Love Hurts

Apparently today is Valentine’s Day. I’ve been married for nearly twenty-seven years now (yes, more than three life sentences) so romantic gestures are simply no longer on my agenda. Although unlike blogger extraordinaire Adullamite I've not buried the bitch in the back garden...

How many Hearts fans will forgo their normal post-match pint after today's game at Tynecastle to take their beloved out for a meal? Certainly not I. Given who Hearts opponents are this afternoon there is every chance the woman who stood at the altar with a shotgun pressed against my back more than a quarter of a century ago will hark back to a certain Scottish Cup Final in 1986...

Season 1985-86 was a memorable one for all Hearts supporters, even given its traumatic finale. Unbeaten in league and cup since October, Hearts were just eight minutes away from winning the league championship. They needed just a single point from their final league game at Dundee on May 3rd to become champions of Scotland for the first time in over a quarter of a century. Sadly, Hearts lost two late goals which meant Celtic - 5-0 victors over St. Mirren the same day - snatched the title on goal difference. Whilst the infamous Albert Kidd was destroying thousands of Jambo dreams on Tayside, sixty miles north - we were living in Aberdeen at the time - my wife was experiencing trauma of a different kind. She was heavily pregnant with our first child and was due to give birth the following Saturday - the date of the Scottish Cup Final. Between Hearts and Aberdeen…

In the depths of despair I arrived home from my traumatic experience in Dundee to find Mrs Smith in a state of discomfort. Now, being the loving, caring, compassionate guy I am I would normally have rushed Mrs Smith down the road to Aberdeen Maternity Hospital. But when she said ‘it’s okay, I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about’ that was enough for me to agree and head to bed. Thanks to Albert Kidd I just couldn’t face the world that Saturday night.

Thankfully, Mrs Smith was okay although the ear-bashing I received from her mother the following day probably registered on the Richter Scale (every bit as much as the trauma in Dundee had twenty-four hours earlier) But if ma-in-law was displeased then it was nothing to the rage she felt a week later.

Saturday May 10th 1986 - the day our first child was due to be born. And also the day of the Hearts-Aberdeen Scottish Cup Final - 140 miles away at Hampden Park in Glasgow. Now, in my defence, I did ask Mrs Smith early that morning if she was okay to which she replied she felt fine and would likely be going into town to do some shopping. So when I asked if she would mind if I went to the Hearts-Aberdeen game she readily agreed, not wanting me to make a fuss over her. Not in my defence is the fact I did nothing to change the idea in her head that the game was at Pittodrie - I had inadvertently forgot to tell her the game was in Glasgow. Her suspicions were aroused when my mate came to pick me up at 8.00am - by the time Mrs Smith had wobbled to the door to protest we were in the car and heading south.

As things turned out it was to be a second Saturday in succession that I and thousands of other Hearts fans - and there were forty thousand of us at Hampden that day - were traumatised as Aberdeen put a shell-shocked Hearts team to the sword and won 3-0. Hearts captain Walter Kidd was sent off and, having not lost a game for seven months, two defeats in seven days sent Hearts world crashing around them. But the ovation the magnificent Hearts support gave their team after the final whistle at Hampden was tumultuous and something no one who was there to witness it will ever forget. The fans appreciation of a sensational season moved the likes of Gary Mackay and John Robertson to tears. Long after the Aberdeen team had collected the trophy, acclaimed their fans and were back in the dressing room with one half of Hampden empty, those decked in maroon were still singing their hearts out at the Mount Florida end - I recall the stadium announcer pleading with us to leave!

As for Mrs Smith, it was to be another seven days before she finally gave birth to our daughter Laura. With the football season over I had no excuse for not being there and I was. Three successive Saturdays in May 1986 which resulted in the three most emotional occasions in my life.

So don’t fret about making a romantic gesture tonight. Some things - as I'm sure Adullamite will readily agree - are more important!