Snore: Wolves 0 Stoke City 0

A bout of syphilis, a swig of cyanide and an anal fisting off Vanessa Feltz are up there on the list of experiences that you never want to go through.

But something far more ghastly, far more abhorrent and far more petrifying now tops the lot…Watching Stoke City play football on a regular basis.

Eurghh! Sitting through this suicide inducing 0-0 draw at Molineux was more painful than those three nightmare scenarios put together.

Was this the worst game of the season?

In the biggest non-event since the 1993 Grand National, 28,000 fans were induced into a state of morbid depression as we all sat comatose through a spectacle of pseudo-football.

In a game where density of forehead outweighed deftness of touch; where the strength of two arms meant more than the subtlety of thought; where brawn defied brilliance, Wolves earned another welcome point as Stoke daubed another indelible stain on the ‘Beautiful Game.’

Opta Stats revealed there were 189 long throws by Rory Delap in a game which featured 3 minutes of football on the pitch and the remaining 87 minutes around the perimeter of it.

An average child labour felt like a quicker passage of time than this excruciating sight, which prompted the bloke in front to exclaim: “Has there really only been five minutes played so far? It feels like I’ve been watching a 5-day test match. In Faisalabad.”

That we didn’t concede from one of Delap’s 189 throws was testament to our character and strength, typified by Captain Craddock, who was scarred physically as we were all scarred mentally.

Pulis’ team killed the game as a spectacle within minutes of the start, as they bombarded our penalty area with ridiculous long throw after ridiculous long throw.

Good advert for the ‘world’s greatest league?’ Hell no. It inadvertently acted as a better advert for tiddlywinks, as any other pastime looked a million times more alluring than this.

Marcus Hahnemann and his troops were up to everything Delap threw at them, as chances throughout the game remained at a premium.

Let’s face it. We’re no Mozart of the footballing world ourselves, with our 5 man midfield setting out to contain on our infamously small pitch.

Because of this, Stoke’s unapologetic ‘style’ of play and two teams that leave every ounce of energy on the pitch, it was always a game for the purist.

And even the purist was reaching for the Prozac at half time.

At least Mick went for the 3 points, sending on Iwelumo and Milijas as we reverted to a 4-4-2 system in the second half.

It almost worked too, with the Serb rifling in a late free kick which Sorensen almost spilled into the net.

But as it was, the spoils were shared in one of the most gut-wrenchingly turgid games of football of all time.

It was so numbing that Stoke’s famous Delilah anthem was only sang once, as it their fans’ sense of being was drained away.

Man-of-the-match contenders were Craddock and Berra, while every other player on the pitch deserved credit for rising to a unique – and hopefully one-off – challenge. Even the much maligned Elokobi.

Watching the Molineux masses stream down Waterloo Road at the final whistle was like a scene from Night of the Living Dead, as a sea of vacuous, lifeless faces contemplated what they had just seen.

Mick won’t mind though. Our tenacious side are still well and truly alive in the Premier League and this point may prove to be one of our most important yet.