Let me get this off my chest right from the start. 1.30 on a Sunday is no time to be playing football. It means no lie-in, messing about with engineering works on the trains and tubes and drinking beer while you can still taste the toothpaste. In short itís a pain. Itís an even bigger pain when itís started raining at silly oíclock and you know that the game you are about to watch has every chance of being decided by Mike Dean. However, a forthcoming break for some sunshine and much-needed rest meant that even the prospect of having that moron in the middle wasnít going to spoil my day.