New Year - rituals and sporting traditions

Give me Ne’er over Christmas anyday.

The ritual of Hogmanay - out with the old, in with the new - and the traditions are laid on a blank canvas. The year is just a day or so old, the weeks and months ahead have yet to be filled in with events, anniversaries and trips. The year is yours to shape.

My Gran was a great Hogmanay traditionalist. The hoose was scrubbed top to bottom, the front step was washed and cleaned to perfection,  there was shortbread, a pot of soup for the first, while the First Foot had to be tall, dark and handsome, and carrying a lump of coal, a dram and and some black bun.

Only once they’d run the doorbell did the celebrations begin, and everyone was expected to do their party piece.

I guess these days, Hogmanay tradition means watching Later with Jools Holland. Thankfully sport remains a huge part of that moment.

Fitba’ on January 1 was always a special day. 

The ritual of handshakes with umpteen strangers, the craic as you walked to the ground surrounded by fellow fans, hip flasks passed round, and then the full-throttle roar of choirs thousands strong on the terraces belting out their club songs. 

As a kid, I remember my uncles heading off for the great Hearts-Hibs derbies - the 7-0 drubbing handed out by the Hibees at Tynecastle in ‘73 is vividly etched in my mind - before I was old enough to celebrate Hogmanay and then head to the games.

I recall one New Year ending up at the swankiest of parties in a massive hoose in Gamekeepers’ Road in Edinburgh - arguably one of the top three most desirable addresses in Auld Reekie - which was owned by a Hibs director. We partied all night, his wife rustled up bacon rolls for about 30, and we all piled into his van, and poured out only when it arrived in the directors’ car park at Easter Road.

As sports editor of the Press, I remember a January 1 game at Dundee where the club laid on a smashing spread, and insisted we all had a dram. Not the best day to volunteer to drive!

There were Fife derbies at Stark’s Park and East End Park; glorious, raucous affairs which celebrated the rivalry, the passion, and the sheer joy of sticking it to that lot along the road.

Guys like Cammy Fraser, the late Ronnie Coyle and Frank Connor loved those games - not just the 90 minutes of football, but the whole day.

As in football, so in ice hockey.

That first game of a new year - whether it falls on the first or the fourth, or any date in between - is something special.

The time of year is made for derbies, but, over the years, we’ve welcomed everyone as first foots to Kirkcaldy.

True, a team such as Guildford probably don’t ‘get’ the whole concept as much a,s say, a Dundee, Paisley or Edinburgh did, but they were rivals, and that was usually enough to spark the bigger than average crowd into action.

And that’s the other added factor of Ne’er sports days - folk are still on holiday, and in the mood for some good, old style hockey in the raw.

True, I cannot imagine us tonight ever coming close to the infamy of 1993 when Paul Hand pinned Rob Abel to the plexi with a head butt amid a brutal Fife-Racers rammy.

There was a second of silence as the rink took a  sharp intake of breath before exploding with sound and fury.

That single act led to a fans’ boycott of Sunday games at Murrayfield - overnight the hundreds of Fifers who routinely went across the Forth to cheer whoever Racers were playing dwindled to barely 20.

And we will certainly not plummet the depths of 1949 when Flyers met Dunfermline Vikings. 

A dispute goal saw the fans pelt the referee with orange peel, programmes and coins.

The goal judge was adamant the puck had gone in the net. He even clamboured over the boards ON to the ice pad to remonstrate with the ref!

The stripey washed it out, tied up the hole in the net where the puck went through, and chaos erupted. Flyers’ defenceman Vern Greger skated round picking up the coins … and deposited them in the referee’s pocket!

The third period was even worse with numerous fights, and a tantrum from Vikings’ game-winning goalscorer, the wonderfully named Nebby Thrasher who jumped up and down in a childish rage after being penalised … and then unintentionally curtsied as he slipped on the ice while making his exit.

It’s probably a saving grace that DOPS wasn’t around in the days of old-time hockey …!