Chris Lloyd recalls the most theatrical football performance he has ever seen in which the star of the show was a Colombian called Tino - the man who could become a Darlington player this week.

A BLEAK Saturday afternoon in March 1997. After three defeats, Newcastle's season appeared to be heading nowhere.

Their best strikers, Alan Shearer and Les Ferdinand, were missing, victims of injuries; their messianic manager, Kevin Keegan, was gone, victim of the City.

In Keegan's place was Kenny Dalglish, trying to turn Newcastle from a thrilling team that was too eccentric to win anything into a functional side that churned out victories and championships.

Their opponents that day were Coventry City who, as ever, were grimly scrapping in the relegation dogfight.

But such pre-match analysis overlooked the name of Faustino Asprilla on the teamsheet. He encapsulated all that had been wrong with Keegan's side: brilliant but only in patches; enormous potential to excite but ultimately frustrating.

Yet it turned out to be his day. His name doesn't appear on the scoresheet and he didn't even manage to last the full 90 minutes. But that afternoon he turned in a performance of rare genius.

With moments of outrageous brilliance he created two goals in the first half. Off balance, he somehow managed to flick the ball through his own legs and beyond a crowd of defenders to give Steve Watson a simple chance to score the first.

For the second, he rushed from the halfway line, bamboozled a Coventry player by waving his unfeasibly rubbery legs at him, and used a sixth sense not possessed by mere mortals to pinpoint Robert Lee with a lofted pass.

He came out for the second half knowing his job was done and intending to do as little as possible. His long legs lopped around the centre circle, their spindly length exaggerated because he was too indolent to bend down and pull his socks up. Similarly, his head lolled onto his chest because his neck muscles were too lazy to hold it up.

But then Coventry did something really stupid. One of their players, Kevin Richardson, grabbed Tino's shirt and gave him a good shake.

So incensed was he at being awoken from his slumbers that he slung a retaliatory forearm in the general direction of Richardson. Like too much of his shooting when in front of goal, he missed.

This unsavoury incident which is typical of his character - when Newcastle signed him two years ago he was in his native Colombia serving a suspended jail sentence for firearms offences - did at least inspire him. Three minutes later he dashed, from out of nowhere, onto a long pass.

He baited the last defender, Brian Borrows, dragged the ball passed him and then tumbled over his leg. It wasn't a foul, but with St James' baying, Borrows was left to reflect on the error of his ways in an early bath.

Tino picked himself up off the grass, re-arranged his legs - they've been described as "a bag of snakes" although in Colombia he's known as El Pulpo, the Octopus - and curled a breathtaking free kick around the wall and slap onto the post. The game was now 70 minutes old and normally this would have been enough. But Tino had just enough energy left for one last effort.

He was back slouching around the centre circle successfully avoiding anything strenuous when a long hoof from Philippe Albert caught his eye. He lifted his head off his shirt, pulled his knees up to his chest and shot after the ball - his other nickname is The Black Arrow.

When he reached the penalty area he was too tired to bother with shooting.

While waiting for Dion Dublin to catch him up he hatched a cunning ploy which the gangly Coventry player fell for.

Dublin slid out a long leg at the ball and Tino timed his tumble over it perfectly. Penalty, screamed the crowd; penalty, agreed the referee.

Asprilla writhed around on the floor in agony before eventually rolling himself off the pitch to behind the goal. There, with heroic effort, he hoisted his elbow so it would support his head and, semi-recumbent, he watched as Peter Beardsley took his penalty.

When the ball hit the back of the net, Tino's elbow gave way and he collapsed.

He lay motionless for five whole minutes before a team of medics arrived and rolled him onto a stretcher.

They then carried him around the ground, parading him before his fans who chanted his name. "Tin-o! Tin-o! Tin-o!"

Slowly, he raised himself a little and waved a weak hand. Huge cheers erupted.

On the pitch behind him, the players played out the final ten minutes.

When the stretcher-bearers reached the manager's dug-out with their precious cargo, Tino miraculously jumped off his sickbed and pulled on a warm tracksuit.

"He's different from anything I've ever seen before," Dalglish admitted.

Darlington fans can have no idea of what treats lie in store for them.