Fuck the result; the fact that fewer than fifty of us actually bothered making the trip down to Ayr (did ah tell you it's ma home town?) probably illustrated just how confident we all were that we'd cause an upset at the seaside. As it was, ninety minutes came and went, we played somewhat better than we did last week against Alloa, and... we dropped another three points. Two quick-fire strikes in the opening ten minutes of the second half did for us and in spite of all our best efforts (and those efforts were a shit load better than in recent weeks), once again we were to end up heading home empty handed.

Ah'll mebbe get back tae the action later but the real talkin' point of the whole game (apart fae the fact that the Crawf didnae look a whole lot better this week in his thirty nine pound ASDA suit than he did last week back home under the fluttering Division Three League Flag) was the incredible decision by Craig Charleston, one time Central Constabulary polisman (do you know him Kenny?) and erstwhile Grade One whistler (if you'll believe that...). Already two goals down but somehow managing to just about keep ourselves in the game, we'd regrouped as best we could and started to cause a modicum of bother at the other end. We weren't quite lookin' like world beaters but at least we were giving the Honest Men's defence a wee bit tae think about.

With twenty five minutes remaining, we charged forward, managed to beat Ayr's offside trap and Linn headed into the box; just before reaching the ball and preparing for a shot, he was nicked from behind by Allan Dempsie. The defender's tackle looked just an instant too late; the Boaby had knocked the ball forward and was preparing to shoot when Dempsie clipped the wee man's heels and down he went. Penalty screamed the four dozen Fifers behind the goal; penalty acknowledged Dempsie, his colleagues and his keeper; penalty presumed the linescheat who was already readying himself to look along the line.

Alas, Mr Charleston saw it differently. Despite being so overweight he was barely in the Ayr half when the tackle was made, he surmised otherwise. Sure, he blew his whistle, but young Dempsie could only look on in bemused wonder when the red card wasn't shoved up his nose but was presented theatrically to the prostrate Linn. Simulation they call it in the rule book. Fuckin' cheatin' more like!

Stupefied by the cheat's actions, ah pulled out ma programme tae find oot who the fucker was. Jim C kindly informed me he was 'that fat bald fuck in the red shirt' but the editor of the Ayr match day publication was able to put just a little more meat on the bones. Our referee today was none other than the infamous Craig Charleston. What? Don't tell me that you've never heard of him. He's the nut case that goes doo-lally if you look at his burd the wrong way... allegedly. Ah'm sure (certainly sure enough tae publish it anyway) that last summer, when he should have been revising for his 'Refereeing in Big Games' exam, he took umbrage at his burd's auld boy friend and ended up getting arrested... fur allegedly drivin' a motor at him. Or that's what ah heard anyway fae ma pal at Falkirk Sheriff Court.

Making sure that he stayed on the right side of the law (hey, he should know; he used tae be a polis), he kept a low profile in Scotland but just couldnae help himself when he went for a late summer break tae Macedonia. Ah guess that he thought naybdy would recognise him, mixing in with ten thousand Tartan Army regular footsoldiers who'd made their way to Skopje for the Wolrd Cup qualifier. But while the tartan clad lads and ladettes drank the local beer and vodka and made friends with the burgers of that fine city, Craigie boy thought it would be more fun tae get pissed, dress up in a mankini and dangle a sporran aff his boaby. Honestly, is this really the kind of guy that should be refereeing senior football matches? Nae wonder nae fucker takes Scottish football seriously.

But, in a roundabout (an' ah'll grant you, seriously contrived) way, it might just explain his apparent bias against East Fife this afternoon. It's well known that Bobby Linn gets on just fine with Goran Stanic. Now, as we’re all fully aware, Goran comes from Macedonia; actually from Skopje itself. An' ah once heard that his big sister, Katerina, knew a guy at school called Igor who's best pal, Luka, had a cousin called Sasha who joined the police. Well, Sasha, wasn't on duty the night that Craigie had his boaby oot in Skopje but, well, ye see one policia and ye've seen them all. Charleston was clearly devastated when he realised that Stanic was on the bench today. It was only over a chocolate hob-nob at the interval that he was able to establish just how pally that dirty foreign boy was wi' the Boaby.

And the rest, as they say, was history. Linn got clobbered in the box and thanks to the fact that there'll be nae TV evidence tae consult, he'll no' play any further part in this season's campaign. Thanks a million, Craig, you're a horse's arse! But fair play tae Allan Dempsie and the rest of the United team. The defender hauled Linn back up, apologised, shook his hand and even gave the ref a dirty look. But even fairer tae him - as the Boaby headed for an early bath, ah'm sure ah saw him sniggering wi one of his team mates. Hey, it's no' their fault the ref's a prick and like the true professionals that they are... they wurnae gonnae look a gift-prick in the mooth were they?

With Linn's departure it was obvious that we'd have no real chance of battling our way back into the game. However, apart from a three minute period near the start of the second half, up until then we'd played a whole lot better than we have since the turn of the year. United had every reason to go for it - last week's defeat at Brechin had knocked a serious dent in their championship aspirations so we were expecting to face quite a challenge. Ah'd be happy to acknowledge that they looked like a decent side but in the opening exchanges ah thought we gave as good as we got.

In balmy conditions reminiscent of my childhood (when all the days were long and warm and naybdy did bad things or drugs (apart fae at the Plough) and the summer holidays lasted forever etc, etc, etc) it was an added treat tae see the boys running out into the bright Ayr afternoon resplendent in black and gold. They were to wear the colours with a pride that’s been all too evidently missing in recent weeks and for the fans who’d journeyed down from Fife, we were in for an altogether more encouraging performance this afternoon.

That didn’t mean that we weren’t in for an early shock , however. It took less than two minutes for the home side to create their first opening when David Gormley fired in a speculative shot – it looked on target but Broonie just got to it and tipped the ball round the post. It was a decent save but also an early warning that it was gonnae be far from easy today.

It was the wake up that we needed, mind, and the guys soon settled and looked more comfortable on the ball. The Craw had persisted with a midfield built around Lee Makel and Shaun Fagan and although they were up against a couple of big fuckers in the Ayr team, they looked composed throughout the first half and strung some great passes together. Fagan in particular impressed, combining well along the left flank with Cameron whe seemed determined to get forward at every opportunity.

Up top the Wonderhorse was back in his familiar number ten shirt and together with McManus, looked right in the mood. Both put in great shifts and will feel unfortunate that they were unable to convert the half-chances that we created. As usual, of course, you couldn’t fault their effort and commitment and both ran their hearts out all afternoon. On a day where there was much to take comfort from (if not the ultimate result), Shagger again provided the focus for most of our attempts on goal. He ended up on the losing side but just shaded the Man of the Match award from Shaun Fagan.

At the other end Jay Smart was also outstanding. With young Muir forced into a central defensive role of late it been immensely pleasing to see Smartie take the mantle of leadership at the back. He’s come a long way and now looks like a rock in our defence. And that was just as well because eventually United started to play like they were the home side and still chasing the title.

Prunty was the first to force an effort on goal and then Walker and Ryan Stevenson both stung the keeper’s fingers with shots from outside the box. Prunty was then to be presented with two cracking opportunities when he found himself in space but squandered both chances by skewing his efforts wide. They kept up the pressure as the half wore on, their fans slowly cranking up the noise as they anticipated the breakthrough.

It was at the home end, however, that the final goal scoring chance of the half was to present itself. With the seconds ticking away and the Crawf content to be going in on level terms, we broke forward with pace. From wide out on the left the Boaby slid a low, hard drive across the six yard box that was missed by the Ayr defenders and fell tantalisingly for Shagger at the far post. His outstretched boot was just inches away from contact but that was all it took and the ball trundled out to safety. Moments later the cheat tooted his tooter and we all headed fur a pie and a pish (the pish, incidentally, was the far more satisfying – their pies are fuckin’ gash!).

Having no doubt heard the news from Stark’s Piggery that Brechin were holding the filth, United started the second half with a renewed confidence. They upped the pace and forced us deep in defence. It took them barely five minutes to make the breakthrough when Kenny Connolly snatched possession from Cameron and set up his team mate Mark Roberts. The striker’s finish was as clinical as it was impressive and the home end erupted in noice as he effortlessly banged the ball away.

Before we’d even gotten our breaths back we’d fallen further behind, this time Connolly himself did the honours and ensured that he’d be the one making the headlines in next week’s Ayrshire Post. Ah was at the other end so didnae get a great view but it looked like the Ayr forward pounced after young Muir failed to clear the ball – Connolly’s overhead hook into Brown’s goal was an expensive price tae pay for our failure to clear our lines effectively.

What was impressive, however, was our response. In recent weeks it’s appeared that we’ve been beaten as soon as we went behind. This afternoon, however, there appeared far more self belief and a real determination to fight our way back into things. We were unlucky not to snatch a goal back within five minutes. First Lee Makel had a long range effort desperately cleared by the Honest Men and just seconds later Fozzie rose unmarked in the box and should have buried his effort – the ball scudded just wide.

And then as the match was heading into the final quarter, the roof fell in. Linn should have earned the penalty but paid the ultimate price for the ref’s fantasy football understanding of the rules. The decision made no sense but then, if you’ve any knowledge of the cheat’s life off the park, it’s evident that he inhabits some sort of alternative universe where normal standards don’t apply. His match report should be interesting reading – but let’s just hope somebody at the SFL can speak Klingon!

We continued to work hard without the same cutting edge we’d displayed earlier and our hosts were now content to simply manage the ball around the park. They might have been able to score further goals but it was apparent that they were happy with what they had – a hard won three points against a team that proved to be more of a handful than we have been for other opponents recently.

The two youngsters again got a run out and Sheerin once again looked a strong prospect. Cargill had less than ten minutes to impress but at least looked up for it and got stuck in as best he could. By then, of course, it was all over bar the shouting. The Fife fans started drifting away and that gave enough cover for the one who broke the light at the away end to escape any further attention from the local polis and make his merry way back intae town.

Within the hour we were heading across Glasgow in search of one last pint before we headed east. Heath suggested the ‘Vale of Leven’ on the grounds that it sounded a bit like home. Sadly, it turned oot tae be a smelly hun boozer that was full of smelly huns celebrating their team’s triumph earlier in the day. When we showed up – nae hun tops, nae scars and all our eyes pointing in the same direction – they automatically presumed we were Buddies’ fans and welcomed us to their bosom with a patronising manner that had to be seen to be believed.

We tried tae tell them but we might as well have been speaking Klingon ourselves – tryin’ tae explain tae that shower of lowlife that there was, in fact, other fitba on in Scotland today was like tryin’ to write wi a blunt pencil – utterly pointless.

Which just about makes up for another disappointing result for the Fife. We might no’ have won many games this year but at least we’re no’ fuckin’ huns... See you all next week for one last party at Bayview. C’mon the Fife!