It all started off so well. I had to go to work (6.15 train from Kirkcaldy; can you believe that?) but the BURGER boys met up and headed off to Glasgow early doors. By the time I caught up with them at the Stag's Head in Dumbarton, they'd already watched Bristol Rovers beat somebody in the FA Cup (naebody was that interested but, apparently, Angusfifer has a penchant for that particular team; a mob called the 'Rovers' who play in blue.... hmmm). I was, however, more than willing to accept his explanation (aye, foolish, I'll grant you) and trust that, by sticking close, I'd be in good Fife company. As the guys started drifting off, me an' the Angusmeister were distracted by highlights of the 1974 World Cup on the telly and the rest, as they say, is history.....

We wandered out into the street, utterly clueless as to where we should go next. We knew that the Dumbarton ground stood in the shadows of the 'Rock' but as to where that behemoth of God's creation actually was, we were oblivious. And so it came to pass that we had to ask for help. The first person we met was nae help - 'sorry boys, ah don't live here; ah'm just waitin' fura bus....'.

But next in line was none other than..... (well, it certainly looked like) Jim Craig. Was he a dentist before or after he was a Lisbon Lion? Who knows (who fuckin' cares?)? Anyhoo, the miserable bugger tries this one on for size. 'Sure guys, just walk about four miles down that road and turn left at ma motor'. I don't know what was more tragic; that he gave such ridiculous directions or that we believed them and started heading out for 'his motor'. Off we went, secure in the knowledge that we were already late for the game and merely hoping that we'd get there for the second half. Thankfully, two wee lassies eventually came to our rescue and sent us off in the right (opposite) direction. We got to the ground ten minutes late - nae thanks tae Mr Craig....!

But talk about every cloud having a silver lining.... In we went, paid our eleven quid and the infamous Dumbarton stewards were there to do there stuff. As usual I had my camera and sufficient spare lenses, memory cards etc to choke a donkey. That obviously did the trick - that and the fact that I'd disguised the four bottles of Abbot Ale in my bag as hats, gloves and hankies..... allegedly. (You really have to wonder why they bother if I can talk ma way in with a bag full of beer....) Needless to say, I somehow managed tae blag it and before long we were in our seats listening to Stewart and his Baikie's Barmy Army givin' it laldy. Fortunately, the guys on the pitch were also delivering....

They'd dismissed last week's woes with some ease and were already looking like they'd have little trouble in putting the Sons firmly in their place. Kindly, the guys waited until me and the Arbroath Beast got there before really turning on the style and opening the scoring. We'd just had time to work out who'd been dropped, who was playing and who was on the bench before we went one up. Ryan Blackadder (who's been on fire in the reserves apparently) swung over a great cross and while the Dumbarton defence argued amongst themselves about who'd go for it, Greig McDonald rose majesically and bulleted home a fine header from close range. Pure class!

The goal settled the nerves and allowed the boys to really turn on the style. Even at that early stage (remember, for Angus and the Commander the match was less than ten minutes old....) it was evident that the Sons would get hee-haw out of this one. Up front, Templeman and McManus (who would appear to be Dave Baikie's preferred striking duo) were creating all sorts of mayhem, dragging the Dumbarton defence all over the place. They will both think themselves unfortunate not to have grabbed a couple themselves today but should be content that they played their part in a great team performance. Paul McManus, especially, ran his heart out - his overall effort was good enough for me to win him the Man of the Match award.

However, despite his superb display, the goalscoring heroics were left to others. Just five minutes shy of the interval we doubled our lead. We'd been relentless in pressuring the Sons who had only their keeper to thank for stopping this one becoming a rout. He wasn't going to keep us out forever though. In the fortieth minute he saved well again but only seconds later, Ryan Blackadder fired over the resultant corner; the cross to the far post was met by Jonathan Smart who'd timed his run perfectly through the crowded box and rose to head home with some ease. He looked like he didn't want the half to end....

Which was more than could be said for debut boy, Craig Wight. Replacing Willie McCulloch between the sticks, he positively sprinted up the tunnell for his half-time cuppa. He'd had virtually bugger all to do in the first forty five and, despite the pleasant sunshine, must have been pretty cold just hanging around. Look on the bright side, Craig; yer gettin' paid for this.... Give him his due, mind; he really did earn his corn late in the second period. It credit to him that he'd managed to keep his concentration; in one of the Sons' rare forays forward, he pulled off a fine save to deny Andy Geggan what would surely have been an injustice.

To be fair to Dumbarton, they did offer a whole lot more in the second half. But, given their dismal display in the opening forty five, anything was going to be an improvement. With the points already all but won, it was noticeable that the Fife did take the foot off the gas a wee bit. Ordinarily I'd be a bit concerned about that but with some tough matches ahead in the run-in, maybe it was wise to save some energy so I'll turn a blind eye this afternoon. In any case, it was apparent that, if required, we could have upped the pace and gotten stuck right in again.

As it happens, the Sons were incapable of really threatening and the chances that they did get were, by and large, the result of a couple of dodgy tackles by Johnnie Smart and Tweedie, combined with the unerring regularity with which the ref blew his whistle for absolutely fuck all. We're all fully aware of how bad the standard of refereeing is at all levels of the game in Scotland so we learned long ago to accept that most of the buggers are blissfully unaware of any of the rules of the beautiful game. All we really ever ask from them is some level of consistency. This joker, however, picked up the wrong end of the stick completely today; consistently penalising our defenders whilst habitually ignoring the same antics at the other end of the park. It's incredible that he missed some of the tackles on Chris Templeman - I thought that he'd at least have spotted the step-ladder that the Dumbarton centre half was using to climb up the big man's back!

So, with eleven opposition players, the ref and the contents of a small hardware store to contend with, it's hardly surprising that it turned out to be a bit long winded at times. McManus and Templeman both continued to work hard, ably supported by the Fozzmundo, Kevin Gordan and Paul Stewart. After having an outstanding first half, Blackadder drifted in and out a bit in the second period. That, however, was understandable, having spent most of his last few weekends watching from the stands. It was inevitable that he'd run out of steam eventually but he can be proud of his performance today - it made all the difference. Further goals were to prove elusive at this stage but it was encouraging to see that the Sons were failing even more miserably at the other end.

The first time that Craig Wight was called into action was just past the hour mark when Smartie was adjudged (and, to be honest, looked rather guilty) to have hauled the Dumbarton centre forward off his feet. The resulting free kick appeared to go right through the wall (maybe something to consider during this week's training, boys....) but Wight was able to get down and clear the danger. Within a few minutes the Sons managed another couple of quick-fire shots but neither effort troubled the big keeper who was content to watch the ball go wide on both occasions.

Meanwhile, in the stand, there was ample opportunity to Stand Up (and Sit Down again) for the Champions and cheer the lads on. Yet again we'd travelled in good numbers to follow the team (although I wish the wifey (you know who you are ya rascal....) that pointed out ma 'man bag' when I was sneaking in had mebbe stayed at home... honest, it was a bag fur ma camera!!!!) and yet again, we were outnumbering and outsinging the locals. It's extremely gratifying that by recycling our Fife Pounds, we're helping these wee shitey teams survive. What would the officious Dumbarton stewards do if they had tae get a real job??

Maybe they could have slipped on a yellow shirt to help out their buddies on the park. Three or four more bodies might just have evened it up enough to make it a bit more interesting. Sadly, for the Sons, they had to battle it out on their own. They had a final flurry of activity in the last ten minutes but failed to offer much to get their fans excited. And just to heap insult onto injury, they were forced to pick the ball out of their net once more before full time. With time running out (and Mr Smart once again taking up the role of centre forward) we headed up the pitch in a free flowing counter-attacking move (nice to see that they still had the energy...) and Dougie Cameron fired over another great cross from his classy left boot.

As the Sons' defence once again failed to even notice any potential danger, Smartie was left free to rise again and nod the ball home from close range. That made it eight for the season so maybe I shouldn't be slagging him too much about looking for the Number 9 shirt!! The big lad headed back to the halfway line hand in hand with his wee pal, The Boaby (oo-er missus); the two of them executing a perfectly synchronised forward roll (it would have been a sommersalt but we're no' in the Premier League yet....) in celebration.

Seconds later the ref blew for full-time and another three points were secured. Even better, we were to discover shortly afterwards that both Montrose and the Silkies had drawn their respective matches. It was a happy wee bunch of burgers, therefore, that headed back east; points won, scoffing huge portions of pakora and a bag of wine gums to boot (steer clear of them if yer fussy about beefy gelatine....). And then, just to put the icing on the cake, Angus and the Commander were able to share a couple of bottles of Abbot. Could an afternoon at the fitba ever get any better than that?

Probably.... we're off to Stranraer in a fortnight!

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