I'd hoped to start with a headline like, 'Students Taught A Costly Lesson' and then continue into the first paragraph with cleverness about being so dominant we were able to organise a sit-in in their penalty box. Alas, it turned oot just a bit different from that. But first the positives.... It was a beautiful evening, Paul McManus ran his heart out and looked head and shoulders above virtually everyone else in the fitness stakes, we had a great work out against a very decent, hard working side, we scored a crackin' goal, and, all in all, we were a shed load better than we were last Saturday against Spartans. So, at least we're headin' in the right direction - and is that no' what these pre-season games are all about?

And we actually started off busily enough with Shagger, the Wonderhorse, Lloydie and Kevin Gordon all looking up for the challenge. In the opening minutes they managed to create plenty of space, grab loads of possession and make some decent penetrating runs. With our visitors looking somewhat overawed (it was a half seven kick-off so most of them were probably just up..... fuckin' students!!!), it could surely be only a matter of time before our superiority would manifest itself in a goal or two. Or so we thought....

The students' keeper looked pure dodgy right from the off so a few hangin' balls into the box wouldn't have gone amiss. However, dominating possession as we were, it mebbe seemed tae make more sense playing along the floor and through the channels (silky....). Despite some great runs, both McManus and Templeman found it difficult to create enough room to have a real pop at goal. To be fair to the students, their back four all looked competent - hardly world beaters but, on the balance of play in that first half, certainly good enough to cope with the efforts of our slightly ring-rusty attack.

Encouragingly, the boys on the park looked a whole lot more focused than they had at the weekend. There were still a good number of wayward passes and, at times, the interplay was rather disjointed but at least the effort was there. Which was probably just as well. Our visitors' early nervousness soon settled and they started to play accomplished football (so much for my expectation that we'd all be choking on ganja smoke and clearing pot-noodle tubs out of the away dressing room - fuckin' students!!!); one effort easily left Willie rooted to the spot, the keeper more than relieved to see the ball bounce back off the post.

That gave them some confidence and, although the class (and I use the word advisedly) of the home side was apparent, they were still smart enough to mount the occasional foray forward to test our back line. John McRae, making his debut for the Fife (I think....) at left back was having a real baptism of fire but just about coping. Having said that, the nearest that the students subsequently came to scoring was when he contrived to unwittingly almost cause an own goal; the youngster's banjo of a clearance skelpin' the Fozzmeister right in the puss before the ball skittered narrowly wide.

The goal would have been less of a concern, mind, than the fact that Fozzie ended up flat on his back out cold.... Hey, Kev, ah know ah was at the other end but, by the looks of yer biler, ye've still got a pound or two tae drop afore the season starts. You'll be pleased that ah've deleted all the photos.... (now, now; nae comments abour lack of capacity on the memory card...).

Shortly afterwards, the ref (a vision of stark beauty in fluorescent yellow) blew for half time, the players headed for their cups of tea or snakebites (depending on which dressing room they were going to) and a perceptive young man muttered in my ear, 'mebbe we should have arranged tae play this mob later in the year when they got essays and homework tae think about as well as the fitba....' (thanks, as always, Mr Cameron; eloquent and facund to the last....).

I thought that the second half would now sort the men from the boys - we're professional sportsmen, at the peak of fitness (well....); they're a shower of weans who by now would surely be feeling the after effects of their two weeks in Ibiza or Ayia Napa (how do you say 'snakebite' in Catalán? Fuckin' students!!!). Unfortunately, the contrasts between the sides weren't to prove that compelling but we slowly started to exert a wee bit more authority. We had a lot more possession and spent more time in the students' half of the field and, although our touch still deserted us from time to time, we did look more adept than we had earlier in proceedings. It still took until the midway point to open the scoring, however, but the goal, when it came, proved to be well worth the wait.

We'd been making progress down both wings and had switched our play successfully (if not particularly attractively) from side to side. Only moments before the goal, big Templeman had scuffed an effort from just inside the box and it looked like the Uni side would be able to clear. But some harrying by Paul McManus won the ball back and he sent Stewart (I think) scurrying forward into space. His perfectly weighted cross was met majestically by the Fozzmeister and he bulleted home his header from fifteen yards out. Balletic! Poetry in motion! A wonderful goal and more than enough for me tae eat ma words about the big man lookin' a bit portly. Please accept my most humble apologies big man; that was perfect!

The floodgates, alas, failed to open and as the sun set and the temperatures plummeted (fuckin' Methil!!!) both teams had to be satisfied with a stalemate (they tell me that the Chess Society is a biggie at the big skool in Embra...). Paul Nugent, Stevie Nick, Ryan and Paul Walker all got twenty minutes or so tae run aboot but probably answered fewer questions than DB would have hoping for. I, however, could have done with some kind of explanation. Big, tall, handsome, graceful and lithe, Paul Nugent made his appearance, listed in the team leet as wearing number 12. His shorts were certainly right but ah'm sure that he had 17 on his back. Which certainly confused me five minutes later when the real number 17, Ryan Blackadder, got his chance ...

If they canny get the shirts right, how the fuck am ah supposed tae tell them apart?

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