Twelve men (Y chromosomes in place anyway....), one woman, countless champagne truffles (we're all keeping them for next Feb 14th, Kerriann), beers from the four corners of the world and a driver with one leg - the Vengabus is coming! Nearly late but that was all down to distractions beyond our control - beer from the only corner of the world that we were interested in at the time, a pool table with a run so good the locals call it Cresta and the pleasure of meeting up wi' Willie McCulloch and his dad - both looking great by the way....

We arrived just after kick off, and pretty much just about managed to miss Paul McManus winning the title for us after 38 seconds. As the Commander fumbled with his camera, Stewart, Ian Curtis and the Fare-Dodger were fumbling with their (own) boabies in a toilet that was fit enough for the Dorchester. Thankfully, the two hundred other Fifers who'd made the trip had a perfect view and nearly took the roof off the Coo-Shed. The first time a Stranraer player touched the ball was when their keeper was picking it out of the net, Paul's perfect shot from just outside the box having been far too good for him. The ball cannoned off the far post and Big Bad Jim Corstorphine was there to catch it all - well, you can see a photo of the ball in the net anyway... (No' that ah'm critcising; by then I'd only managed to get ma camera oot ma man-bag!)

If we were unhappy with missing the goal, we were soon in a better frrame of mind again. Within ten minutes Templeman the Wonderhorse was unfortunate not to double our lead. Just a moment after that, McManus (who already was on fire) had the ball in the net again, only for the nearside linescheat to hoist his flag and decide it was off-side. Or maybe just too early for Fife's Finest to be celebrating yet. From where I was (a mere seventy yards away....), it looked a good goal....

No' that the decision was botherin' the bampots on the terracing. They were simply unbelieveable! The players were already turning it on in spades; we all know they're the best group in the league, but, with the noise coming out of the cow-shed, it would have been impossible for them not to respond positively. If a team ever needed to know just how much they mean to their supporters, today was the day. And everything that spilled onto the pitch was positive support. The newsmutts were there in force hoping for bother but, instead, all they could report was a passion from fans that reinforces all that is great about our game. Get it up ye all; we just love our team!

With the Blues having knocked in seven goals in their last two games, we'd been expecting a tough afternoon. However, it was apparent that, for all their talk, Stranraer have settled for second place. I know that we were good enough today to blow away pretty much anyone but our hosts looked as if they were beaten before a ball had been kicked. It was particularly enjoyable that, after some rather tetchy games previously this season, it now looks like they've finally realised that they're just no' good enough. And that meant that for the fans who'd travelled to the Arsehole of Scotland, it was all the more wonderful.

Despite Tweedie and Smartie both missing from the middle of our defence, we looked as solid as we have all season. Greig's always able to step up to the mark and perform but he was more than ably assisted by the Great Fozzmundo at his side (the auld guy took the abuse from (both) the Stranraer fans in his stride - way to go, Baldy!!) and Paul Stewart again deputised at right back - looking like he was born for the position. Shagger and the Wonderhorse once again ran their socks off and made all the difference.

But, even though it's been the toughest decision of the year, for me, Gary Greenhill ran away with Man of the Match. He hasn't had many chances this season but today the guy was just fuckin' sublime. He completely bossed the midfield, dealing with everything that Stranraer had to offer as if he could have done it blindfolded. And, as a result, the Blues just looked shell-shocked.

It wasn't gonna get any easier for them - ten minutes from the end of the first half there was the noise of shuffling feet and a few throats being cleared. That could mean but one thing.... Seconds later the Barmy Army came to life and kept it going all the way to half time. The longer it went on, the more the guys on the park relaxed; and the more the Stranraer shoulders flagged. It was incredible to behold so thanks to Stewart, the Gusmeister and everyone else who joined in. Click here to be inspired! (Thank you very much, St Pauli Fifer)

So comfortable was I that I was more than content to miss the restart and queue for a 'pyoor prime Eberdeen Angus cheeseburger' at the wee stall beside the main stand, resplendent wi' two enormous wifeys who were pretending to be fae Inverness. I couldn't help thinking that they'd blagged their way into the concession, thinking that if they pinned their real colours (green, white, gold, whit wiz the Sellik score the day?) to the mast, mebbe, they'd have more trouble getting the gig. Needless tae say, their burgers were as shite as the ones their pals sell ootside Parkhead every other week. However, wandering back with botulism in a bun appears tae be a guaranteed way to get intae conversation wi' the players. As Bobby Linn came out to warm up, he glanced across and in all seriousness asked me, '"yer no' gonny eat that muck, ur ye?". God bless him! (no' that ah believe any of that superstitious tripe, eh Angus....?)

Meanwhile, on the pitch, it was more of the same from the Champions Elect. Just five minutes in Templeman again came close, combining with Dougie Cameron and eventually seeing his effort head just over the bar. McManus too was continuing to terrorise his old club but will feel just a little embarrassed that he failed to make more of the opportunity that the granted him just on the hour mark. Clear on goal he contrived to take a touch (well, three or four actually) too many and a big Blues' Bruiser was able to get back and clear the danger.

Our hosts eventually remembered that they were playing at home and, although only a few dozen fans had bothered turning up, that they had some kind of responsibility to try to entertain. They managed to hold onto the ball and, by and by, started to push forward. In response, the Fife did appear to sit rather deep for a while but, whatever the Blues threw at us, we were more than adept enough to cope with it. I did think that we were giving them a bit too much respect but finally realised that we were simply rippin' the pish even more than we had already. Whatever Stranraer had to offer, we dealt with with consummate ease....

With fifteen minutes remaining it was time to turn up the heat again. Templeman went off to enjoy a well earned rest and the superstar (and aspiring biochemist) that is the Boaby came on. If we'd been lording it beforehand, Linn simply notched it up to another level. I honestly don't think we realise just how fuckin' good our players are but when the wee man trotted on we were all reminded just what quality we have - and he had to wait seventy five minutes to even get a kick!

It took Linn less than a minute to show the Blues that he was in the mood and just six hundred ticks of the second hand later he was to make our day out complete. Picking up a great crossfield pass from McDonald, he shrugged off an ineffectual challenge from some big donkey and headed for goal. Looking up as he reached the edge of the Stranraer box he prepared himself and fired a perfect low shot across their keeper and slotted it away into the far corner. Two-nil for the Fife, points won and ecstacy in the coo-shed. Fuba just doesnae get any better than this!

We had an opportunity to add another but although their keeper made an arse of himself saving Blackadder's free kick, they somehome managed to clear the danger and ensure that their team only got a right doin' rather than an awfy one. Seconds later the whistle sounded, the Blues trotted off with the sound of silence ringing in their ears - there were no Stranraer fans left in the ground, and the heroes turned to accept the applause from the faithful. Even the Dumfries & Galloway polisman that I bumped into was up for the celebration - he was a Queen of the South fan so was even fuckin' happier than we were!!!!

And after that there was nothing more than a six hour journey home. A couple in a boozer in Ballantrae (we didnae meet the Master but we were hussled by two wee lads who obviously knew about the run on the pool table), haggis, sausage, chips and three free pies (although they wurnae the best we'd ever tasted) at the Wellie Cafe in Ayr (did I ever tell you that's my home town.....?) and, just when I thought things couldn't get any better, a man fae Kelty making sure ah wiz in ma bed before the Dunfermline contingent were. As they were struggling to get home before midnight (when the baby sitter goes up to time and a half), I was already in the land of nod - dreaming happily of a man with a vengaphone, loudly shouting 'tables, league, lie, don't".

And if that doesn't guarantee a good night's sleep, I don't fuckin' know what does.... See you all next Saturday (somebody bring ma champagne, ah think ah'll need it!).

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