No little birds on Hibs' doorstep . . .

GOODNESS knows who spins the discs behind the scenes at Tynecastle these days, but the individual in question caught the mood perfectly yesterday afternoon.

As the last of the Hearts fans filed out of the ground, Bob Marley's Three Little Birds poured from the stadium loudspeakers with its upbeat refrain: "Don't worry about a thing / Cause every little thing gonna be alright."

A case of premature optimism? When your match programme includes a message from the administrators and the result of beating your oldest and deadliest rivals is only that your points total moves from -15 to -12 then you should probably resist the temptation to break open the Krug. All things considered, the Hibs supporters had many more reasons than their Hearts counterparts for hitting the bottle last night.

The Hibs lot had flooded across the city expecting great things against the cash-strapped, crisis-stricken denizens of Gorgie. 'Tesco Tynecastle Opening Soon' was the taunt on one of the banners unfurled in the Roseburn Stand. At the finish, though, they probably had a deeper appreciation of impoverishment than their penurious hosts.

This was Hibs' fourth competitive game of the season and their fourth straight defeat. In 450 minutes of football they have conceded 11 goals without scoring one of their own. To describe their tactics as agricultural would be to invite a letter of complaint from the NFU.

When Leigh Griffiths was around last season, the Hibs faithful could usually feel confident that they were going to see at least one little bit of magic. These days, they'd be better leafing through the pages of the Fringe programme to find that quality; the Easter Road side can still boast some decent players here and there, but have the combined threat of the cast of Balamory.

New striker Rowan Vine has a name that makes him sound vaguely herbaceous. Sadly, he appears to have the finishing skills of a deep-rooted shrub as well. Hibs had precious few chances in this game, and it only compounded their misery that most of them fell to Vine.

It doesn't help that Vine sports one of those lost-a-bet beards that have become strangely fashionable lately. The luxuriant growth round his chin is in stark contrast to the closely-cropped style on the top of his head, the backwoodsman look that could be accesorized only by the addition of a banjo. Just don't ask him to hit a cow's backside with it.

Wander the streets of Edinburgh at this time of year and you'll find any number of performers hamming things up for the crowd by clowning around before delivering a finale of jaw-dropping artistry. For a while, there was a suspicion that Hibs had adopted the same policy, but they just kept clowning to the end.

Hearts weren't exactly pirouetting on their points either. As this match entered its final quarter, you would have been forgiven for thinking that the capital would have a fully functioning tram system before either of its teams dished up some half-decent football. But at least Hearts, and their administrators, had a sound excuse for their shortcomings. All Hibs have had are the excuses sounded by Pat Fenlon.

Given that many in the Hearts team are at an age where shaving products have yet to appear on their bathroom shelves, Hibs should have cruised to victory on the strength of experience alone. Yet who could begrudge Callum Paterson the winning goal he headed home in the 72nd minute? It was a smart finish to a slick build-up, a brace of adjectives which were never going to figure in accounts of Hibs' contributions.

They should have seen it coming. The Hibs fans had sung about knowing their history, so the news that Paterson had been having one-to-one coaching sessions with John Robertson must have filled them with foreboding. Robertson, the so-called Hammer of the Hibs, scored 27 derby goals for Hearts in his time. It was never going to be alright at all.

Taken from the Herald