flew harmlessly over. Nonetheless, such had been our visitors' authority, it was nice to see that we could still carve out any kind of a chance.

The half time whistle gave us all pause for thought. For forty five minutes we'd been, in the words of ma pal, Jimmy fae Dumfries, fucked aw ways but, miraculously enough had dodged sufficient bullets to be still just the one goal down (granted, even that looked like a mountain we'd be unable to climb).

Wi' that in mind, ah headed for the pie stall. Holy Fuck! Ah don't know what the Honest Men had done to deserve it but tonight's comestibles were utterly, fuckin' stinkin'. They tasted like they'd been in the oven since the day this game had originally been scheduled – dried oot, crust like concrete and a fillin' that looked like somethin' yer cat had been ignoring at the bottom of its bowl for three days! Mind, wi a babbie on the way, ah can't afford tae be wastin' £1.10 so...

But that was all forgotten within seconds of the restart. Ah don't know what he says to them at half time but Dave Baikie's needin' tae try it an hour earlier. Right from the off we looked a completely different team. Deciding against any substitutions, it was the same eleven who came out after the break but whereas they'd looked like haddies in the first half, now they looked like world beaters. Ayr had had it all their own way; now they were pinned back, relying in last gasp defending to hold onto their lead.

By last gasp I do, of course, mean unlawful. McManus picked up a great pass on the edge of the United box and fought his way towards goal preparing for a shot before being hauled to the ground by a gawky looking Kevin James. Despite being just yards away and with a perfect view of the tackle, the cheat simply shook his head and waved play-on. Even the Ayr defender was bewildered by the decision; at least having the decency to have a beamer as he ran back up the park. It was a shocker of a decision by the cheat but symptomatic of the way his night was progressing. He'd been as fussy as fuck throughout, blowing for the slightest hint of an infringement - when faced with a real call, he was found sadly wanting.

Undeterred, we battled on with renewed enterprise and energy. Lee Makel was able to move forward and together with Paul Stewart and Dougie Cameron was able to create more space and possession than we'd enjoyed in the whole of the first half. Before an hour was on the clock we'd come close again, Shagger frustrated to see his goal bound free kick tipped round the post by the United keeper. And then, just five minutes later, McManus sprang their offside trap and bore down on the keeper. Committing the goalie, he slipped the ball round and faced an open goal... only to take the ball a couple of yards too far and fail to get his shot on target.

There was still plenty of time, however, and our pressure continued unabated in our efforts to snatch an equaliser. Linn, McManus and Fozzie all had shots scrambled clear by the desperate Ayr back line and then with twenty minutes remaining the best opportunity of the night presented itself when Shagger, refusing to give up, reached the ball before it went out for a goal kick and skillfully cut it back into the six yard box. It was crowded with players but somehow the ball found its way direct to Greig McDonald who had only to pick his spot. Fatefully, however, he rushed his shot and the ball headed in the direction of the one defender on the line. The danger was cleared and with it you just got the impression that we weren't gonna get the elusive break tonight.

Barely fifteen minutes from time the gaffer eventually decided to change things, throwing on Shaun Fagan and the Wonderhorse. Shaun was his usual, robust self, banjoing the first player he got close to and picking up another yellow card within seconds of making an appearance. (The way things are shaping up you get the impression that he'll no' be anywhere near the top of the Referees' Player of the Year Nominations List). Big Temps on the other hand proved to be a real pain in the arse for United - fuck knows what might have happened if he'd had a little more time - and was instrumental in a final flourish from the Fife (affectations of alliterative affirmation!!!) which saw us create three more half chances, Temps and McManus both skewing shots wide and Paul Stewart blasting one high and wide in the final minute when he should have slipped the ball sqaure to Shagger.

Moments later the cheat blew to finish the game and we'd succumbed to our fourth defeat on the bounce and our sixth in the last seven. It was a bitter pill to swallow, especially after such a dominant second half performance. However, if we can't score goals then we're not gonna win games. Ayr marched off triumphant, their fans barely capable of believing that they'd held out in the second period. But they'll no doubt take it and enjoy their trips back west - let's hope there was traffic problems on the A77 and the fuckers all had shitey days at their work on Thursday...

No' that that would help much with the low spirits that the Fife fans were feeling. Ah made ma way back to the car, thankful that ma missus was already there waiting and we bombed our way back home. And then the night was made complete - the missus fancied a poke a chips (wi' broon sass) but she might as well have fancied a roast hippo sandwich with a dangleberry jus. It wasnae even ten o'clock but tryin' tae find a chip shop that was still open was like lookin' for a chip shop in KDY at five tae ten on a Wednesday!

Nae doubt it's cos the GIROs don't arrive until Thursday mornings but after the night ah'd just had, it simply reinforced my opinion of those fuckin', shitey, lino-likkin' bastards. Keep yer chips ya scummy twats - we've got bigger fish tae fry. See you all on Saturday for the Whippin' Boys! C'mon the Fife!