His name is Tiddles and he wants an apology

Thousands of fans in the North-East, Midlands and Merseyside were forced to use up their pent-up bragging rights last night on lame animals and fast-food following anti-climatic Derby day draws across the land.

The much anticipated trio of fiery local encounters all ended with honours even and, with nobody losing face, it was hoped that hostilities would temporarily cease and harmony and good-natured friendly pint-supping break out in Merseyside pubs, North-East social clubs, and Midlands’ bus shelters.

However, the intense build-up to such games often results in, what renowned psychologist Mark Eddings calls, ‘nar-nar syndrome’ to erupt from supporters who feel a physical need to crow.

He explained his silly, and expensively-researched, theory to The Cutter. ‘Nar-nar syndrome is a primal involuntary need to rub another’s face in it following a victory. This urge is especially pertinent towards friends, neighbours, or work colleagues who a person may feel particularly competitive towards. What is intriguing – and what our studies show – is that it is not exclusively a requirement to be the gloater. It is also satisfying in such situations to be the ‘gloatee’. So three traditionally passionate rivalries all ending in a stalemate would mean there was an awful lot of individuals in the UK last evening with a surplus of nar-nar in their systems having been denied an opportunity to exhibit it. And it must be released somehow’.

Sunderland fan Martin Cobb was one such individual. He phoned The Cutter to admit to a shocking act of one-upmanship.

‘I was walking out of the ground, heading back to my car, with an awful feeling of, what I can only describe as, mild contentment. Our late equaliser was amazing like but a draw didn’t avenge for our drubbing over at their place last October. So, after all the hype, everything was just a little bit…meh.’

Cobb’s weird Wearside accent lowered as he recounted his shameful deed.

‘So I passed this cat like. The poor lad only had three legs and was struggling to balance on a wall. And – I don’t know what came over me – but I jumped up and clicked my heels and did a little dance. Started to sing ‘Where’s your leg gone? Where’s your leg gone? Far far away!!’ I then wandered off singing Niall Quinn’s Disco Pants feeling a whole lot better with myself’

Sadly his story was not unique. A Merseysider who called himself ‘Derek’ but did not divulge his allegiance (although that isn’t important as they are both as bad as each other) also phoned our hotline with a similar sorry tale.

‘I returned home after a few bevvies post-game and got stuck into a twelve inch Dominos meat-feast pizza. Just as I was about to take my first bite I suddenly lowered the slice and looked at it. ‘You’re just a pizza’ I said to it. ‘I’m a man’. I then started to do man-things in front of it, like singing at the top of my lungs to Half Man Half Biscuit, doing a bit of DIY, and juggling with the salt and pepper shakers. And during each act I kept on saying ‘Can you do this? Well, can you?’ Gloating at a pizza. If only Torres wasn’t so shit these days I could have kept some dignity.’

At the time of going to press it is not known whether Derek reheated his food.