Fingers crossed for a job well done

That is, to anybody who wasn't at St James's Park on Monday night. It was an extraordinary evening. The emotions were mixed, to say the least, veering wildly from Private Fraser-like pessimism to outlandish optimism, and ending, appropriately, with orgasmic, and we only beat Middlesbrough!

It was a totally positive performance and a thoroughly- deserved victory, although why it takes until three games left to produce it, I'll never work out.

I hope Shola was watching Viduka, it was an object lesson in a front man's art, the ball always sticks with him, if only we could replace his plasticine tendons and muscles.

Hopefully, we won't mess things up against Fulham on Saturday, although the teams around us are so appalling that 34 points may even be enough for us to avoid relegation.

At this point, I would magnanimously ask you to lend a thought to a suffering man. In a mansion overlooking the North Yorkshire moors, a usually vibrant, age-defying man-about-town is in despair.

Taking a final mouthful of a decent Claret, he bids goodbye to his tearful family and takes a revolver into one of his drawing rooms. Fortunately, he's a Boro supporter, so he missed. Send him loads of drink, we'll call it 'Bob Aid' (for Journal columnist Bob Cuffe). Please give generously.

Did you hear that noise last Wednesday night from west London? Not the pathetic strangled cries of 'conspiracy' from the apoplectic capital Press to Chelsea's defeat by Barcelona, but the cacophonous racket of Div-ier Drogba's chickens all coming home to roost.

All those fake penalties earned by histrionics when tackled, the players wrongly carded, the 10 yards at the free-kick he moved the ball forwards against us, to deny us a place in the Carling Cup semi-finals, all paid back in one fell swoop.