Mr I. Haight-Aerdree reporting from....err......Hamilton

If Airdrie Utd thought they were going to get everything their own way in this division, they were taught a timely footballing lesson yesterday by a Hamilton side that was younger, fitter, faster and better looking.

At the same time, their fans were also taught what it is to be a REAL supporter of Scottish Football by the home support, many of whom commendably turned out wearing the strips of other seemingly unrelated teams (notably Rangers and Celtic) in an obvious show of solidarity in the face of the franchise threat.

The game started brightly - I got a LARGE whisky and three pies from hospitality to stuff my fat jowls with, and my day went from good to better as it became evident that the wheels were about to come off Airdrie "United's" bandwagon - a bandwagon that, lest we forget, they stole in the first place. Indeed, they hijacked it somewhere near Dalmuir, and have been cavorting around the lower leagues in it ever since, like some degenerate joyriders out of their tiny little minds on T-Bird.

Now, admittedly I couldn't even tell you where Clydebank were PLAYING last season, but nevertheless we must never let them be forgotten, even if we already did a few years ago.

Anyway, back to the fantastic festival of footballing feats featuring fast forwards facing forty-something (de)fenders. F##k me rigid with a fork, was this a fabulous sight to behold!

Jock Brown has clearly worked wonders in the close season with his team, and it's evident that he has brought much of his invaluable experience from his days with Celtic. Hamilton now, for example, play in a close approximation of the famous Celtic "hoops" in red, whereas before the arrival of Brown and the other members of his consortium (Roger Mitchell, Roger Moore and Roger Mellie) they played in something else.

On top of that, in his new role as player-manager, Brown has instilled some subtle tactics in his team the likes of which I doubt have ever been seen this far down the football food chain before. Some players even took to passing the ball to a team mate not just once, but often getting it back....and finding another team mate! I may be a faded, pissed-up old hack who is desperately embittered at the fact that I have dropped from reporting on nights of Champions' League Glory to covering this s##t, but I'm positive this is a step-up from the usual fare seen at this level.

And boy oh boy, was it a step up for Airdrie.

Wearing a kind of laughable attempt at an Inter Milan top, they simply could not contend with the dazzling array of skills on display from Jock's Jocks. Airdrie were outplayed, outwitted, outrun, out of touch and outspan (well, we all know how orange they are really, don't we?). The only real surprise being that Hamilton, from a veritable MULTITUDE of clear-cut chances, could only manage one goal.

The goal itself was worthy of winning any match, cup-tie, cup final, whatever. Hamilton's Armstrong (like Airdrie's Armstrong but better. And not as blonde - hun that he obviously is) beat eight Airdrie players, including Owen Coyle TWICE!!, before chipping the ball to himself and, from fully 75 yards, curling an unstoppable effort past the wee Airdrie guy.

Well - hallelujah and pandemonium! The Accies fans went wild, and yet at the same time showed a touching concern for the feelings of their visitors; not one of the many, many Accies fans present in the stand behind the goal took part in any triumphalistic celebration that might have upset the small band of Airdrie "supporters" who can still be bothered following their "new" club.

I mean, that obviously wasn't a stand filled with Airdrie fans, because then they would have virtually outnumbered the Accies fans, and that would be an embarrassment both to the Accies and all of the media hordes who decided that Airdrie didn't have enough supporters to be worth bothering about. Frankly, if we can't have our petty prejudices reinforced, I'd be as well giving up.

The remainder of the game followed a predictable pattern, with Accies pressing the play and Airdrie Utd kicking seven shades out of any opponent that looked like they had any sort of skill. At one point an Accies player was quite evidently the victim of a piece of blatant voodoo witchcraft; with no-one near him, he fell slowly to the ground clutching his groin, apparently the victim of a particularly hard stare from "The Witch Doc" Dr Steven, Airdrie's number 10. A quick massage from the Hamilton physio, who looked particularly skilled in this area, and the Hamilton lad was back on the pitch with a spring in his step, good as new and several ounces lighter than he had been previously. The physio had evidently also given him some advice as to how he might break through the Airdrie rearguard.

However, try as they might, the dullard Diamonds could find no similar luck. Again and again, the scavengers were thwarted by the might of Hamilton, names that will resonate through football history like Nelson, Sweeney, Dobbins and Boner.

Eventually, the pain of humiliation in the face of such superior skill got to persistent pain vendor Marvyn Wilson who was booked for taking a Hamilton player down by the hair and kneeing his teeth down his throat, only to grab the referee two minutes later and kick him in the nuts (note to our lawyers - check details, as by this stage I was too pissed to focus, let alone write.) The referee - who incidentally was an excellent example of the high-standard of refereeing to be found coming through at this level - had no option but to send Wilson packing, preferably all the way back to junior football.

In summary, Hamilton had so much more to offer than Airdrie Utd that this game should have been declared no contest. I couldn't help but notice that even Hamilton's BALLBOYS were more skilled than most of the Airdrie team. One in particular, who honestly DIDN'T have the kind of face you'd never tire of punching, showed off some lovely keepy-uppy skills in the dying minutes of the game (much to the appreciation of the fans behind the goal), and to be able to show the presence of mind to waste time just SO exquisitely speaks volumes for the way Hamilton Accies have trained their ballboys (and their linesmen, but that's a different story).