I’ll never forget the feeling of being my first Scottish Cup final as a young Falkirk fan.

I was around eight years old. It was a glorious summer’s day and my dad, my uncle, my cousin and my Grandpa were all there.

It means a lot to me because it was the only time I got to go to with my Grandpa to the football before he died.

There was a real sense of anticipation from singing songs on the bus through to Ibrox to walking up to the ground.

My Grandpa was trying to clean up the swearing in some of the songs that the Falkirk fans were singing – I was having none of it!

It was overwhelming trying to take it all in.

I remember the sight and sounds of fans milling around, the eager chatter amongst supporters, the scarves, the banners, the horns, the flags, the smell of burgers wafting into the air from the food van.

There was a real carnival atmosphere to the day.

Once inside I remember walking up the steps – as a young kid there were a lot of them – and peering out on to the pristine grass pitch for the first time. I was in awe. I’d never seen anything like that. I think I realised then that I wanted to be involved in the game no matter what.

To be honest, I don’t remember much of the game. I remember the Falkirk end erupting when they scored but quickly followed by despondency once the realisation of the linesman’s flag being raised had sunk in.

Falkirk lost 1-0 to Kilmarnock. The day was an emotional rollercoaster from the euphoric highs to the lows, for me, it typified everything about the game I love.

But it stood me in good stead too as disappointment was a feeling that I would become use to having followed Falkirk over the past 20 years!

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