For many people, including myself, it was the best day of their lives. The memories of Saints' first ever League Cup win will last a lifetime. It's the sort of day that makes supporting a club like St Mirren worthwhile, almost a reward for sitting watching your side being gubbed by a team made up of part-timers, battling relegation or losing to your rivals. If you stick it out through the bad, the good times will come along every now and then and they will be majestic. It was emotional, it was a rollercoaster, it was tense, it was nervy, but we did it. The message was believe and whether or not the fans followed through on that, the players most certainly did.
But it so nearly didn't happen because, for the first half hour, we were awful. Was it typical St Mirren where we once again choked under expectation in front of a crowd? Were we freezing, despite all but one player having started the semi-final? Or did we simply have it tactically wrong? Whatever, we were rotten. We gave Ryan Stevenson too much space to score a deflected goal but before that we'd already been in trouble, Craig Samson rattling a passback off John Sutton. And after? We were all over the place. Sutton hitting the woodwork, a free-kick just needed a touch and it would have gone in, Mehdi Taouil shot wide as he enjoyed the freedom of Mount Florida and we were all at sea. If just one of those chances had gone in we were done for. It looked as if the League Cup just wasn't meant to be for Saints.
Our only glimmers of hope had been Gary Teale tearing Calum McHattie apart again and again, while Esmael Goncalves found himself some space to shoot straight at Jamie MacDonald. Then, less than 10 minutes from half-time, David van Zanten found Steven Thompson and he sent Teale scampering away. He had to be offside - but he wasn't as whichever Hearts player was standing in the middle with his hand up was actually playing him onside. We watched in utter astonishment as he produced an awful shot when through one-on-one before realising it wasn't a shot at all but a superb, selfless pass to Isma. He too was onside and he kept his composure to send the ball into the net rather than whizzing past the far post. He lifted up his shirt to reveal a T-shirt message - or perhaps produce a bag marked "swag".
It was daylight robbery. After half an hour I was hoping to God we could get in a goal down at the break. Going in level? Unthinkable. But somehow we did it. We'd been battered but Hearts hadn't taken their chances. How many times have we said that about our own team and watched as we were made to pay for it? Maybe, just maybe, it was our time to benefit rather than suffer.
We needed a quick start to the second half, to stamp our authority on things and show we were up for the fight - but surely no one could have dreamt of what happened. A superb passing move involving Paul McGowan, John McGinn and Isma saw Paul Dummett giving plenty of space on the left. He delivered a low first time cross, the Thommohawk stepped off his marker and lashed a shot high into the net from close range for a goal many people missed as they queued for a pie. It was the stuff of dreams and he looked for a few seconds as if he was about to cry before he held it together and got on with being swamped by players in black and white. It was Roy of the Rovers stuff for a man in love with the club, a man loved by the fans who could only dream of doing what he'd just done. At the other end of the park Marc McAusland jumped into Sammy's arms.
They say you're always at your most vulnerable after you've scored - and we almost conceded when a cross bounced off Michael Ngoo before Sammy somehow scrambled it behind. The Thommohawk almost got his second before Gowser shot wide. We were on top but you felt we really, really needed a third. Midway through the half it came, Conor Newton passing to Isma before charging forward to receive the return ball. It was right in line with me and he was onside, making a burst that can only be described as Andy Dormanesque, before rifling a first time shot past MacDonald to score his first senior goal and write his name into Saints folklore.
The man on loan from Newcastle set off towards the Hearts fans before realising where he was going and turning back towards his own support and players. Lee Mair and Sam Parkin created a two man pitch invasion, Parkin probably running as fast as he has all season. Danny Lennon ran to the Saints fans celebrating, turned back then turned again to take in the utter bedlam in the stands. It looked, at long last, as if the League Cup was heading for Paisley.
But this is St Mirren we're talking about and things are never that easy. We all knew that as we settled in for the longest quarter of football ever. There was some light-hearted booing when Hearts hooked the dire Barr before we were hit with a double blow, the Thommohawk and McGinn going off in quick succession with problems and being replaced by Parkin and Graham Carey respectively. Hearts helpfully took off Taouil before an unbelievably tense 10 minutes. Stevenson had a shot saved by Samson before Vanzy heroically slid in to block the follow up. Then Stevenson hit the bar before he finally got his and Hearts' second with a trundler into the far corner. Now we really were in trouble.
It was hard to watch I had my head in my hands - not just because I couldn't watch but also because I was convinced we were going to bottle it. All I could think of was my mate's 3-3 prediction and Aberdeen's collapse against Celtic from 3-1 up. We tried to take the ball into the corner but it was far too early for that. Samson denied Stevenson again before the midfielder rattled the rebound off the post and behind. We were rocking, by God were we rocking, Danny charging down the technical area urging the fans to back the team. If Hearts equalised you could see them winning in normal time, let alone an extra half hour. And if it did go to extra-time we were done for, Parkin a lone striker after Isma got injured and was replaced by Mair.
But then we broke, the ball was fed to Carey, he beat one man and was sent flying by the next, rolling about 20 times to ensure we got the free-kick. The players asked how long was left, the sound levels grew and you just knew that surely from here not even we could mess it up. We'd take the free-kick short, take it to the corner and that would be the end. In the end there was no need. McGowan played it to Carey, he took a touch and that was that - the winger picking up the ball, charging 10 yards forward then launching it into the stand as the party began.
It was jubilation in the stands. I hugged my brother, I tried to hug my dad, I hugged strangers and you could see the scenes repeated all around. We'd waited 26 years for this, we'd waited longer for this trophy and after what happened three years ago we could be forgiven for thinking this day would never come. But it had - and on St Patrick's Day it just had to be an Irishman who went up to collect the trophy. Jim Goodwin was following in the footsteps of legends as he collected the silverware, particularly Jock Bradford, Davie Lapsley and Billy Abercromby. Saints became the 13th different team to claim the trophy in the year 2013 - who said that number was unlucky?
The trophy was passed along, to Sammy, the Thommohawk and all the way to Danny. Then it was down to the pitch where the players were joined by their kids as they celebrated in front of the fans while doing their interviews. The Thommohawk and Vanzy took their kids onto the wee podium for a dance while the fans went through their full repertoire of songs. It was glorious and no one wanted to leave - but eventually we had to. After all, there was a party to attend back in Paisley.
Let's put aside the organisational problems because it was Buddie good. Thousands of folk lined the streets to see the open top bus, thousands more - including myself - waited in County Square for it to arrive. Eventually it did, but not before we'd all had a good singsong thanks to DJ Phil and a good booing of provost Anne Hall - partly because she was a politician trying to steal the limelight and partly because she voted against Saints moving ground back in 2005. Us Buddies don't forget.
The reception for the players was fantastic. They were rightly treated as heroes when we could see them through the photographers. Some of them had scarves or ties wrapped round their heads, Carey was wearing a headband with leprechaun’s hats and everyone was clearly enjoying themselves - apart from Sander Puri, who looked rather confused about the whole thing. When the players left it was time for us to do likewise, to catch up with mates and old pals for a celebratory drink. I met up with someone I worked with a few years ago, who by pure chance happened to be mates with someone I was at school with. After a few I bailed - partly because I was knackered and partly because I only had the following morning off!
While the players hit the town on Monday I was heading for Dumfries. I'd managed to keep things together fairly emotionally on Sunday but on Monday I came close to crying while listening to the interviews on the Sportsound podcast. Then again when I looked through the papers, and once more when I watched the highlights and Carey won that free-kick at the end as I knew what was coming. Still, at least I gave everyone I talked to a good laugh with my hoarse voice, which still isn't quite right!
Only now, four days late, is life beginning to return to normal for everyone. However, everyone associated with the club is still on a high and the memories of Sunday can never be taken away from us, especially when the DVD comes out next week.
What a day. What a night. What a week. Thank you St Mirren.
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