FF wishes Darryl Broadfoot well in his retirement.
From a time when the Glasgow Herald was a six-figure circulation newspaper, respected throughout Scotland and beyond, to the present day, when everyone within the group has to file copy for multiple titles, to keep costs to a minimum.
Darryl could have been a top sportswriter. He may have lacked the talent to make it south of the border, but the top football job at the Herald offered an opportunity he never quite grasped. Lost amid the love for his own prose - like a young man given the keys to a factory where every chocolate looked like Darryl - he floundered; his willingness to toe the line, and failure to distance himself from the harmful aspects of the Spiers years, meant his column and match reports were as idiosyncratic and - ultimately - worthless as his predecessor.
They still hate you, Darryl. And they always will, regardless of how far over you bend, or how much you affect to recognise their concerns. Now, aged only 30, your career and dreams lie in the dustbin.
Thank you, Darryl. And goodbye.