It was 20 years ago today.....

[Seven Tattoos]

The beginning line to Sgt Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Perhaps Albert Kidd, The Proclaimers, Fish and Shirley Manson can get together and record a Hibbie version of that called 'Albert Kidd's Phuck The Hearts Club Band'. They'd probably need Gary McCormack fi The Exploited on bass for that (nae Wattie Buchan tho - he's a hertzkant!).

Who would have thought that Saturday morning that the afternoon's events would bring such joy and misery, in probably equal measures, to the Hibs and hertz supports, respectively? What was going through Sir Albert's mind when he woke up that morning? How did Dundee supporters view their game? Remember the Dark Blues still had a chance of the last UEFA place, they were level on goals with the Jaffas, but with an inferior goal difference.

I can't tell you that. I can only tell you my recollections of the day.
Even one or two kids at Strathaven Academy, a hotbed of traditional west coast huns and glory-hunting sheep-shaggers at the time, had started to follow hertz.

My brother and I were out playing football in the back garden and, as often happened, we had an argument over what constituted a goal during a game of three and in, which degenerated into a fight. Dad, in his regular role as referee intervened and ma wee bro stormed off in the huff, and despite my old man's best efforts he sulked and didn't come through to the football.

The car journey through from Strathaven was spent listening to Radio Scotland's Sportsound programme, a bit of a tradition for us out of town Hibbies. The crew were all at Dens Park and they waxed lyrical about these maroon legions here to claim their destiny. I can recall, not long into the journey, the Gorgie Goebbels had come out on to the pitch and was being interviewed and his self-important spouting of propagandist p!sh was virtually drowned out by a huge chorus of 'There's Only One Wallace Mercer'. I felt physically ill at that point.

Dad and I then discussed the chances of hertz blowing it. It was, of course, possible. It just wasn't likely. They hadn't lost a game since 28/09/85. 27 bloody games ago. Neither of us doubted that Celtic would rain goals at Love Street. I'm sure we speculated on the likelihood of Frank McGarvey (you're a w@nker, you're a w@nker) missing any sitters that might come his way.

We parked on Dalmeny Street as usual and yet unusually we'd driven through from the west, to see the Hibs, and not once had we spoken of the Hibs game. It did not merit a mention.

After the short walk up St Clair Street a bloke with an old Hibs bar scarf standing outside the empty turnstiles handed me a leaflet promoting a future James Connolly march. My father dispensed with that. Hibs were from Leith, religion did not concern us.

The attendance was poor. The official crowd was a suspiciously rounded 3,000. Most of those there were Hibbies though. I doubt there were more than 200 United.

The atmosphere on the other hand was at fever pitch. Yet none of it was focussed on the 22 bodies in green or tangerine booting a pig's bladder up and down the hallowed turf in front of us!

Every second supporter on the East Terracing seemed to have that essential fan's accessory from the 80s (now rendered obsolete by mobile phones that tell you reserve scores from the German third division), the tranny (no, not Pete 'Camel's Hoof' Burns!).

Celtic had scored early and the atmosphere was surreal, people were chanting, alternately it seemed, 'Celtic' and 'Dundee'. A Mark Fulton og in front of the closed Cow Shed gave the Arabs something to cheer about. Me and Dad just shook our heads, how he managed to, from standing on the goal-line hammer the ball into the roof of our net and instead of away to safety is beyond me. But there were more pressing concerns that day.

Half-time came and Celtic were four up. All that we needed was a goal for Dundee. The deadlock had yet to be broken at Dens, but I'm sure that my Dad told me that with Celtic now having a marginally superior goal difference just one goal for the Dens men would be enough.

Into the second half and Hibs got a fairly soft (I thought) penalty. Stevie 'One Season Wonder' Cowan stepped up to take it and I ran down to the front with my green and white check banner, featuring the Edinburgh coat of arms, recently purchased at Dens Park (of all places!) prior to the Scottish Cup semi against Aberdeen. 1-1! I still wanted Hibs to win (we, as a family, were moving to Wales in the summer and so I wanted my last Hibs game for a while to be a victory).

By now, Celtic were five up, the game at Dens was still goal-less and our match was, seemingly, petering out for a non-descript draw. The bositerous chants of the first-half had subsided, but strangely for an end of season game, virtually nobody seemed to leave early. It was as if some unspoken Law Of The Hibernians (that we loyal chosen few will share our misery together) was being observed.

But then it happened. A nanosecond suspended in time. A collective leap of ecstacy that I had to blink to check was happening. The old enclosure under the North Stand, directly below an old 'Pink News' (red on yellow) sign with 'CCS' spraypainted in green erupted! They were going berserk! It was as if laughing gas had just been administered!

I looked at my Dad, he looked at me, massive hug! Bouncing down the terracing, grabbing arms of fellow Hibbies and total strangers! As if one, the East Terracing in unison cried:
WE'RE GONNAE WIN PHUCK ALL!
WE'RE GONNAE WIN PHUCK ALL!
AND NOW YOU'RE GONNAE BELIEVE US!
AND NOW YOU'RE GONNAE BELIEVE US!
AND NOW YOU'RE GONNAE BELIEVE US!
WE'RE GONNAE WIN PHUCK ALL!

Mickey Weir, in front of us, was about to take a shy. Mickey, good Hibbie that he is, realised there were more important things than an end of season match. His attention was on us, he wanted to confirm that hertz were losing. Consequently, Mickey Weir, made a kant of the shy. Dundee Utd raced up the park and Stuart Beedie (who signed for us that summer) slipped the ball under Roughie. The Arabs cheered.

So did we! For simultaneously the news travelled through that Dundee had scored again! For the first and only time as a Hibbie I cheered a goal at the exact same time that we concede one! There were extenuating circumstances and I was not alone.

That was it! Unbelievably, their dream was over. The full repertoire of anti-hertz songs poured from the sky. 'Shite, shite, glorious shite' got some of the most joyous renditions I've ever heard!

I still didn't know who'd scored. Neither, seemingly, did anyone where we were standing (about level with the semi circle going down the slope, halfway up the terracing). My Dad, a born and bred Leither who hadn't lived there since 1969, was being hugged by old acquaintances he'd not seen for years: 'Ian, good to see ye, I feel quite sorry for them, ha ha, do ah phuck!'

As we left the ground, and everyone lingered for a while just to savour the joyous, almost certainly unique atmosphere, a young Hibbie's word still ring in my ears: 'I hope Graham Harvey scored the goals, cos he used to play for Hibs'.

It was, of course, SIR ALBERT OF KIDD!

[Smurf]

You've some memory mate.
To view links or images in this forum your post count must be 5 or greater. You currently have 0 posts.

[Postiga]

Top post mate.

And ofcourse a happy aniversary of Albert Kidd to you all.