Timothy Pitt's Cup Final

(Written as an open letter to my brother, Chritopher M. Pitt, who was there with me).

We set off from your flat in deepest Govan. I was worried as we stepped into the streets of hunsville wearing maroon. But we didn't get hassle from the hun fans, who were so sure they'd win that they let ity pass that maroon at Ibrox Undergound was "just taking a liberty". And the joy and excitement of arriving at Queens Street Station and seeing a crowd of Jambos heading for the train. We were carried along with the maroon footie family. A quick journey and we were out into daylight. Then we turned a corner and you nudged me to look all the way up the street. There was a veritable sea of maroon all the way up to the stadium, windows of Jambo supporters' buses glinting in the hazy sunshine. On either side of the street were souvenir sellers, stands draped in maroon flags and banners and scarves. It was so hot and everyone was in such a happy mood. There was singing and spontaneous cheering. We were now walking on little more than a track. And there was the stadium - looking like an old gas works, with the scaffolding-like permanent support structure on the outside. We decided to go in now - it was about 2.15pm. This was where we turned to each other and, with the glee of children, both said, "We're really here! We are at the Cup Final!" We soon found our seats (Section 105, Row K, Seat Numbers 28 and 29; 14 back from the touchline and 14 and 15 to the east of the halfway line - an absolutely cracking view of the whole of the pitch). We just stood and gazed all round for a couple of minutes - there were large gaps in the ranks of blue as the hun fans continued to move to their seats, but most of the Hearts' support was in place already. All around us was maroon. Behind us there were various banners (including the inevitable "22 in a row") and many fans had painted their faces or were wearing "Jambo" or "Jose Quitongo" wigs. And the Jambos' singing voices were being warmed up and exercised already. Generally, along the entire North Stand, The Hearts Song was being belted out, but every so often the crowd changed the singing - sometimes "Stand up if you hate the hibs"; sometimes "Relegation to the hibees" and sometimes even the Hearts in Europe Song. The Scottish Cup theme music was picked up by the Jambos, who (no lyrics, but just singing "uuuhhh-uhhh") gave it a few renditions. The Hearts team was out warming up and as they headed back for the dressing room, and amidst the chatting, the singing and the cheering, the teams were read out: Rousset, McPherson, Naysmith, Weir, Salvatori, Ritchie, McCann, Fulton, Adam, Cameron and Flogel. The substitutes were Hamilton, Murray and Robertson.

We kicked off, Flogel touching it to Adam who passed back and left, to Fulton, who in turn passed inside to Ritchie. He had a couple of touches then passed it back to young Gary Naysmith who took a look around even as he controlled the ball and quickly sent a long pass down the touchline for Adam to chase. I thought it was too long, but Adam got it, shielded it at the corner flag and then passed it back to Fulton at an inside left position. He looked around, but couldn't find an obvious pass inside, so he jinked and took it himself, down to the left edge (top corner) of the penalty box and in …. And he was brought down amidst three Rangers players. A penalty! The referee had awarded a penalty after 35 seconds of play! We couldn't believe it - we hugged each other and then realised that we hadn't scored yet. Notably, the Rangers players who were surrounding Fulton didn't argue with the decision at the time, only those who had been some distance from the incident. "Mickey" Cameron (who hadn't touched the ball up to that point) placed the ball on the spot and turned to walk back for his run-up. He was facing Goram and a barracking of Rangers fans in the East Stand. The entire Hearts support was silent; the majority of the hun were screaming their distractions at Cameron. Suddenly the enormity of the task of taking a penalty hit me. What if he missed? We both concentrated on the penalty area, joining 22,000 other Hearts fans in willing the ball into the net. Goram dived low to his left and Cameron hit it hard into the top right. Goal! We were 1-0 up! Oh, the cheer that went up, the dancing, jumping up and down and hugging that went on. Where you dragged that yell of joy from, I'll never know, but it was loud and sure! As you turned to me, I saw such sheer and utter joy in you. We grabbed each other and just shouted "yes, yes, yes!" Somehow we sat down and continued watching the match. I for one certainly had to remind myself, every now and again that "yes, it is 1-0"! The match continued, then, as matches do. We cheered, we sang and we were there. And the singing went on, becoming an exhortation to the team to play on and on. The Jambo fans seemed to realise that the crowd was too large and too noisy for individual comments to be heard and so the Hearts Song was sung again and again, generally sticking to the chorus and to the verse "Some say the Celtic or Rangers are grand, but the boys in maroon are the best in the land".

And then I saw the formation which Jim Jeffries had told the team to play. To me, it looked like a midfield loop. Five midfielders were strung out in a massive horseshoe, the open end facing the Rangers goal. At the front of the open part was Adam, waiting for a pass to launch him on the attack. Deep in the curve of the closed part were Fulton and Salvatori - Salvo waiting to fetch the scraps that "bounced" off the horseshoe and feed them to Fulters, who would then "play-make". Behind this were the four defenders, with Rousset at the back. Hearts were inviting Rangers to get sucked into the horseshoe, knowing that at any point, they would be effectively surrounded by Hearts players with the security net of the defenders behind them. Hearts didn't attack much, but they kept the hun back, who were by and large forced to take long-range efforts. They had a few corners, but Rousset commanded not just the goal area, but his entire penalty area, charging out to take the crosses. He had one great acrobatic dive to his right to palm away a driven shot, and we knew that the Big Frenchman was on form today. We may have looked at our watches a couple of times midway through the first forty-five minutes, but suddenly it was half time. Now all the emotions flooded through the Jambos - we had held the hun at bay and it was still 1-0 to us. We were only 45 minutes from victory, but would it be enough. Soon the singing began again, as if to say to the team that the support just knew we would do it.

The second half started. There was something different to the hun - they had brought on McCoist and moved from 5-3-2 to 4-3-3. Hearts' defensive pattern was becoming deeper and deeper, but importantly, the shape was still there and we continued to hold out, still keeping the majority of play in the midfield area (albeit closer to our goal than in the first half). An off-side decision (there didn't seem to be many, as both teams remained aware of their positioning), this time to us. Rousset came way out of the penalty area to take it, and with an almost lazy kick, floated a pass down and to the inside right channel by the penalty box. Adam, as usual, ran onto it, but the hun defender was in the way. Suddenly, Adam was round him and into the penalty area. Amarusso seemed to have taken his eye off the ball or forgotten about Adam. I had enough time to wonder to myself if we could get a corner out of this - and then Adam hit the ball with such power from an angle that even when Goram got his hand to it, the ball just carried straight on and into the net. What a goal - what a cheer! Like the rest of the Jambo support, our cheering came in waves - first, we'd scored! (Momentary subsiding while we waited for the referee to disallow the goal for something - anything. Hearts don't do this in finals!) Then the joy that we had indeed scored (that Adam had put us 2-0 up). Then the ecstasy that we were 2-0 up against the hun in the second half of the cup final. And finally the bewildered delirium that it really looked like we were going to do it. You had the most loopy of smiles on your face, but your eyes displayed total concentration on the game - this was entertainment and it was fun, but it was also utterly serious.

The match continued to build, with the hun mounting ever more incisive attacks. And then it happened. Ally scored. Because the hun had been attacking so incessantly, we had become used to seeing the play up at our own goal, and so the goal seemed to come from nowhere. The die-hard hun players didn't even celebrate the goal - Coisty picked the ball from the back of the net and ran back to the centre spot, he was so eager to get on with the game. The hun just upped a gear and got motoring. It had been going so well, but now we fans in the stand were seriously nervous - was it to be the same old story. You didn't let any of this show - you just continued to support the team, sometimes simply standing up and doing the clapping to protect your voice.

Our goal area was taking such a battering. Although not an overly dirty match, the hun were more aggressive now. They were charging into the Jambo players and many a maroon shin was kicked or stamped. We were awarded quite a few of the free kicks. Every Hearts player seemed always to be running, constantly harrying the hun. We weren't interested in or able to launch many counter attacks now. If we got the ball, we invariably just hit it back up field to make the hun run for it and to give us a breathing space, because the entire team was clearly exhausted from always running and covering in defence, running and covering. And still they attacked. There were cheers of relief when a hun effort sailed harmlessly wide. Forty-five minutes came and went and play raged on. The Jambos were finding it harder to climb back to their feet whenever they were bundled over, and the whistling was a cacophony of almost white noise, as we tried to draw to the referee's notice that it was surely full time. McCoist broke through again, but his shot was blocked by Ritch. It rebounded off Salvo and went straight back to Coisty, who shot again, but Rousset made the save. Gattuso broke through, but Weir nipped the ball away from him at the last moment. The hun were awarded a free kick on the edge of the penalty area - for a moment, with sinking hearts, we thought it was a penalty. The free kick went wide, and the relief was tangible. We spent the last five or ten minutes half sitting, half standing, just waiting for the referee to call full time and hoping the team could hold out.

Somehow, over the whistling and roars and shouts of the crowd, we heard the blasts on the referee's whistle. It was over. We had won. But the like the rest of the Jambos, we weren't thinking "it's over, we've won", we were just delirious with joy. We knew we had won, and we cheered and danced and hugged each other. Many fans simply shook the hand of each person who was next to them, in front of them and behind them, because they had shared in that fan's personal day. For a long time we weren't consciously celebrating, we were just cheering out the pain of 42 years without the Scottish Cup, 36 without a major trophy. And then we screamed our joy. The pain turned to relief which culminated in a frenzy of happiness.

We had won. For a good half minute, you just kept repeating, over and over, "Hearts 2 - Rangers 1".

We had both been impressed by the size of the crowd and by the noise which the Jambos made when we scored, but that was as nothing compared to the level of cheering and hollering that happened when the final whistle sounded. It was one mass eruption of pent up noise that just kept on going. For many minutes, it was impossible to talk (even by shouting) to each other because the noise was so loud. It never really subsided, but smoothly the noise of cheering formed into the tune and words of The Hearts Song, and this time, as if never before, it was belted out with such a passion. On the pitch, the players were just as delirious. On the final whistle, some had sunk to their knees in exhaustion, but the roar of the crowd soon pulled them up again and they danced and ran, congratulating each other and applauding the support for our efforts. Jim Jefferies and Billy Brown were like wee school kids (weren't we all?), and even from the distance of the width of the pitch, we could see that words could not describe the emotions and happiness of Robbo. He had done it - he had gained a winners' medal after eighteen years with Hearts. And there was such a gesture from the hun fans. They cheered and applauded their own players, who had by and large sunk to the ground in disbelief that they had lost. But then, so many of the hun fans stood and turned to us and applauded us, by way of saying "well done to the Jambos".

Suddenly, the rest of the Jambos' cup final squad ran out onto the pitch. Gary Locke seemed delirious with joy. Jose Quitongo performed his trademark cartwheels. They all ran over to our side of the ground, collecting the scarves and maroon hats which were thrown to them as victors' laurels. Robbo spotted someone in the crowd just by the front (I later found out that this was Gary MacKay), and the team all ran up to greet him. Drifting back onto the pitch, another ex-player was spotted, just behind us from the 1956 Cup winning team. Again, the players made a point of waving to him and echoing his personal celebrations. It was announced that Gilles Rousset was the man of the match, and deservedly so. He would be a doubly happy man! The big red "T" carpet was laid out and the trophy set up. The hun players collected their runners-up medals, and it was our turn to applaud them and their supporters. Hearts lined up, and Steve Fulton insisted on Gary Locke going up to collect the trophy with him. They lifted the trophy aloft to such a roar of approval and pleasure, joy and relief from the Jambo support. It glinted in the sun as, each time, a player held it aloft after receiving his winners' medal and his personal cheer from the crowd. It was put back on the table and Robbo, the last player in the line, stepped forward. We could see he was savouring it, that this meant more than mere football to him. With one hand held to his heart, over the badge, he held up the trophy to the fans. What a cheer! What tears of joy were in the eyes of so many people! At length, the team headed back to the dressing room and the crowd started to leave. We nodded to each other and made our way out of the stadium. The train was so crowded, but we were soon at Queen Street station. During the journey, the singing had continued, with the song being an ironic "Stand up - if you've won the cup". This was replied to by the Jambos who had actually found a seat on the train "Sit down - if you've got a seat!"

A quick phone call to say we were on our way, and we trotted down to the underground - most of the Jambo support headed off for the train to Edinburgh, but we were now going back to Govan to find the flat in uproar - beers all round, but a whisky for you and a port for me. I simply pressed the glass of whisky into your hand and we all toasted a famous victory. We tried to tell of the scenes and the emotions and you draped the flag and our scarves with the other maroon items around the flat. The large flag was posted at the window. The others left, and we ate our meal and drank our beers. As we ate, we discussed our thoughts on the game, our feelings throughout it and our joy at winning. We savoured the whole evening and built a chimney of used beer cans. We poured over our match-day programmes, and sought to re-live every moment. The highlights were shown on the tv. You produced a bottle of champagne and we toasted a Jambo victory. Oh, how we wanted to be in Gorgie Road that night, but we would go across on Sunday to watch the Cup come home.

In the morning, we woke up slowly, quietly, and wandered round the flat, checking to see that we had been there. Yes - there was a match-day programme. There was the banner that you bought after the game. So it was true - we did win! I bought two of every newspaper, and again our dreams were confirmed - every paper was swathed in maroon, with various headlines such as Bravehearts, King of Hearts and Hearts come up Trumps. We went to church, but slipped out and headed for Edinburgh, our scarves fluttering outside the windows on the motorway. Now was a different emotion. We were victors, heading in triumph for a glorious entry into the city. There were quite a few cars around us, with maroon fluttering in the wind, heading the same way. Mutual acknowledgements came from and were passed to each one.

We arrived in Gorgie and tried to get round the route to find the best place to stand. To Princes Street, but the crowds were already fairly large, so straight back again. Back along Shandwick Place, to Haymarket - what a crowd had gathered by the Hearts' War Memorial! Along Dalry and into Gorgie Road. The crowd was becoming bigger and bigger. There were about 10,000 people in Gorgie alone. One supporter, to cheering, had climbed up to the railway bridge to try to affix a banner to the railings. The police moved in to stop him, to good mannered booing, but then changed tack and actually helped him tie on the banner, to more cheering. We calmed down and continued to soak in the atmosphere. We bought T-shirts proclaiming Hearts as Scottish Cup winners. The noise of the crowd grew and we realised that the open top bus was approaching and then, from under the railway bridge, the bus emerged.

There was Gary Locke, oh so proudly holding up the Scottish Cup at the front of the bus. The Hearts team and staff were there, together with wives and children, and many of them were so clearly touched by the whole occasion and reception. The players were wearing the same style T-shirts as we had just bought. We wandered up McLeod Street to see them disembark and then we wandered back up and along Gorgie Road, as the rest of the crowd slowly dispersed. Inside the ground, we could hear the roar of the season ticket holders who had gained entry to watch the team make a lap of honour.

We headed for hom, and all the while, still buzzing, still excited, we talked about the whole grand weekend: the great day at the match; the great day in Edinburgh at Tynecastle; and the famous victory by Hearts in winning the Scottish Cup.

And we were there. We were part of it.