We neutrals were looking for a football feast and although we got a spicy little starter through the Portuguese Prancing Horse it all went quiet after Etoo's sorbet-cool finish. After that it was a kind of tapas medley that never quite filled you up.
The Blue Bell wasn't buying into the ABU brigade. But then again we weren't exactly warming to United in the build-up either. All this on the threshold of history rot.
There's Fergie talking up matching Real Madrid in the long term. There's Ronaldo saying how he is a winner and nothing less will do. There's David Gill saying how he hopes they can keep hold of Tevez 'cos football is littered with players who feel a bit second-best after they've been at United. Gerard Pique springs to mind.
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The smog has enveloped Middlesbrough. Actually the sun is being cruelly chirpy out there, but we are in deep mourning. There's no point in pretending otherwise.
Even though we fully understanding that we were drinking No-Hope Ale in the Last Chance Saloon at the Too Late Tavern while a whole bevy of lardy lasses were stood around in the snug, lungs full to bursting, relegation still hits you like a windscreen hits a midge.
The wife had to drag me out of the Blue Bell on Sunday night, with the lure of a chicken vindaloo from Ashok's and the promise of a long lie-in on Monday. Sometimes only a violent barrage of chilli can exterminate the pain.
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What a horrible week. I can't sleep. I walk around with the same feeling as an MP who's been a bit crafty with his... the truth will out. And the truth is that we're going down.
I've been imagining whether Southgate could manage a across Upton Park, or a Baggies escape!
But prospects for a blinking miracle have not been good. The has not been weeping milky tears as far as I know. Some non-believer (a Geordie we reckon) scoffed the kettle chip that looked suspiciously like Southgate that Tony Thompson was keeping behind the bar in the cigar box.
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Well I don't mind telling the lot of you. It's been an emotional weekend. If I close me eyelids are stamped on their insides and it's that bleeding -28 that means we're utterly doomed. We'll need a 3-0 at least on Sunday and at present . As in recurring nightmare.
There's something noble, , and I hope they give him another season, too, if only to buck the trend of treating managers like disposable nappies. But the man has made mistakes, not least in the coiffure department. There's not enough bite and brains in the middle of the park. He's and and . Hmmm.
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So out of the players' bar at Spurs on the back of Ledley's lunacy the other night.
Harry Redknapp!? As true-blue English as a pearly king morris-dancing over a pint of real warm ale with a song in his heart and steak and kidney puddin' in his belly? Telling footballers that alcohol is forbidden?
What next? Elected parliamentary representatives of our great empire using public funds to play the housing market?
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'Squeaky-bum time', Sir Alex Ferguson called it. I tell you, in the Blue Bell on Monday night it'll be a flaming concerto for backsides and bar-stools as we cheer on the .
The tellies'll be on full blast in the Last Chance Saloon Bar, the No Turning Back Public Bar and even The Well Uncomfortable Snug. We will call on the greats that have strode before us: Mannion, Hardwick, Maddren, Boam, Juninho, hellfire even Danny 'Dark Satanic' Mills if it'll help.
Hull have done their bit. Ever since Phil Brown did that , the Tigers have lost their bite. Brown was a swaggering dandy early doors, but Hull have sunk almost as deep as their manager's tan.
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Well it's hard to know where to begin with that game, isn't it? I've done nowt but argue with people since the whistle went.
Lots of chumps arguing that Barca deserved it - they had 70% possession, so I'm told. Did they do owt with the ball? No! Just kept it. Never used it. One shot on target in the whole game.
They looked nice, but players like the much-lauded Alves were more wasteful than a catering company at a stomach stapling convention. Chelsea made six times as many chances from half as much time on the ball. It's not an argument that merits any further analysis.
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Big story of the weekend? ? Nah, Bir. 'Keep on going to the end of the road' is fair enough but it'd be nice for the fans at St Andrew's to have a stretch of highway that wasn't dotted with road signs like 'Hidden Dips' on '1 in 4' drop ahead. If you fill in an application form for BCFC supporters club there's a little rider underneath that says 'Football clubs can go down as well as up'. Still, it's never dull, eh? Rather that than . Maybe.
You find the big story by looking down to the foot of the Championship and seeing the three names heading down the chute: , and . To be honest I was expecting the Boro to be playing at least one of these next season. And not cos of , either.
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Nice to hear his team can turn it around against United. He might just be the only one. The Gunners were very fortunate to have an inspired keeper on Wednesday night. Almunia was top-notch. .
There was a time when Manuel seemed to resemble his Fawlty Towers namesake (around the same time that Lehmann was wandering around like a bewildered Dave Beasant) but clearly those days are long gone.
He needed to be tip-top first half, though. I don't mind admitting that I was a Gooner for the night, and it was bloomin' frustrating. It was one of them pretty triangles days for Wenger's men. Sometimes you think Pythagoras must be on the backroom staff.
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I'm Derek Robson. People call me Robbo. Legend has it I was raised in the furnace and smog of Teesside. Some might say I took the hard road. I like to tell folk I had trials for Middlesbrough, for Hartlepool and for burglary (not guilty). I've always loved sport. My job is to say it as I see it - whether it's in the bar of the Blue Bell or on this blog. You won't find me calling a spade a soil-redistribution implement.
