For the nine years I’ve lived in Dundee, the derby has been a mere bug on the windscreen of my life.
When I lived up Stobswell way, it was a cheerful, noisy parade under my window every now and again.
As a student, it was a day to avoid the Perth Road pubs, because you’d no chance of a seat.
And for someone who hates football, it’s the perfect football game – because I only ever notice it happening out the corner of my eye.
Contrast that with growing up in the Central Belt and then living in Glasgow, and match days were a different ball game entirely.
The vitriolic Old Firm rivalry seeped into every aspect of life, from when my school day finished (staggered let out times for the Catholic and non-denominational schools, to stop us fighting) to which pubs the boys could walk into, depending on their last name and their fathers’ chosen colours.
Train journeys to and from Glasgow on match days just weren’t worth the hassle after kick-off, so I’d often rearrange my weekend plans for shopping or seeing pals.
And the day I worked as a barmaid in a mixed Glasgow pub for an Old Firm game was the day I learned what hate sounds like when no says a thing out loud.
Broken noses and broken bottles often lay littered in the wake of any Rangers v Celtic match, when all the childish bravado had petered out.
What started off as jovial with an undercurrent of tension almost always erupted in slurs and sloshed violence.
And all of this added up to a picture which was so off-putting, inconvenient and downright boring that it all led me to one conclusion by the age of about 14: “I hate football.”
So it’s been a surprise to me, 15 years later, to find out that maybe I don’t.
First ever Dundee derby was surprising
Last weekend, I watched my first ever Dundee derby. Not in person of course, let’s not get crazy.
But I went to the pub with my partner, and we found a little corner where I could see the telly and still crochet like the granny I am, and for the first time in my life, I watched a football game on purpose.
Now, I could bore you with internal commentary on the game itself, but that mostly sounded like: “Oh, he’s got it! No he hasn’t. Now the other has it! Hmm. I like the blue strips but the orange ones have cool socks. Ladidadida.”
Not interesting.
Far more interesting were the supporters all around me.
No football colours were sported first of all, which was refreshing, but made me a bit uneasy.
“How do we know if it’s a Dundee pub or a United pub?” I asked my football-savvy date.
“We don’t I suppose. We’ll see when someone scores.”
Someone did. The place erupted. Ok, I thought, we know where we are. Sorted.
Then something absolutely wild happened.
The other team scored. And the place erupted.
Camaraderie between fans? Unheard of
At this point my head’s on a swivel. I’m trying to suss out which end of the pub is which, and eyeballing the door. Just in case. You can never be too careful.
But before I know it, 90 minutes are up and my blanket has an extra three rows. The game ends with no insults volleyed and no glasses hurled.
Then beside me, a guy starts chirping at his mate, giving him stick about his team – they’re on opposite sides, by the sounds of things.
Oh here we go, I think. Now it’s all kicking off.
But the mate just laughs, and when the first guy gets up, it’s not to deck him. It’s to get them both a pint.
Be still, my Stirlingshire heart. I’ve never seen anything like this.
I thought I hated football, but – dare I say it – the Dundee derby was fun.
Maybe I’ll watch the next one. But I’ll need to pick a team first.
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