A result
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
If I've counted correctly - and, as maths teachers throughout the ages will testify, there's no guarantee of that - this is the 100th wotiwrote post. Whoo! Congratulations to everyone on the wotiwrote team, both in the back office and out here at the sharp end. Well, thanks, says everyone. No no, thank you, I say.
But onwards. A new century dawns.
Hearts beat Livingston 3-1, much to my relief and my son's pleasure. The game itself was not a classic and was differentiated from a Sunday League game only by the surroundings and the size of the crowd. Sean was pleased most, I feel, to have proof that he and I were not the only Hearts fans in existence. The sight of hundreds of children wearing maroon tops and Hearts scarves made him feel part of a community. Part of his birthday present - he is 10 on Wednesday - was to buy a top and a scarf for himself with money given to him by my mother-in-law.
That raises an interesting question. My mother and father are from Edinburgh, obviously. My father is a Hearts fan, however nominally these days. It was he who took me to my first Hearts game (v. St. Johnstone circa 1965. Hearts won 1-0, winning with a Willie Wallace goal. I think it was his last season for Hearts before joining Celtic. Plus ca change.) Why, then, does Sean buy stuff from the Hearts shop with money given him for that purpose by his grandmother from Ireland, who wouldn't know Hearts from Real Madrid?
Sean and I sat in the old stand, the only part of the ground I recognised from my last visit, and the only part that remains redolent of decay and past glory in exactly the way the whole ground was during my years of regular attendance. And, as if our seats were in the 'welcome to Hearts' row, Sean sat next to a woman from the States who was making her first trip to Tynecastle. She called half-time 'the half' but seemed to enjoy the game and rose and cheered the goals with us. We didn't talk long enough fro me to ascertain what had brought her to Tynecastle but I suspected she was there with her daughter and her daughter's Scottish partner. I had caught the two women looking admiringly at the copper patches in the side of Sean's hair. Now that is going to be a babe magnet for him. Or whatever else he chooses to want to attract when he's older.
So the trip to the game was a success. The unseasonably warm day gave it the air of a real holiday and meant we can think back on it without memories of hugging ouselves against a biting wind or trying to stay dry on the walk there. And being with Sean meant that, however bad the standard of football, and regardless of our victory, it was simply the best football match I have ever been to.
But onwards. A new century dawns.
Hearts beat Livingston 3-1, much to my relief and my son's pleasure. The game itself was not a classic and was differentiated from a Sunday League game only by the surroundings and the size of the crowd. Sean was pleased most, I feel, to have proof that he and I were not the only Hearts fans in existence. The sight of hundreds of children wearing maroon tops and Hearts scarves made him feel part of a community. Part of his birthday present - he is 10 on Wednesday - was to buy a top and a scarf for himself with money given to him by my mother-in-law.
That raises an interesting question. My mother and father are from Edinburgh, obviously. My father is a Hearts fan, however nominally these days. It was he who took me to my first Hearts game (v. St. Johnstone circa 1965. Hearts won 1-0, winning with a Willie Wallace goal. I think it was his last season for Hearts before joining Celtic. Plus ca change.) Why, then, does Sean buy stuff from the Hearts shop with money given him for that purpose by his grandmother from Ireland, who wouldn't know Hearts from Real Madrid?
Sean and I sat in the old stand, the only part of the ground I recognised from my last visit, and the only part that remains redolent of decay and past glory in exactly the way the whole ground was during my years of regular attendance. And, as if our seats were in the 'welcome to Hearts' row, Sean sat next to a woman from the States who was making her first trip to Tynecastle. She called half-time 'the half' but seemed to enjoy the game and rose and cheered the goals with us. We didn't talk long enough fro me to ascertain what had brought her to Tynecastle but I suspected she was there with her daughter and her daughter's Scottish partner. I had caught the two women looking admiringly at the copper patches in the side of Sean's hair. Now that is going to be a babe magnet for him. Or whatever else he chooses to want to attract when he's older.
So the trip to the game was a success. The unseasonably warm day gave it the air of a real holiday and meant we can think back on it without memories of hugging ouselves against a biting wind or trying to stay dry on the walk there. And being with Sean meant that, however bad the standard of football, and regardless of our victory, it was simply the best football match I have ever been to.
