2012-13 Uncovered: Thursday 23rd August - Heavy Hearted In Europe

  Albert Kidd.  One day we will bump into each other.  And one day I will poke the laxatives that's on the end of my brolly tip into your blood steam.

   There, I've said it.  I'm not even going to begin to explain what that's all about.  Google it.  Suffice to say any Hearts fan will concur.

   Before Ross County left the comfy confines of the Highland League, I had a Scottish team to support, just as most people in England that go to non-league match in England follow a league side.  My Uncle Davie, who first took me to County, supported Hearts.  So, therefore, did I.

   It's a curious and undeniably fabulous anomaly, Scottish football.  A moderately sized nation in terms of territory, it's population is tiny, around an eighth of the size of England.  And when half of them support one or the other of Glasgow's Bigot Brothers, crowds and resources elsewhere are always thin on the ground.

   Yet that's what makes Hearts all the more endearing.  To make up for it they indulge in quirkiness that would make Pauline Quirk look particularly unquirky.  Although nothing could be done about the rest of her.

   And so it is that Hearts can win nothing after going 8 months unbeaten in all competitions.  That they can sack a manager who had won 12 league games out of 12, and replace him with a man whose last football job ended after a visit from the police.  That some of their supporters push their own armchair seats into Tynecastle.  That the first kick they get in a cup final is after conceding the first goal in less than 30 seconds.  That they can also sack the man who was the architect of this evening's occasion.

   Paulo Sergio, with his hands tied firmly behind his back by Chairman Romanov's purse strings, got Hearts into Europe with an unforgettable 5-1 humiliation of deadly rivals Hibs in the Salt'n'Sauce Scottish Cup Final.  Within a month he was gone.  As was half the squad, let alone side, that became Jam Tart immortals, including the iconic Rudi Skacel, who signed off with 2 goals on that glorious afternoon.

   It didn't matter one bit.  Tynecastle is one of those grounds where the home fans can get to any team.  It only holds around 18,000 and the seats are so close to the pitch you can take out a centre half's eye with a well aimed Haribo.  Don't think I haven't done that either.  The stadium retains all the noise, too, so that a crowd of 9,000 can ... well, sound like a crowd of 9,000 shouting very loud.  But you get my drift.

   Liverpool were in Auld Reekie, and after Chipper and I witnessed last year's humiliation by Spurs, I guess they were pretty confident.  Now, I know this is supposed to be a blog of games and places I've been to, but I'm making an exception here.  My heart and soul was in Edinburgh tonight.  Only the body turned on ITV4 and drank unhealthily scary amounts of Irn Bru.

   I tried to get tickets but didn't have enough 'loyalty points'.  How patronising does that sound?  You've been going to watch a side for 35 yards only for some snot nose with a computer to work out just what a great fan you are.  Just tell me that locals who've been to more games than me get one ahead of me.  But 'not enough loyalty points'?  F*** off.

   In a strange way, I wasn't envying those who were lucky enough to be at Gorgie tonight.  They were going off their heads, a really intoxicating and terrifying atmosphere.  But to be there, you probably wouldn't appreciate just how electric and intimidating it was. 

   It wasn't so much the 'Glorious Hearts' song that boomed out, but the mix of twirling maroon scarves and continual indechiperable roar.  The scouse supporters were subdued, the ITV presenters taken aback.  Did nobody tell them just how fantastic Tynecastle is before?  Whatever happened on the pitch, it was a special night.

   The bonus was that Hearts really did themselves proud on the pitch too.  Templeton and Novikovas clearly had Liverpool rattled early on.  Paterson?  Never heard of him until now.  He was causing all sorts of problems in the second half.  The English lad, though he hates the fact he is, Andrew Driver, came bed-wettingly close.

   In typical Hearts fashion, though, only they could score the single goal of the match but still lose.  Poor Webster.  It was a cracking low centre late on.  He couldn't do much about getting out of the way of it.  Not that it mattered.  The decibels increased further.  Hearts were proud of their team.  Loud and proud.

   I've always been of the opinion that the result is less important than the occasion itself.  Tonight was a case in point.  The Heart of Midlothian players ensured it was an unexpectedly competitive Europa League cup tie.  The Heart of Midlothian supporters made it a special, special event. 

   Tynecastle on a European night.  You might score more goals than the home team, but you just can't beat it.

   Heart of Midlothian 0,  Liverpool 1