The Lotw Diary Monday

At noon on Saturday we were stuck on the M80 just at Denny. Had moved 2 miles in an hour and serious consideration was being given to turning back at the 1st opportunity. The growls on the bus were made worse by a wee look across the carriage way and the “tarmen” bedecked in orange and blue were as busy enjoying the sun rather than working.

Half time was the rosiest time of arrival at the point of getting to the soothside, as the thought of going over Prospecthill Road and through Rutherglen did not fill us wie hope and joy. But oor bus driver in his rather fetching racing red shirt and porno tash done a grand joab and we were parked up on the ash park just as the teams ran oot.

After 90 mins I really wished he hudnae bothered.

Oor walk to Hampden was untempered by the lack of crowds. In fact the old stadium looks quite impressive in the sun an illusion that soon disappears on entry. Will only take tickets for the main stand and the North Stand, if I have the choice, as the view from behind the goals is terrible. Those attending the UEFA cup final while being impressed by the look of the stadium will be disappointed by the view from their seats.

Still row LL was found and I was seated and comfy by the time big JVOH sold their goalie a dozzie right level wie me and was brought doon for a stonewall penalty. Canny believe the ho-ha that has been created over it. It was a stone waller and the inept ref, again, had no option bar to give it. Us on easy street? Nae chance.

We let them back into the proceedings and their merry band of colourful fans decided to gie us their full repartee of 1st division provisional club songs. We decided to gie them a goal to celebrate in return. The mood changed in the hoops support and the in fighting, bitching and abuse started. Looking over at the merry band of Saintees I wished we were more like them, not spoiled by success but more importantly proud of their teams efforts and enjoying their day in the sun.

As Celtic struggling to get to gripes wie the basics of fitbaw, ye pass and move, ye use space and stretch inferior opponents the fans decided it was a guid time to turn on each other. I was in the middle and behind me was a happy clapper see no evil brigade and in front this is shite brigade. The verbal sparring was entertaining but left a bad taste in ma mouth.

Whoever shouted loudest won the arguments and decent points by both sides were missed. In the end the sparring got personnel as usually happens in these things. What put the tin lid on it was that sub. As the boos reached a crescendo then continued when Miller came on I thought one of the happy clapper brigade was going take a coronary. How he could defend a substitution, which reeked of a manager trying to prove a point, of a manager being stubborn and a decision that weakened the team is beyond me.

Again the saintees sang and danced they smelled an equaliser and I was trying to work oot how to sell another £40 quid fork oot to ma wife for the replay. Started thinking that I could pit up wie Ian McCall for 90 mins sitting on ma couch. But at the end of the day I will be looking oot ma cup final shorts and shirts while the saintees will be attending a gala or a tractor show.

It was their day at the final whistle their players went over to them. All had stayed. The Celtic end had emptied and the players who bovvered to applaud us that stayed were few and far between. Those it did applaud us were meet wie in difference and no reaction. Maybe those that disappeared up the tunnel got it right. Maybe they were embarrassed. But does the modern day player get embarrassed picking up obscene amounts of money and producing the form they have in recent weeks?

Probably not.

While the saints fans will remember their day, when in typical Scottish fashion they celebrated a gallant defeat we done the typical Celtic thing and moaned aboot a victory. Another semi final that won’t be remembered fondly.

Forza The Hoops