Anybody expecting a classic game of football yesterday should have descended on the pubs early doors when Liverpool finally put one over on Chelsea in the Premiership under Benitez’s stewardship. Any comparisons between the English elite and the Scottish scrappers extended only as far as the appearance of Liam Craig in the Falkirk jersey, who could easily have passed off as Dirk Kuyt being teleported directly from Anfield Stadium.

Ah, the magic of the Scottish Cup. 3^rd division minnows vs Premier League powerhouses. A return to the terracing for some, for others a visit to the all seater stadia they dream of their club visiting every week. However, there is one word that sums up the 3^rd round of the famous trophy, and one word that is brought up every year – “Romance”. And I tell you what dear reader, nothing but nothing is more romantic than pishing on someone’s ditched porn stash in a ditch by the motorway on the way to see your team in the Cup.

As the teams were read out it struck me how long it had been since we played the Hibs with such a strong line up, Brellier and Hartley in the middle and the albeit semi-fit Jankauskas and Bednar starting up front with Velicka dropping to the bench.

As we drove up to Inverness, few of us could have imagined that we would be to witness Steven Pressley's last ever performance in a Hearts shirt. My hopes were that with Elvis having been restored to the line up, all the previous problems that had blighted us in the previous few months had been ironed out.