LISTEN. I sympathise with you. I fully accept your need to chuck stuff at me. Let's face it you work your socks off through the week to stump up enough cash to follow your team.

Each week you slag off your useless number eight, bitterly complain about the always-inedible pie, and lose your rag with the men in black, all part of the global conspiracy to deny your team the Championship it surely deserves.

You've just got to vent your spleen -- make your feelings known. What better medium than a missile. I agree.

Fancy some inside info? Forget coins. They're indiscriminate and their small surface area means hitting the target is well-nigh impossible.

Pies are no use. The crust disintegrates en route and the meagre contents will have long since been separated. Plastic bottles don't hurt. No, this is what you must do.

Leave 15 minutes earlier and make a detour to the bank. Withdraw fifty quid in crisp tenners.

Assume your seat in the main stand, take out the bank notes and fold them carefully to resemble little paper darts.

When the dodgy offside or missed penalty inevitably occurs, take aim and fire! If successfully manufactured the weapon will unerringly hit its target.

For our part we will assist the ground staff by collecting them and secreting them amongst our persons.

Look at the positives. No report is filed so your beloved club won't get charged and your season ticket won't be rescinded.

We can laugh all the way to the bank (along with the taxman of course).

Your dog doesn't get kicked on Saturday evening and your other half doesn't feel compelled to upturn your shepherds pie over your head on account of your vile mood.

We all win -- what could be better?