Here we Eggo Here we Eggo Here we Eggo

Bill Leckie

HIS name is Eggo, and he summed up the hurt of an entire club on the most painful day in Jambo history.

Slumped by the touchline at Dens Park, his face became a symbol of the collapse which denied Hearts the title and probably the double.

His bubble-perm head and tear-stained moustache hit every newspaper, every TV screen after Albert Kidd's two late goals...well, you know the rest.

Twelve years later, Eggo was back on the box on the eve of Saturday's cup final.

Like most of his mates, he admitted he was travelling more in hope of not being humiliated than expectation of glory. Sitting on the steps of Tynecastle, in the same pose he had struck at Dundee, he took a deep breath and announced: "If we win this time I might not be back."

His reasoning was this: Years before, he had taken up darts with the intention of one day scoring a maximum 180.

Eventually he did it - and sold his arrows the next day.

The thrill of the chase had been better for him than the moment of the kill and he feared he'd feel the same if Hearts FINALLY, won a trophy.

For me, that didn't stack up. For instance, did he pass his driving test and vow never again to get behind the wheel of a car?

Did he have the best meal of his life and refuse ever to eat anything as good again? And what about women? Only once? Or...good God, is the poor boy still waiting?

If so, the club he loves should have felt a whole lot better about THEIR drought.

Whatever, here he was, thinking about the day he had waited for all his life becoming his last as a Hearts fanatic.

Surely not, Eggo? Surely not now it has actually happened?

Any man who can see his team lift the Scottish Cup and not go back for more should not be trusted with anything sharper than custard.

Yes, Saturday was the end of a miserable era for Hearts. But far more importantly for Eggo and all the maroon soldiers, it was the beginning of a wonderful new one.

Hearts burst a dam when they beat Rangers and if they catch the wave right they have a chance to flood their trophy cabinet with silverware.

Hell, they might even have to find a new home for the Tennent's Sixes and the 1972 QuizBall trophies.

This season they were one win over each of the Old Firm short of the title.

Maybe fear played a part in their failure to beat either in eight league games - but they should fear NOTHING and NO ONE now.

They beat Rangers in the biggest game of the lot and each Jambo swaggered off the Parkhead turf taller and wider and stronger than when he trotted out.

If only, they must have thought, the new campaign started now...well, once the hangovers have subsided.

Next season the Ibrox side will be an unknown quantity coached by a man with limited knowledge of our game.

Celtic? They don't even know yet who THEIR coach will be or who will be playing for them.

Great

Hearts, though, are in place. Theirs is a team full of boys growing into men and men coming to the peak of their careers.

They also have a manager whose potential has at last been fulfilled - and who can now go on to be a true great.

Jim Jefferies looked the part from the season a decade or so ago when he took ramshackle Berwick Rangers on a run of 20-odd games unbeaten.

At Falkirk, he built a side who almost made Europe.

At Hearts, his beloved Hearts, he suffered anguish in two cup finals and, for the last 11 minutes on Saturday, he maybe thought he would suffer more.

But in those 11 minutes he probably learned more about his future than at any time in his career. Those 11 minutes, which he said felt like 20 years, have set Hearts up for the next decade.

They have a defence which could be together for as long as Arsenal's iron curtain.

Going forward they have flair and class and Scottish football can handle as much of that as they can throw at it.

Add a couple of new faces and you have genuine title contenders there.

Hearts can no longer be called bottlers. Hearts are no longer the bridesmaids. Hearts are no longer potentially the third-best team in Scotland.

I even reckon they are now ready to do to the Old Firm what Aberdeen did under Alex Ferguson.

And any fan who could turn his back on THAT deserves to have Eggo all over his face.

HAVE A HEARTY LET 'EM PARTY

GARY LOCKE'S face when he lifted the Scottish Cup made you jealous as hell.

For someone straight off the terraces to be in that position is wonderful and it was a magnificent gesture by skipper-of-the-day Steve Fulton to let him share the moment - it's just a pity it took a fight with SFA brass-hats to get him up on the podium.

Yes, they have to be security conscious. But to try and stop Locke going out on the pitch on the greatest day of his life was pathetic. It was typical, though, of their attitude to cup final day.

It's as if they begrudge people having their moment of happiness.

You can accept them telling fans to stay off the pitch or the trophy can't be presented.

There's nothing so annoying to the majority as a minority running on to get their faces on the telly for a nano-second. But what about their pre-match hope that 'the celebrations didn't drag on too long'? Apparently they were less than gruntled about Celtic fans still partying inside Parkhead an hour after their first league win in 10 years last week, the minxes.

You see their point - all it needs when you've won the title for the first time in a decade is a quick round of applause and then all home for tea and Blind Date.

If only Celtic had shown the way, those Hearts fans who had waited 42 years would have waved to their heroes for a regulation two and a half minutes then filed out in an orderly fashion.

The SFA are so tightly clenched on these occasions I'm amazed they don't take their posh seats with them when they stand up.

Why don't they just let people have FUN, for Farry's sake? And remember it's OUR ball, not theirs.

Well done to Jambo-for-life Gary Locke for not allowing the blazerati to spoil the greatest day of his life by lifting the trophy.