C.Cheshire started in net, with Brazzil, Beer, Strang and Scannal starting together for the first time, given the absence of Woodbridge and Mozza. Slater and Given sat in front, with (Captain) Jack Rowlands, Foley and Wignall behind Peattie.

The backdrop of a no-deal Brexit hung over Bluebirds like the plague, and with tensions running high off the pitch in the Conservative party, they were also running high on the pitch. A late (but great) tackle by Slater angered the child of a captain, who went into a sulk akin to that of a toddler - being shown a yellow card in the process. Beck told the guy what he thought from the touchline, and was told to ‘stop being a twat’ by the Bluebirds right back, a thought Vale’s right back(s) also have from time to time.

Vale applied the early pressure, with Peattie and the effervescent Foley going close from tight angles. Rowlands and Slater were controlling the midfield, spreading the ball like butter on one of Rowlands’ many pieces of toast. Any day of the week you’ll go to 83 Balfour and find Rowlands’ knife hanging out the back of some Lurpak. AFC Bluebirds’ #8 was a strange man, and indeed a ‘little bitch’, going over at both the slightest knock and the hardest challenge with the same whimper. The pale lanky Swede and Jimmy Beer were mopping up the majority of the hopeful long balls pumped forward, even if at times their communication with Mr Cheshire was lost in translation.