JERRY SEINFELD once left NBC executives bemused when he pitched the idea for his new sitcom.

"It's a show about nothing," he declared. "Nothing happens."

Now, this wasn't strictly true. Although it lacked a grand overarching narrative or pretty much any character development whatsoever, the Seinfeld sitcom was very much about something: the minutiae of day-to-day life. It did not deal with love, loss and despair, but napkins, airplane food and soup sellers.

And so while there were no goals at Firhill on Saturday, no red cards, penalties or even a questionable refereeing decision to get worked up about, this was not a game about nothing. This was 90 rainswept, frozen minutes chock full with meaty examples of football's little things: the crunching tackles, the missed chances, the overhit crosses and quirky incidents. The latter arrived when an assistant referee was smacked in the face by a Frazer Wright clearance from five paces. It drew the biggest cheer of the day.

There was no excitement, but there was joy to be found in the detail. A tackle by Jordan McMillan was the perfect example of its type. Sliding in on Michael O'Halloran just outside the box, he swept the ball clear and nipped up to run off with it.

A player made a debut - Frederic Frans was assured and composed on the ball in the Thistle defence, although there was not much for him to deal with. "It's much the same pace as in Belgium," he said afterwards, happy with a first taste of Scotland.

St Johnstone's Brian Graham was in the role of villain. A couple of dodgy-looking tumbles in the box - see picture - did not endear him to the home fans and when he chased shadows as the Thistle defence passed around him, the crowd giggled at each evasion. The laughter was not canned. Frustrated, he lashed out at Stuart Bannigan and was booked.

When he booted the ball away later on, he might have been lucky to stay on the pitch. His worst crime, though, was a missed free header that went hopelessly wide from a corner.

Thistle's best outlet was Stephen O'Donnell at right-back. When running with the ball, he is a sight to behold, driving through swipes and attempted tackles like a runaway mine cart narrowly missing swinging metal buckets and jutting rock.

Thistle have taken to using him as the second man left upfield at a corner: give him the ball and point towards goal. From defence to attack in a mighty instant as the crowd roars in approval. He won a couple of free-kicks in dangerous areas as he was scythed down. They came to nothing.

The best chance fell to the visitors' Lee Croft. "We should be looking to take chances like that," admitted Dave Mackay. He was slipped through by Graham but shot straight at Scott Fox, who had sprung out quickly.

St Johnstone had the better chances, but Thistle's were more numerous. Each of their forwards took turns at having a shot at goal, but none could break through. Steven Lawless was particularly dangerous but never could secure quite enough space for a clear shot. Abdul Osman and Bannigan controlled the midfield, with the latter particularly effective at keeping the play ticking over. But they did not score.

For the neutral, there was also sadness in the performance of a fading star. There were, admittedly, some signs of that old James McFadden magic. The mischievous glint, the odd perfectly weighted through ball. But nothing came of it. He was a little off the pace, out of touch with those who moved too quickly around him.

With his black boots - a rarity now, even in lower divisions - it was as if he had stepped on to the pitch from a simpler time, when football was easy and there was a hint of garlic in the autumn air. Clever, but not effective, he was the best player of a different day, the man of another match.

McFadden trudged off after an hour. He who scored in Valencia, Paris, Liverpool and London could not even threaten in Maryhill. But then, nobody else really did either.

You might say that we witnessed a match of almosts, of near-excitement, miskicks and missed chances. A glorious concoction of all there might be to love about the beautiful game but is never really celebrated.

Or perhaps it was just a little dull.