Russell Hobbs... I mean Russell Hoult... Or is it Hobbs?... No, Hoult.

I have a real problem with this. On the one hand we have the Derby goalkeeper, on the other a range of kitchen appliances: kettles, irons, coffee percolators, food processors and the like.

Generally I reconcile the two with an image of a toaster. A toaster wearing shorts and a green jersey. With an orange bowler hat. And a white grease-painted face, with crosses for eyes and an oversized downturned mouth. And right where you’d expect to find a club badge on the jersey, a great big squirty flower.

Russell Hoult: Toaster, goalkeeper, clown.

The day had started badly with Liverpool’s capitulation against Manchester United. Was that really the team that trounced us for 70 minutes at Anfield earlier this year? It’s not that I seriously think we can catch Man United (going into our match with Derby, we trailed by 12 points), but I’d even be happy to see Liverpool or (whisper it) Arsenal win the title this year. Just not Man U. Not them. Not again.

Anyone who has to work with smug, spoilt get, glory-seeking, surrogate Mancs (from places like Nuneaton and Coventry) will know exactly what I mean.

This had the potential of being a tricky match. Derby had pulled off a memorable victory the previous week at Old Trafford. When we played them at the Baseball Ground, we struggled to create much until Alan Shearer snaffled his half-chance.

They have a class, if underrated player in Asanovic, a fast and dangerous striker in Sturridge, and an unknown quantity in Paolo Wanchope - though the way he skipped through the Manc midfield and backfour for the second Derby goal suggests that he may become a hero for Jim Smith. In goal, they may have a clown, but clowns can sometimes wear HUGE gloves.

Good, then, that Wanchope started n the bench, and Hoult had regulation, serious gloves on. Sturridge, however, was about to confirm his pace and threat, in a sketch which wouldn’t have been out of place in the San Marino-England match during the Turnip era.

From the kick-off, the ball went deep into the Derby half. As the punted clearance passed the half-way line, Steve Watson slipped and missed his header. Sturridge was immediately onto it, sprinted clear of the defence, and drilled the ball past Shaka from the edge of the box. Thirty seconds in, we were a goal behind. I had barely sat down.

Thankfully, we battled straight back into it and John Beresford found himself in space with defenders backing off. His 25-yarder thumped the bar, with the kettle well beaten. Sturridge led a counterattack, and again wriggled clear of his marker, waltzed through our floundering back-line, and was one-on-one with Hislop.

This time, though Shaka stood his ground and made a great one-handed save. Peacock also did well to clear the rebound. Five minutes gone, canny match.

On 12 minutes, Hoult got our equaliser. Robbie Elliott put an inswinging corner into the goalmouth. The keeper came, flapped, connected, and just beat the defender on the back post with his deft flick. It is possible that he’d watched the Liverpool v Man U game earlier, and was taking notes on the Liverpool keeper’s technique.

This was one straight out of the David James Manual of Corner Defending. “Well, I’ve never seen that before”, the bloke next to me agreed. Elliott’s celebration was a little half-hearted, but he seemed to be having a good chuckle, along with the rest of us.

At this point, Tino Asprilla started to run the show. He seemed to be everywhere, creating plenty of chances, and tackling back effectively as well. Shots started raining in from all sorts of people - Batty had a shot just over the bar, Barton knocked a great low cross in, which Shearer (of all people) somehow managed to blast against the bar from about three yards out.

Tino wrong-footed Hoult with a turn on the edge of the box, which the keeper, to be fair to him, did superbly to save - his left arm shooting out like a whiplashing flex on an enthusiastically wielded iron - tipping the ball round the post. Elliott’s corner was taken to cries of “Shoot!”.

About 5 minutes later, Asprilla repeated his turning shot, this time beating the toaster. It was one of those ones which you’re sure is in, and leap noisily into the air before you see the net ripple, only to hear everyone else go “Oooooohh!”, and realise that you look a right tit (which I’m sure I did).

Clearly carried away with Elliott’s unlikely success, along with Batty and Beresford’s near misses, even Darren Peacock teed up a 35-yarder, which he skied magnificently into the upper rows of the Leazes stand (no mean feat). As had happened earlier for Elliott’s corner, the next time Peacock picked up the ball on the half-way line, he was encouraged to “Shoot!”.

Derby were lucky to go in level. Wanchope came on for the second half, and once again, we were caught asleep in the opening seconds, Sturridge eventually being crowded out after a mistake by Rob Lee. But within 7 minutes of the restart, Ferdy got one of his trademark flying headers to put us in front. Elliott overlapped Beresford on the left, and put the sort of cross in which Ginola was doing game in, game out, 18 months ago.

Les seemed to take off near the penalty spot, connecting about five yards out. I remember my Dad telling me how Wyn Davies could head a ball harder than most men could kick it. This was one of those. Hoult didn’t get near it, which was probably just as well for the sake of his fingers.

Tino continued to keep us highly entertained, with some impossible twists and turns, a shot that grazed the post, and some tantalising passes which nobody managed to get on the end of. His marker was beginning to look thoroughly pissed off with his unequal struggle. One memorable bit of skill saw Asprilla lunge with his leg at full stretch, chest high, controlling the ball with his instep and racing clear to create yet another chance. Class stuff.

With 15 minutes left, the inevitable third went in. Shearer lost the ball on the left, but chased back and tackled in Beardsley-esque fashion. The Derby defence seemed to shy away, so he made directly towards goal, and lined up a shot from 25 yards out. Just before he hit it, I had a vision of the ball rocketing into the top corner of the net, with Hoult pawing vainly at the thin air (like some sort of athletic toaster trying to recover a slice of wholemeal, forcefully ejected by a badly adjusted pop-up spring).

To my disappointment, Al didn’t connect properly, and the ball followed a low trajectory toward the centre of the goal, where the Derby keeper was just off his line. He just stood there. It was like Mike Hooper watching a Le Tissier free kick. Inexplicably, hopelessly mesmerised. If he had moved his foot six inches to the right he would surely have saved it.

But he didn’t.

The sound which greeted the sight of ball nestling in net was not so much the familiar roar of celebration, as the entire population of St. James’ Park simultaneously bursting into laughter. Even the Derby fans must have found it slightly funny. I hope I never find out, but 36,000 Geordies laughing at your expense has got to be one of the most unpleasant sounds on God’s earth.

And so it finished. Tino was subbed with five minutes left, his chance to receive the individual ovation he so richly deserved. The results at full-time told us that Arsenal are also faltering, conceding a late equaliser at home to Blackburn.

We’re now four points behind the Arse and Liverpool, with a game in hand. Strange how in the space of a day, things can change so much. When I woke up that morning, it looked like a 3-way battle for the Championship; with probably us, Villa, Sheff Wed and Chelsea chasing for UEFA places.

Now (sadly), it looks like the Pride of Torquay are going to win the League (four points required from four games). But so far as it directly affects us, if Liverpool and Arsenal continue to blow it, not only is a UEFA Cup place up for grabs, but we may even be in the running for the bizarre (but welcome) second Champions’ League slot. The circus of European football beckons.

For Russell Hoult, a circus featuring sawdust, a Big Top and an endless supply of custard pies may be more appropriate.

Duncan MacKenzie