A few drinks this evening and the chat got round to the Ayrshire derby being played out at Hampden tomorrow.
Ayr United v Kilmarnock.
An outing of Ayrshire's dirty linen at the national stadium. The Jerry Springer "I Married A Horse" episode writ large. An incestuous family feud settled in a national competition.
I find myself asking what Ayr means to me.
It means Sydney Devine and not a spare seat in the Gaiety Theatre. Can still get them flocking, can Sydney. And, I'm told, he's significantly superior to Daniel O'Donnell.
It means an overrated national bard and ridiculous politicians of all stripes trying to grab a womanising chancer as their own. Surely, if there really was anything about Burns, he'd have written them all off as rogues.
It means a dark night of football. I've watched Scotland fail at many a sport. I've watched Hibs fail in many a game.
But few come close to the misery of watching Ayr United win a Scottish league cup semi final. Franck Sauzee, a hero of heroes, becoming a dead man walking.
Ayr know misery, they know how to heap misery on.
Kilmarnock be warned.
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