What do you get when you put a Hertfordshire Heid the Baw, an Ayrshire Arsehole and a bonny Welsh lass intae a rugby themed sports bar and light the blue touch paper....? Naw, it's no' a joke.... as anyone who witnessed it will confirm (sorry Angus). Thankfully, the girl (who's name's been withheld to protect her identity... and also, ah cannae spell it anyway....) had lapsed into a listless, stultified torpor long before the rest of the boozer got bored and told us tae fuck up and go tae the game. The net result was that, fortunately, ah didnae get a punch in the puss and maybe, just maybe, Ian's still got a burd.

We should, of course, have been concentrating on our first derby in a generation instead of eulogising (and ill informed eulogising at that....) about what ...... (insert your own historical culture here) had the greatest impact on modern European society. Fortunately, the rest of the crew huckled us towards Starks Piggery and so, by the time we saw the tip in the distance, all thoughts had (finally) turned to.... the gemme.

By the time we got tae the gates it was already apparent that this was gonna be the biggest East Fife crowd of the season so far (ah trust ye'll all be headin' tae Alloa next Saturday.....); the throng milling around was good natured and looking forward tae the start. It was just a pity that our hosts had decided that we'd no' be gettin' any programmes today. Here's a message for our Kirkcaldy friends - unlike most of you fuckers, we can actually read; would have been nice tae see what your 'editorial team' could come up with.....

Three o'clock came and went and still the black and gold fans poured into the ground. At the other end, there appeared to be plenty of Wraith fans too but apparently they all had throat infections - we hardly heard a sound from them all afternoon. At the away end, well over a thousand Fifers belted out their support for the team and spirits were lifted even higher when Wullie Gray took his seat in the Likkers' directors' box and hoisted a black and gold scarf high over his head. Fuckin' awesome, Wullie - ah don't care what yer agenda is; anyone who can proudly waltz intae their midst and shove it right up them is ok wi' me!

The game started brightly enough but it was the Scum who were to show their cards first. After just three minutes Graham Weir took a dive in the Fife box in a vain attempt tae claim a pen and get big Tweedie sent off. The ref was havin' none of it but time was to prove that if they tried hard enough, eventually he'd succumb to their pressure. Play raged from end to end with Stevie Crawford unlucky not to dump a big one on his former employers but, as the half continued, the Blues grew in stature and started tae dominate the middle of the park. Having said that, for all their possession, they wurnae really doing much top end.

As it was, we just about held our own (that is, we were workin' hard but looking somewhat laboured in most of what we did....) throughout the first half hour. Ten minutes from the interval, however, the Likkers created their clearest chance of the half although Graham Weir once again proved why he has to rely on jiggery pokery to gain an advantage. It looked easier for him to score than miss but he somehow contrived to fluff his effort and the ball dribbled harmlessly past the post. That was enough for me - convinced there'd be nae further action before the interval, ah headed off for the pie stall. Ah'll say this for them, the Rovers might be a shower of low life, sub-human, scum-suckin' dogs (nae offence....) but after five pints and an argument, their pies are fuckin' delicious.

But as I was standin' in the queue, Mr Weir decided that there was still enough time to have one more try before the half time whistle. They tell me that he went down like he'd been shot (even though it was just a tackle from Tweed) by one of the 1,392 (Bert the Wraith steward-cum-doorman confirmed the number to me late in the second half) snipers in the away end. Referee, K D McLino, took his time, considered his options and.... nearly choked on his whistle, so excited was he to be pointing at the spot. Needless to say, he didnae hae the haw-maws tae even book Tweed but mebbe he was so rapturous at the prospect of the penalty that he forgot about everything else. By the time that Willie McCulloch saved the pen it was too late tae go back so the man in black (well, red actually) decided enough was enough and headed in for a cup of tea with the Rovers directors....

The second half started brightly but, sadly for us, it was the home side that was pressing forward. Just a couple of minutes in, Gareth Wardlaw (ah'm sure ah went tae school with his dad - is he from Ayr....?) won a second penalty. Even though ah was at the other end, ah have tae admit that there was little doubt about this one. Big Willie was about ten minutes late in his effort to intercept the ball and sent the young forward tumbling, leaving the ref with no other option. Somehow, McCulloch avoided a red card and took his place again between the sticks. And despite another one of the Lino Likkers' finest havin' a go, he was no match for the big keeper. At the away end, the stand erupted in ecstasy; in the home end, the silence was like somethin' you'd expect in a Ridley Scott film. In Linktown, no-one can hear you scream....

Unless your name's Wardlaw, I guess. Just on the hour mark the big forward rose in the East Fife box, missed the ball and ended up crumpled in a heap screamin' like a banshee. The game was already running late but, whatever was wrong with the Wraith striker (reports varied from fractured collar bone to dislocated shoulder to sprained ego), it took an eternity for four auld fuckers tae get onto the park wi their fold-up stretcher. By the time they'd scraped the corpse aff the pitch it was already evident that we'd be here til after five. What a waste of good bevvying time....

However, as compensation for that, just minutes later we took the lead. The Scum had been pressing forward with what had become predictable ineffectiveness when we grabbed the ball and headed purposefully upfield. They appeared to have cleared the danger but shortly afterwards the ball fell to the Fozzmeister and, from the edge of the box and surrounded by wraith twats, he drove a great shot goalwards. The net bulged, the crowd (well, half of it anyway....) went bananas and eleven guys clad in black and gold gathered in front of us to accept our praise. Fuckin' magic...... Even better was that Wullie Gray was also givin' it big in the main stand.

The home side refused tae let their heads go down, mind, and knuckled back down again. Sadly, they were level within about five minutes. They powered forward and managed tae grab a corner. From the kick, Laurie Ellis (fuck knows what his first name is) rose and headed home with aplomb. McCulloch had been playing a blinder but had no chance. It was a sickener for the Fife fans in the stadium but at least we now realised that the Lino Likkers actually had some supporters there too. Sing when yer drawin', ye only sing when yer drawin'.

In the final fifteen minutes of the game we pressed forward trying to grab a winner. We'd not had the best of games but, by now, we were far better than our hosts; for a team with championship aspirations, their gaffer might want to start lookin' for players than can last more than seventy five minutes. They had an occasional foray forward but we were well able to manage with their feeble efforts. At the other end it looked like only a matter of time before we'd grab an unlikely winner. In rapid succession Fozzie, Shagger and Crawford all had chances which, unfortunately, came to nothing.

As we headed into injury time (shortly after five o'clock) we created our best chance of the second half but, somehow, Toro could only direct his effort onto the post. The rebound fell for Crawford but, again, his attempt on goal was foiled and the ball went wide. It was the last real chance of the match and soon after the ref blew for full time. It was a well earned point for the Fife and another great shift from the boys on the park. It's true that we certainly rode our luck a bit at times but rather than reflecting on how unlucky our hosts had been, maybe we should focus on the chances that we again created today.

The other side of that coin, of course, allows the Raith fans to wallow in self pity and complain about how unfortunate they were. Even their gaffer, Mad Dog McGlynn, got caught up in their pish. Apparently he was quoted after the game as saying that today's was the best performance he's witnessed from his team since he became a (not the) manager. From where ah was watchin' that amounts tae a team that cannae take penalties, runs oota puff wi twenty minutes tae go and thinks that it's a moral victory tae get a draw at home against a team that was a division lower than them last year.

Wi' that kind of ambition, the Lino Likkers can look forward to a long and illustrious time in the second division. We, on the other hand, will view today for what it was. A great day oot for the fans, an outstanding atmosphere in the stadium (nae doubt, McGlynn also reckons that there's some merit in a silent home support), a great performance from the guys under tough circumstances, and a hard earned point away from home. And wi' that in mind, we can prepare for next week's trip tae Alloa full of confidence. We're continuing tae work hard and perform well. We're edging up the table and we'll slip into top gear soon enough.

And if McGlynn and his Lino Likkin' cronies reckon that today's performance is worthy of a great side, then it's only a matter of time before we wave to them as we overtake them in the league. It would be fitting indeed if it happened on the eighth of November when he brings his sorry bunch tae our place. Then we'll see what a home performance is all about.