BORO'S Academy lads put in a spirited show against the Premier League's form side. Eight of the side that finished the game came off the Hurworth production line. Eight of our own. It was certainly no disgrace to be edged out. In fact, if anything that young mix-and-match side have every right to feel a little disappointed they didn't win.

THE BLOG that scours through YouTube so you don't have to: Part XII

With the FA Cup clash derby tension bubbling up nicely now, thoughts naturally turn to classic Tees-Wear encounters of the past. The memories come flooding back of all those time Boro have beaten Sunderland. There's loads of them. It was routine in the 90s.

There are some important moments in terrace folklore to be relived as part of the big match build: Bernie up on the Holgate fence in a quick-fire celebration, a Parky worldy, Emerson cracking home a rocket shot at Roker, Jamie Pollock stuffed some Mackem chanting straight back down their throats with a late winner. So to get you in the mood for the big match, here's some footage of derby clashes of the past. Enjoy.

GOOD News bloggosphere: Untypical Boro won the coveted Phillip Hickey Trophy for columnist and/or blogger of the year at the prestigious Cordners Awards, the annual North East hack pack back-slapping beano at the National Glass Centre in Sunderland, within audible booing range of the Stadium of Light.

Obviously it is good news for me. It's always nice to win stuff and have people buy you beer. But I think it is good too in a wider sense that a football column can shrug off the challenges of the why-oh-why handwringinging worthies and parish pump parochial pontification that so often dominate local newspaper columns that usually win these things. It is nice to have reflections on the elemental importance of the game break out of the solitary isolation of the back page ghetto and be recognised for what it is: the cultural glue that holds post-industrial towns together.

Football - whether Boro, Newcastle, Pools, Sunderland, Quakers, Barnsley or whatever - remains the only unifying collective experience that most ordinary people have, it is the often the central point of our identity as individuals and as communities. It is of vital importance. It is when I write about it anyway.

DEADLINE DAY: multi-media rumour-mongering, Twitter tittle-tattle and viral hysteria plus hours of hypnotic hopeful obsessive gazing at the yellow rolling banner of destiny. A nation yawns.

I'll update throughout the day. I'm here until the Big Ben Bongs. You know the routine. F5. Refresh Vickers' useless blog. Check club website. F5. Refresh FMTTM in case someone there knows someone who knows Mogga's brother's neighbour's Mam. F5. F5. Fidget through office hours then get home and assume the position in thrall to an exciteable android scoopbot Jim White with beer in hand and five windows open on the laptop as the clock ticks down. FOR GOD'S SAKE MOWBRAY SIGN SOMEONE. Sign a Montenegran keeper. Sign a Bulgarian winger. Sign Lee Miller.... he's a goal machine!

****TECHNICAL NOTE*** a bug in the system has meant you can't see the whole of the blog if you click on the "continue reading" button. Try the "comments" button instead then scroll up. That should do it. There's a knack to, like the choke on my old Fiesta.

FANTASTIC entertainment. Not the most polished performance granted, but a great full-blooded scrap and the epitome of an old-fashioned FA Cup clash played in an electric hostile atmosphere with no quarter given. Tackles, blood and snot flying around - and teeth - and plenty to write into the annals of derby folklore - not least the presence of David Wheater in the midst of 3,000 Teessiders stood chanting for the full 90. I can't wait for the replay.

BUGGER. Tonked by the side cut adrift at the bottom. Carved up by Alex bloody Nimely. No points from nine in January with eight goals leaked, just one scored and a string of poor performances - and now a self-inflicted midfield crisis for the Mackem match.

That was a nightmare.

APOLOGIES in advance but some of this is going to sound a bit like a Richard Littlejohn "safety Nazi" soap-box rant. The phrases 'remote killjoys', 'faceless unelected suits,' 'joyless cabal of autocrats drunk on power riding roughshod over the people' and 'you couldn't make it up' may or may not feature. We'll see.

Boro fans have been left fuming over the harsh and opaque decision to hand the club just 3,000 tickets for the mouthwatering FA Cup derby clash at the Stadium of Light. And you can see why. The arbitrary decision flies in the face of the competition rules, the long and proud traditions of "the magic of the cup" and of common sense.

JUKEBOX played but Boro hit a bum note. The fat lady was clearing her throat and doing scales long before the new boy - squeezed through a loophole on an emergency loan while Boro finalise the real deal - made his entrance in the second half.

PLANET BORO is buzzing after a fantastic FA Cup draw that can light the blue touch paper on a slow burner of a season.

The fourth round trip to Sunderland has already caught the imagination and fired up the spirits of supporters in the wake of the dream draw.

The mouthwatering trip into hostile territory offers a golden opportunity to galvanise the Teesside public and for the Mogganaut to gain vital momentum on the road to promotion with an inspirational display and a famous victory.

JITTERY defending. Self-inflicted moments of chaos at the back. Being given the run around by the motivated minnows really giving it a crack. Over-elaboration and wayward passing from a disjointed midfield who barely know each other. Poor finshing. Nail-biting nervous red zone rocking. Stoppage time save from a substitute shot-stopper. Ah yes, the magic of the cup.