The tears of a Hearts fan

I was 12 years old. Never missed a single match in the entire season. The week leading up to the last game of the season seemed the longest week of all time. It was like Christmas eve on the Friday, the inability to sleep that night. The hopes and the fears swirling around my mind made the night rather unbearable. We only needed a point. Surely this is easily attainable. Then i remembered the match a week or so previous. We won 1-0 but only just, the atmosphere in the massive crowd that day was one of huge tension until Gary Mackay scored that decisive goal.

The morning came eventually. My usual Saturday routine was interrupted this particular day due to the butterflies in my stomach. Eat? no danger! the way I felt, if I ate, I would bring it up! 3 hours until me and my cousin, who was doing the driving, were to set off never seemed to end.

Eventually we arrived at Dens. There were Hearts fans everywhere. Everyone was in high spirits. This was going to be the day of all days. Into the stadium, the singing from the Hearts end was loud and proud. It made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. Out comes the players to a rapturous applause from the visiting hordes. The first half got under way. If the fans were nervous, I couldn't imagine what it was like for the players. As time went on, 0-0 seemed ok, but the Hearts players grew more and more nervous, at times it looked like some of them were trying to play football with a hedgehog down their shorts!

Half time. 0-0. There was an unearthly silence as the announcer read out the half time scores. Everyone in the Maroon end were hoping St Mirren would be beating Celtic. No chance! Celtic were already 4-0 up. This obviously had filtered through to the Hearts players. The second half started with the players in disarray.

Cue Albert Kidd.

If there is any opposition player a Hearts fan will never forget, it is Albert Kidd. What he did to us beggars belief. The **** scored. sending shockwaves through the Hearts Faithful. When the second goal hit the back of the net, I knew that was it. Disaster. I felt myself welling up. So much work, so much toil, so much emotion, an entire season rested on this one and a half hours work from 11 players. Everywhere I looked there were men, woman and children in shock, tears streaming down everyone's faces. It was too much to take. Then the final whistle came. It felt like the final whistle on life. The delight on the dundee fans faces made the situation 10 times worse. The announcer didn't need to tell us the final score at Parkhead. We already knew that the entire season had been stolen from right under our noses, but the very words that we heard felt like we were being sent to prison. The smugness of the man when he announced Celtic FIVE!!!! (shouted it) St Mirren 1. A huge roar came up from the Dundee fans. They were reveling on our misery. The talk of conspiracy was rife right after the game. Nonsense. Hearts crapped themselves on the big occasion. My cousin and I stayed in the ground for a while, hoping something was going to happen, a replay perhaps! All my dreams and hopes were blown up in one 45 minute spell.

The drive home was long and heartbreaking. The radio had to be turned off, or else it would have had to pick a window! The west coast Station were live from Parkhead. You wouldn't think that there was a game on in Dundee the way they were talking. The following day the papers were full of pictures of heartbroken Hearts fans. And one picture in particular. John Robertson lying face down on the turf just after the final whistle. That image will live with me forever.

Never mind! there was a cup final to look forward to next week! But that is a different story....