May 17 made the headlines and sold the T-shirts, but St Johnstone’s day of all days wasn’t about one man.
Saturday was indeed meant to be, and written in the stars. Their name was on the cup. It was their time. Fitting clichs, the lot of them.
But not because their star striker with the wild hair and wacky tattoos had a surname and a squad number which acted as a handy save-the-date Scottish Cup final reminder.
The greatest St Johnstone team of all time will be defined by the group, rather than an individual.
Yes, of course it is a story of a local boy who has gone out on loan to the lower leagues, scored goals, made his name the old fashioned way and hasn’t sought, or had his head turned, by talk of a big money move.
But it is also of a manager belittled as the Ballyclare Barman, whose football life has been carried along by endeavour and persistence.
It’s of a goalkeeper who has struggled for recognition beyond the Irish Sea and made huge sacrifices to pursue his late chance at professional football on the British mainland.
It’s of a right-back and captain who is the very essence of consistency and dependability.
It’s of a left-back who was the forgotten one of the Hamilton trio of next-best-things that headed south, and has had to rebuild his career and reputation almost from scratch.
It’s of a centre-back who still looks back on a league title win in one of Scottish football’s most unglamorous and least visited out-posts, Stranraer, as a cherished memory.
It’s of a midfielder who helped his club one of those big city ones get to two Scottish Cup finals and his thank-you was a seat in the stand on both occasions.
It’s of another midfielder who was told he was too small to make it at the top level and has spent the last 10 years proving people wrong, and two who have been used to the academies of Champions League clubs but now find the worn astroturf and back pitches of McDiarmid Park more to their liking.
It’s of a man with the diamond stud in his ear and a love life written out in the tabloids who is now happy to call Perth home.
And it’s also the story of two Scottish Cup final goalscorers.
Steven Anderson didn’t get so much as one first team game as a Dundee United player and would never get a mention for a Scotland call-up even if Gordon Strachan’s centre-backs were stricken en masse, while Steven MacLean is a footballing nomad who has criss-crossed the border to keep finding work.
Both are players whose worth is known in the dressing room and among week-on-week supporters, but not much further beyond.
If Stevie May had scored goal number 28 of the season on Saturday and won Saints the cup it wouldn’t have summed up why this club and this team have claimed their piece of Scottish football history.
That the honour fell to Anderson and MacLean does Saints narrative much more justice.
The semi-final at Ibrox can and will be remembered as the day for individual brilliance.
Saturday was the occasion when a team tapped into its club’s and its own history of falling just short. 130 years is quite a wait, but collective determination was finally rewarded.