St Austell 5, Falmouth Town 5

THERE were so many open-mouth moments in this game that most of my pasty ended up on my lap.

I did manage to successfully drink the coffee (which had been kindly strengthened by the lady in the tea hut after I must have subconsciously pulled a face at her first effort), so at least I didn't look like a total slob at the end of 90 minutes.

Games like this do not happen very often. Although neighbouring St Dennis may disagree, as their last four matches have yielded no fewer than 41 goals. An average of MORE than ten goals a match.

God bless poor defending. A spectator's dream, a manager's sweaty nightmare.

Where do I start trying to articulate this match? You needed to be there. You really needed to be there.

There were three penalties, two own goals, a disallowed goal, several yellow cards and the only thing we were missing was a partridge in a pear tree. Next month, maybe.

We also had not one, but two never-say-die fightbacks from Falmouth, rounded off by an equaliser with the very last kick of the match.

Even the referee was limping by the end, probably from the weight of all the ink in his notepad.

I missed the start (not through tardiness, but because I had to finish off next day's newspaper), so therefore I missed a goal.

Unlike Cornish buses, I didn't have to wait long for another.

Liam Eddy's slalom run proved too much for defender James Ward, who bumbled the striker's cross into his own net.

Ryan Barnes then produced a save of the season contender, clawing out a close range effort with his right hand, only for the rebound to end up being fired past him. 3-0.

Within 30 seconds it was 3-1. Jordan Annear went off-piste with a solo run from the kick-off, St Austell's defenders must have thought he was Moses as they parted more readily than the Red Sea, leaving Marcello Jones to finish the sort of goal you'd expect to see in a primary school playground.

Annear then scored - nothing new there - before Town remarkably had the chance to score an equaliser before half time when he was hacked up in the air in the penalty area.

He stepped up to convert the spot kick, only for Jason Chapman to spoil the script with a splendid save.

Town boss Andrew Westgarth and his assistants Charlie Davis and James Miller must have wondered what on earth to say to their team at half time.

"Defend better, keep believing." That would have been my in-depth offering.

The bonkers, circus act of a match continued to wow in the second half.

James Ward made it 3-3 within minutes of the restart, but that was soon forgotten when Eddy cleverly fell over Ryan Barnes' dive to win another penalty. 4-3. Then 5-3.

At which point, the match had a brief lull, like a tide on the turn. Players and managers stopped shouting for a few minutes. Spectators checked their phones. Children began to yawn as 9pm came and went. School tomorrow. They'll have to spend every minute of double science telling their mates what they'd watched.

Another own goal calamity gave Town cause to think they could get something from the game, before the next piece of action summed up the entire evening's craziness.

The ball came out to Jack Webber and with Chapman out of his goal, he wasted no time in shooting back into the empty net. There were several bodies on the scene and one of those, Jones, was deemed to have interfered with play and it was duly chalked off for offside after consultation with the linesman.

Jones collapsed in a frustrated heap, Town's management protested and waved their arms in confusion, while play carried on with spectators trying to explain to each other what on earth had just happened.

But the great thing about games like this is that there are so many incidents. Everyone has moved on to the next cliffhanger before long.

And right on cue, there was one more gasp-worthy moment. With his back to goal, Jones was inexplicably hacked down in the area by a St Austell defender, surely tired of mind, as well as body.

Penalty. Jones smashed it home and the referee immediately called time on a truly remarkable match.

I even got home in time to find Jose Mourinho mocking the "specialists" for criticising his team's style of play. Lord only knows what he would have made of proceedings at Poltair Park.