IN football, as in life in general, there exists certain immutable truths.

Certain facts which it seems have been pre-determined and can never be challenged or changed.

Facts such as whatever division the hilarious Manchester City find themselves rattling about it, they will always claim to be "too big" for it.

Facts such as trying to get a Blackburn Rovers fan to name a pre-Jack Walker starting eleven will prove utterly futile.

And facts such as the disappointedly predictable one which reared its ugly head down at Molyneux on Sunday afternoon.

The one which says that Burnley never beat Wolverhampton Wanderers. In fact you can actually go further than that, and say that the Clarets almost never score against Wolves.

I've been watching Burnley for over a quarter of a century and the only time I can remember us breaching the Wanderers rearguard is last season when Graham Branch managed it (it scarcely needs me to point out that we went on to lose that game).

So, if truth be told the Clarets may as well not have turned up on Sunday then again judging by the first half display that is exactly what happened anyway.

Another team whose name can be preceded by the phrase "we never beat" is Gillingham. Which is a tremendous shame as that's exactly who Burnley play this evening.

Traditionally, a trip to Priestfield is approximately as much fun as being stuck in a lift with a Blackburn fan.

For starters, there's the travel involved, which in terms of distance and sheer mind numbing tedium is rivalled only by Norwich and Portsmouth.

This is not to mention the inconvenience of having to use up two precious days' leave to go to the game.

It's not even as if you get a blinding game of football when you get down there.

It is not for no reason that Gillingham have earned the reputation for being past-masters at spoiling games.

They usually do this by employing what looks to be a 16-man midfield, marshalled by a 96-year-old Andy Hessenthaler.

Following the inevitable 0-0 bore draw, the travelling faithful can then look forward to the journey back -- a journey which makes Hannibal's epic trek across the Alps look like a jolly jaunt by way of comparison.

Depressing? It's nearly as bad as dropping two points at home to Leicester.