There is arguably no competition, no trophy in the sporting
world that meant as much to someone as the Scottish Cup did to Hibs and their
fans. It’s been so tantalisingly close yet always so agonisingly out of reach
from having the team name engraved on the trophy for the third time. Hibs might win the competition again but
you’ll never see celebrations the likes of Saturday’s ever again.
We few, we privileged few witnessed something so incredibly
unique that no-one alive has seen it. Take stock of that for a second; no
living person had seen Hibs win the Scottish Cup until Saturday afternoon. We
witnessed history being made in front of our very eyes. This was the moon
landing for Hibs. This was our “Where were you when you heard JFK was shot?”
and while I wasn’t the second gunman on the grassy knoll, I’ll never forget
where I was on 21st May 2016 when David Gray bulleted home the header that clinched it for the cabbage. I was stood at
Hampden with my mates and my brother watching a 114 year old curse being laid
to rest.
When Stokes sent Hibs second goal into the roof of the net I
turned to my right and practically threw myself at my brother David who was sat
on his seat, head in his hands, tears falling from his eyes and we fell to the
floor. “It’s fucking 2-2” I shouted in his face “Get your shit together, we’re
still in this!” and I went off to reassure my pals he was OK. It reminded me of that famous footage from the 1990 World Cup where Paul Gascoigne has just been
booked (a booking which ruled him out of the World Cup Final if England should
have made it) and Gary Lineker motions to Graham Taylor that Gazza’s having a
wee bubble to himself, only everyone’s wearing Hibs tops and it didn’t go to
penalties.
My brother has put up with some amount of shit watching
Hibs. We all have in some shape or form at one time or another but most of us
can at least conjure up one memory, one period, one group of players to give
you a wee bit of a lift and remind you that it won't always be this bad. David’s not had that, he’s had relegation, disappointment, managerial merry
go rounds and a raft of bang average players to contend with and it’s pretty much all my fault. His dad was a
jambo that never went to games so when David saw me coming home absolutely
buckled from trips to see Hibs he thought to himself “I want a bit of that”. Thus, it fell upon me to take him to his first Hibs game, a drab and bad
tempered affair against a John Hughes Falkirk side where Hibs had a couple of
players sent off and lost 1-0. Welcome to Hibs, pal.
When we were at the League Cup Final a few weeks earlier, it
would become apparent that my brother thought (and we all wished) that this would
be his moment. The older but not necessarily wiser heads
among us retained that feeling that it could all go tits up having been there
and seen it happen on so many occasions before. Needless to say Ross County
took the lead after 25 minutes but Liam Fontaine managed to snatch one back on
half time which was just enough for the floogdates on the emotion of the day to
swing open and David burst into alcohol induced tears.
In the end, it’s the hope that gets you because lo and
behold, Hibs succumbed to a late winner from a Dutchman wearing what appeared to be a sports
bra. Being a Hibs fan just isn’t fair at
times and the tears were replaced with an impotent rage because there’s nothing
you can do in that kind of situation. You have so much passion and fire and
nowhere to channel it because you’ve got chocolate ankles and never donned the
famous green and white of Hibs.
As the fourth official held up his board a week past
Saturday to signal four minutes of added time there was a roar from the Hibs
fans. The Rangers seemed quite happy to run the clock down at 2-2 and take it
to extra time but Hibs had other ideas and David Gray challenged Dean Shiels, forcing a throw in from in front of the dug
outs.
If you watch the replay you’ll see Liam Henderson and Fraser
Fyvie surge forward. David Gray throws the ball long for Fyvie who drove at the
Rangers defence before slipping in Stokes who beat Tavernier (was there ever a
time where he didn’t beat Tavernier
last Saturday?) and flashed a shot across the goal, forcing the Rangers ‘keeper
into a save. Liam Henderson delivered an almost identical cross from which Hibs
scored their second and when David Gray connected
with that beautiful forehead of his and the ball rippled against the back of
the net, Hampden went ballistic.
After 114 years and ten previous appearances in the finals
since winning it last, we knew, we just knew that this time we’d done it. The
Holy Grail was coming back to Leith and the remaining few minutes were a mere formality. At the final whistle I hugged perfect strangers who responded in kind and we exchanged knowing glances with people who looked at us as if
they were acknowledging that our singing and banging on the roof of the stadium
had somehow contributed to the result. My brother, meanwhile, was now lying flat out on his back looking in utter disbelief at the same roof I’d been leathering with the palms
of my hands for the previous 90 minutes.
My brother looked at me the day of the League Cup Final against
Ross County and shouted in my face “You’re the reason I’m a Hibs fan, you’re
the reason I’m here”, so full of hope and expectation (and Peroni) that the years of grief and
disappointment and shite football and Matt Done's of the world that he’d endured would finally be worth it
with a cup win. He couldn’t have known then but Hibs would keep him waiting a
little longer for the succour he needed.
As much as I’m the reason David’s a Hibs fan, he’s a big
part of why I’m still going. After Hibs had lurched from the ‘Players at Petrie’s
hoose’ debacle to John Hughes, Mixu Paatelainen and Colin Calderwood and never
actually getting to the root cause of why Hibs were so fantastically and
routinely pish, I’d had all of Hibs I could take. I love Hibs but because I’m
so pig headed and because they continued to hurt and disappoint me in ever
new and imaginative ways, I couldn’t stand to be miserable anymore and rather
than be the guy who said he wasn’t going back to Easter Road or wasn’t renewing
his season ticket without following through, I simply stopped
going.
When Hibs beat Hearts 2-1 at Tynecastle with Leigh Griffiths
and Ross Caldwell goals, I was up Ben Vorlich with another mate (who has since
started coming to Hibs games and saw Hibs lift the Scottish Cup within about 6
weeks of going to his first game) and only found out the score
afterward in a bakers in Callendar where we stopped for post-Munro bacon rolls
and carrot cake. That’s how far away I’d gotten from Hibs. I cared enough to
check in on the score but not enough to be anywhere near Edinburgh while they
were playing.
Gradually I began going to see Hibs again and sat in the
East Stand with David who convinced me to get a season ticket with him. I was there for Fenlon’s ill-fated tenure and realised I’d fallen in
love with the team again on the day of that Cup
Final despite coming home and my fiancée telling me I looked like I'd been told someone had
died.
Being a hibby isn’t just about winning and silverware, it’s about
community and camaraderie and one of the things that struck me as I looked
around a sea of faces displaying a myriad of emotions last Saturday was that it
was about so much more than simply winning the Scottish Cup. It was about
sharing that moment with the people closest to you and perhaps most importantly of all,
remembering and thanking the people who didn’t live to see it and had probably
gotten you the ticket for this 114 year old journey in the first place.
Football has a funny way of throwing up strange coincidences.
One of my best mates was married in 2007 shortly after Hibs won the League Cup
so it was a strange quirk of fate that Hibs would reach the League Cup Final the
same year I was due to be married and we exchanged a wry laugh when we realised
I might emulate his slightly unique honour. I would never have dared imagine that
the trophy Hibs would lift in my wedding year would be the Scottish Cup.
It’s been a long time coming, Hibs. You have given us all an
irreplaceable memory, something no amount of money can buy so you can do whatever
you like for the next 114 years and it won’t matter.
GGTTH
