Off a quiet Arbroath Road

in a forest of crowded houses,

we sit round a Logie Baird screen,

awed and connected to a Hampden Park

a hundred and odd thousand away

from five million at home.

Only seat edges are occupied.

Seventy something minutes in Gilzean,

leading man out of Bonnie Dundee,

leaps above the English defence

like a Tay salmon.

One nil and three in a row Auld Enemy.