I was flying to Majorca, left house around 3 and when my mother dropped me, then wife and wee man off it was 1-nil in both games. Checked in, through security and the wee man (who was 2 then and now a near 16 year old ST holder) went to the soft play at the departure corridor. I assumed it was over and kept my head down. I then noticed some green and grey sitting with a radio and heads in hands, they looked haunted.
I wandered over and asked the score, one each at Fir Park, then bedlam, these clowns thought they had scored and it was Motherwell had got the 2nd. I took my self off to the bog and had a wee moment in cubicle (no I never had gear), pulled myself together and went back to family. Wife knew by then and sent wee man running in to my arms shouting as much as a 2 year old could "Champions" I howled, proper howled.
That wee boy fell out of love with football between 8 and maybe 12, now he plays and as I said has his own ST next to his auld dad, when 55 arrives he will be held tighter than he ever has been and that moment may well be the best we share as a dad and son.
Greeting again.