Moreen Simpson: From childhood days at Pittodrie to parade day, fit a weekend to be an Aberdonian
Canna believe it's about 70 years since my dad – a lifelong Dons supporter – sometimes took me to Pittodrie.
I've no memory of the matches. I wonder if Little Mo actually saw onything ava, surrounded by towering adults. We went again when I was a teenager and fair scunnert by the sight of mannies wie their backs to me tiddling against a fence.
On to my student days when, to mark AFC being in a Scottish Cup semi-final, I covered masellie with beautiful red-and-white rosettes made by mum, a replica cup on my back courtesy of dad. However, while I was rattlin' ma tin at the Torcher, young footballs fans stripped me of the lot, including the cup. Dad was fumin'.
Spookily appropriately, the Gothenberg triumph happened on my quine's sixth birthday; spooky because the Dons would go on to shape her adult life. As a teenager she and her friends joined a club attached to a bar, when going to matches home and away became hub of her social life. Sure enough, she fell for one of the gadgies who was a regular on the bus and the rest is their happy family history. A girl and boy on, almost inevitably their 11-year-old loon is as football mad as his mum and dad.
Whenever he comes to my hoose, he's straight oot the back door, into the garden, to practise his penalties, free kicks and dribbling. He's bravely bounced back from some of the heart-breaking games he's been to recently, so when the cup final started on Saturday, all I could think of was him there in the stand.
When it looked like Celtic would keep their one-goal lead, I could imagine his bonnie, increasingly disappointed face. Then the dramatic turnaround. When Mitov saved that last penalty, someone a pucklie gardens from me let off a triumphant rocket as I and my peer hairtie leapt with joy for the wee man.
Minties later, a text pinged through from my quine with the most wonderful pic of him revelling in the triumph. And guess fit? He was holding a replica silver cup on his head. The years rolled back and I could almost see my dad looking at the photie ower my shoulder, beaming for his great-grandson holding the cup. My quine texted: 'He says it's the best day of his life. His heart was beating out of his chest during the penalties!' Yes, I had a weepie to masellie.
That feeling must have been exactly the same for all Dons supporters at the game or watching elsewhere; the ecstasy of winning and dear memories of beloved fans no longer with us.
As for the mass turn-out at the parade the next day, in all my 77 years there's never been such an astounding show of people and pride in the city. The 100,000-plus crowds dwarfed even the turn-out for the Gothenberg heroes. I half-thought about going with the family, but reckoned I was just too al'. Regretted it when I saw a lovely, affa happy mannie being interviewed on the telly aged 85. Mind you, I did have a impromptu celebration.
During my morning walk, on the other side of the road I passed a huge bus queue of red-bedecked adults and kids heading for the parade. I gave them a cheery thumbs-up and shouted: 'Enjoy.' Next thing, they broke into a rousing chorus of The Northern Lights. I was fair chuffed. And, yup, there was tear in my eye yet again. Fit a weekend to be an Aberdonian!
Moreen Simpson is a former assistant editor of the Evening Express and The Press and Journal and started her journalism career in 1970.
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