The Meenister’s Log
Once, when at Tynecastle watching the Hearts, I was sitting two or three seats along from this late middle-aged guy. He had his replica top on, Jambo woolly hat, and maroon and white scarf. I was in mufti – jeans and leather jacket and probably a baseball cap.
Well this guy went bananas from kick off to final whistle. He shouted at the referee in heavy duty language, he berated our own players for missing chances and did so in no uncertain terms, virtually every opposition player received a colourful comment, he was f’ing and blinding so much that someone in the row behind had to tell him to tone down his language as there were kids nearby (who had most likely heard all this stuff before!)
He was quiet until half time when he went off to get a pie and a paper cup of Bovril.
Second half: same again – industrial stength language including a suggestion that one of the players do something that’s physically impossible.
The Jam Tarts lost. They were booed off the pitch with my neighbour calling them a bunch of four letter fellows (or something like that).
The next day being Sunday – it was church time in the morning.
“Wasn’t a very good game yesterday” I said to this guy.
“Were you there?”
“Aye, sitting two seats along from you – you were better entertainment than what was happening on the pitch”
His face turned a shade not unlike the Maroon colour of Hearts jerseys.
He was one of my Kirk Elders!