It was Saturday, 14 May 1988, cup final day. The weather was stunning, with clear blue skies and bright sunshine but despite this I was feeling rather low. I didn’t have a cup final ticket and I wouldn’t be at Hampden. Sure, I would watch it on the television with my dad and we’d cheer on the team and hope for a great result but it’s just not the same. There’s nothing like being there, being with the Celtic support, singing the songs, feeling the tension and sharing the highs and lows. There’s absolutely nothing like it. I can’t imagine being an armchair fan. It’s just not for me.
Remember that wee bit of Celtic magic I mentioned earlier? Well, it happened to me that day
I had already been up to the local shop on my racer bike, buying all sorts of crisps, chocolate and coca cola, ready to settle down and watch the match on TV and despite the disappointment, I was starting to come around and look forward to the match. I was getting excited and the butterflies were starting.
It was just before 1.00pm and I was wondering what to do with myself before kick-off. In those days, the pre-match build-up seemed to start in the morning and last all day. I’d watched some updates from Wembley, where Wimbledon were up against the mighty Liverpool, “the crazy gang against the culture club” as John Motson would famously say that day. I’d had a kickabout in the front garden, practising some “keepy-uppies” but I was getting impatient and just wanted the match to start.
And then the phone rang.
Cup final ticket heroine Auntie Betty, with Robert’s dad and his sister in the background
I mind it well… but I mind more the scary surge to get through the turnstyle’s before kick-off!!