ARTUR BORUC eat your heart out.

Sep 30 2007 JOHN HILLCOAT

 The Celtic keeper took pelters for his pair of Easter Road howlers but at least he found sanctuary in the dressing-room.

As for my own day of horror, I thought things couldn't get any worse as seething Stenhousemuir manager Campbell Money stormed in to confront us with a face like thunder.

A 4-1 humping by one of my former clubs was made worse by the fact I had sold two goals.

And as Money rightly showed his disgust at a few of us in the changing room for an inept performance, he grabbed a ball sitting on the treatment table then launched it in my direction.

But guess what? I dropped that too!

It summed up my day but I have to admit my impulse to throw myself off the Forth Road Bridge was put on hold for a while after watching big Boruc 24 hours later.

He's a class keeper I have a lot of respect for but was guilty of dropping two clangers against Hibs that were actually worse than the ones I had committed.

The Pole threw the first goal over his shoulder then danced like a big pantomime fairy in front of the Hibees fans after he thought Aiden McGeady's strike had got him out of jail.

But not even David Icke would have predicted that worse was still to come for Boruc as his second gaffe of the game led to his team losing three points and left him feeling the way I did-absolutely sh***.

Every keeper will tell you that being on the receiving end of a hosing is the worst feeling in the world.

But that was magnified by a thousand for me last week as I struggled to get over our gubbing by Stranraer.

I am a great believer in the theory that every goal scored is avoidable and a goalie should always ask himself "How could I have done better?"

After the inevitable period of reflection and soul searching, which can last up to three or four days, the usual conclusion is that the flurry of goals against was down to defensive errors.

And the poor guy who wears the No. 1 on his back is exempt from most of the blame.

That allows us to cope and justifies our decision to play in goal in the first place.

But the gloom and despair brought on by my blunders didn't lift until Friday. In fact, my mood has been lower than a submarine's toilet all week.

Spirits were high going into the game after our 2-1 victory at Dumbarton (another of my many old clubs) the week before which saw 18-year-old Steven Desmond score his first goal for us.

Gaffer Money showed faith in the 11 who had kept our unbeaten away record intact. And we were confident we could quash the myth that Stenhousemuir can only play well on real grass by winning on our artificial Ochilview pitch.

Four minutes into the second half it looked as if that myth would be dead and buried after big centre forward John Dempster scored a penalty to put us one up.

Confidence was high and a clean sheet would see us smash the home hoodoo.

But from that moment on I would have been as well heading to the Glasgow boozer One Up as the goal behind me seemed to swell in size and invite waves of attacks from the visitors.

Sure enough, within 10 seconds of the restart the Blues were all square after Andy Gibson whipped in a good free-kick from the right hand side of the area.

I was like a cat chasing a bubble as I flapped in mid-air and Gibson's shot beat me at the side I was supposed to be covering.

Their second goal was down to bad marking from a corner (honest) but the third was the final nail in my coffin. Although I suppose Frank Haffey would have been proud of me as I charged out of my box for a through ball only to see our defender Willie Lyle nod it over my head to leave Stranraer with a simple tap-in.

Just a typical lack of communication from yours truly I'm afraid.

And my day was summed up after I clattered James McKinstrywith a blatant act of GBH in the box.

McKinstry couldn't believe it as the referee simply waved play on.

I wish to hell he had sent me off after the way I was feeling - at least he'd have spared me further misery.

But the worst was still to come and after dropping my clanger in the dressing-room from Money's missile of a throw, it was off home as I climbed under the bed with a box of cookies to reflect on my display and hope I could stay there forever.

However, Sunday morning brought a new day and a fresh bout of optimism.

And as Boruc proved against Dundee, you can't keep us shot-stoppers down for long.

'Boruc howlers lifted my spirits'