Some people seem to think these things even themselves up - we're not those people.  

We may not have ended the season clutching a misshapen but oh-so desirable pot, while Fergie fumed and Wenger wailed, but we're eminently capable of screwing things up without exterior interference, thank you Mr Barry.

The letter of the law-man was widely criticised back in February when his scrupulous adherence to the rule book saw Robert dismissed and Arsenal let off the hook in front of a seething St.James' crowd.

This time however, it was all laissez faire liberalism and play on until the death, apparently. 

Never mind that a man on a yellow card had just chopped down an opponent and left him face down in the turf. 

Never mind that the same Everton player was trying to attract the referee's attention, so concerned for his victim that he didn't join his side as they attacked.

What was patently obvious to everyone in the stadium, apart from Barry, was that the game needed to be stopped. Bernard was down in a heap, the victim of an unfair challenge. He required treatment and Gravesen required dismissal - no question.

Mr Barry though, in his infinite wisdom, assessed events from the other end of the field with two glances back to the crime scene. Both would have revealed a prone player in a striped shirt and a man standing over him in a blue shirt, gesticulating.

This superhuman being from Lincolnshire though was able to use his paranormal powers and see that, although face down in the merseyside muck, Bernard had in fact not banged his head, knocked himself out, had a fit or swallowed his tongue. 

With miraculous vision like that, Mr Barry is wasted in the Premiership - he should surely be diagnosing sick people in the third world.

And what part did the linesmen on either side of the field play?

One with a good view of proceedings and the other within earshot of David Moyes, Sir Bobby and the rest of the benches. And a fourth official even closer to that area. 

Rooney and his pals may not have heard the beseechings of Gravesen, Moyes or anyone else, but the fourth official must have done, even if the linesman on that side was deaf.

All it took was a raised flag. 

Then whenever Barry snapped back into the real world, a simple look at either flank would see the age-old signal that there was trouble somewhere hereabouts.

Stop the play, talk to his colleague, take the appropriate action - send the kid off if the foul was spotted, or if not he gets away with it. But acknowledge that something has gone on and a player is down hurt.  

In the event Barry stood in position having given the penalty, never bothering to consult with the non-flag waving linesman, the mute fourth official (more concerned with the heinous crime of trespass outside a technical area) or even check on the condition of Bernard.

These events leave such a sour taste in the mouth that it's hard to rationally discuss the rest of the afternoon. In a nutshell though:

We seemed in a funny mood collectively; all unrealised potential and assurance bordering on the smug. Bellamy had only had the big key in his back turned halfway round and wasn't functioning on full power - well, his gob was unfortunately. 

Both Jenas and Dyer seemed to react to the absence of Speed by indulging in flicks, shimmies and general over-complication when in possession. Shearer struggled against superior numbers throughout and the post-match furrowed brow evident in the TV interview wasn't wholly due to the Gravesen incident.

Robert gave a classic exposition of why he's adored and abhorred by toon fans - a goal of stunning power and precision, some exhilarating ball skills and responsible team play as he seemed to be popping up all over the park, just at the right time.

Then in the closing stages, when we desperately needed someone to get out wide and supply some ammo into the box, taking up a central midfield that stifled our creativity and confused his colleagues.

It's easy to point the finger at Newcastle and say that they suffered from an excess of self-pity after the penalty incident and our shape certainly went all to pot in the aftermath. 

However as a fan I felt exactly the bloody same - peed off in the extreme and wondering why this always seems to happen to us.

The lads so nearly pulled off a leveller in the dying stages (Jenas and Bramble) but ultimately left the field with heads bowed - knowing they'd come off second best in a tight, pulsating game but not able to easy explain why. Likewise, lads.

On to Man United then and a perfect opportunity to right those wrongs - as tabloid speak would have you believe. But while three points against them would be lustily celebrated, the events of Goodison can never be avenged and must go down in the book of injustices. 

Realistically our chance has gone and like the Barcelona game we're dependent upon the successes and failures of others. The danger now is that we end up repeating the failure of Barca, and not keeping our side of the equation. We simply must stay in the Champions league places and get in that competition again next season - too much prestige, too much cash at stake to falter now. Two words - Leeds United.