The points seemed to be won as the game drifted into its fourth minute of added time at the end. Referee Andre Marriner put his whistle to his lips to finish proceedings, but then appeared to change his mind and so allow one last attack. In desperation City threw everybody forward, and teenage prodigy Micah Richards broke Everton hearts when he performed acrobatics to somehow get his foot about eight feet in the air to fire home from close range. Tragedy!

Sunday January 14th saw a standing ovation for the surprising appearance of a true legend. A foreigner with magnificent fighting skills, charisma and a larger than life personality, the Goodison crowd gave him the kind of welcome reserved for only the real heroes, and prayed that his presence would act as some kind of lucky charm to help us get back to winning ways. Yes, after an absence of twelve matches Tim Cahill stepped onto the pitch to take his place in the Everton line-up to face Reading. Oh, I nearly forgot, Sylvester 'Rocky' Stallone turned up as well.

As the clock wound down to the 90-minute mark disaster struck as Darren Bent's excellent close control gave him the opening to fire past Tim Howard and seemingly clinch a vital point for strugglers Charlton. Did heads go down? Don't be daft, the Blues poured forward in never-say-die fashion and deep into injury time they conjured up a magnificent winner. Seizing on a loose ball just outside the box, James McFadden showed sublime skill by dinking the ball over the attempted block of Bougherra and then as it came down, volleying it with deadly accuracy, clean as a whistle into the bottom corner. Just as with AJ's late late winner against Arsenal the ground erupted, David Moyes danced for joy and in the stands grown men who should've known better cried like new-born babies.

Why pigs' bladders for balls? Well the animals would of course have been killed for their meat, the bladder wasn't very tasty, so what could be more natural than to blow it up for a kickabout? Let's just hope they gave it a good wipe first, or heaven help the poor bloke who had to do the blowing up. Somehow I can't imagine Ye Poshe Spice being too chuffed when Bex the miller's son came strolling home stinking of .... stuff. Mind you, a range of after-match perfumes for men would certainly have gone down well in those days: "Short of a stocking-filler for your man this Christmas? How about 'Minger', the scent that overpowers even the most stubborn piggy odours? Available from Bootes, Superdrugge, or direct from the Bex Bodyshoppe website."

Soaking a piece of cotton wool in antiseptic, your mum may try to prepare you for the hellish shock about to follow with some totally inadequate warning such as: 'This may sting a little bit,' then Slap! on it goes. At this point several things happen at once. You get a fierce thudding sensation in the top of your head as it makes contact with the ceiling; the upward jerk of your leg boots the cat screeching through the kitchen door; and your neighbours on both sides get on the phone to Social Services to tell them about the torture and brutality that's obviously taking place next door, judging by the crazed screams reverberating through the entire building and all the way down the street.