We travelled the hallowed road to Hampden with heads held high. The Old Timers who remembered 1964 hoped beyond hope they'd see us come out on top this time. The younger fans for whom that year is a distant history lesson stepped on virgin soil, the first time any of them had seen a Dundee team in a Scottish Cup Final.
We came, we saw, we lost.
So what happens to a dream deferred? Does it evaporate into the hocus pocus land of make believe and become a distant memory that hurts and burns into the soul like a red hot iron that never cools. Or does it, like tempered steel, pass through the furnace and make us stronger, more passionate Dees than we ever were before?
The phantoms that lived within me of the 1964 defeat have not been exorcised. They're still within, eating and gnawing away at a heart that won't be healed until we see dark blue confetti drop from the skies above Hampden and dark blue ribbons on that cup of excellence.
The experience of a Scottish Cup Final was a stupendous one. Though I'd seen us play in one before, this one had a special atmosphere all of it's own. And I'd forgotten just how big an occasion it really was.
The sleeping giants had awakened, and 19,000 noisy Dundee fans honoured their team in glorious fashion. If only they could shake themselves into such an awakened state more often, if only they could rouse themselves from a condition ruled by torpor and apathy, the bare portions of Dens Park that so hardly see a bum on a seat could open the gates to glory for this club and this present team.
Dundee, my team. So much love, so much passion, so much devotion to that cause. I became a marriage partner many years ago as a bairn whose dad brought him into a wonderland that I dream of returning. I am one with them, they are part of my spirit, my psyche, my very existence on Earth.
Love is a precarious emotion. It makes one proud to see his team perform with so much enthusiasm and devotion to the cause. The effort from the players cannot be faulted. I was very proud of them on Saturday.
But love is also tinged with jealousy and anger. Jealousy and anger because so many who birled their scarves and held their banners aloft with honour (and made me cry at the sight) cannot convince themselves that coming to Dens week in, week out could take us to the top of the mountain. If only the missing fans realised how desperately they're needed. So many who proudly supported their team on Saturday can't be bothered to come out in numbers during the season. If one half of our support at Hampden decided to support Dundee during a season, Dens Park could not hold them all and we'd have to build a new stadium.
Allowing for fans from far flung areas all over the world, China, Australia, New Zealand, Holland, France, Belgium, England, USA, Canada, (so humbling to see their flags), etc., etc. who can't be expected to come to home games, there's still a large number who live locally and who came out in droves to support their spiritual team, but don't attend home games. A sleeping giant dies eventually if the slumber goes on too long.
But I also see a new dream emerging. Young fans in their droves are flocking to Dundee. Perhaps the excitement of witnessing players of the calibre of Caballero and the soon to depart Zurab, the speed and flair of Novo, the great goalkeeping by Speroni and the guile of Nemsadze. Kids know talent when they see it and the foreign influx has certainly got their pulses racing. Added to this is the Scottish passion so well paraded by the likes of Smith, Mair, Brady, Mackay, Milne, Wilkie and Rae.
Oh, that we had won. The gloves were there for the taking, the glory could so easily have been ours.
So the dream is on hold again. But it hasn't died and it hasn't evaporated into never never land. We who witnessed that epic effort can never be the same again.
We saw 9-1 outsiders come very close to gaining a result that would have sent shock reverberations throughout football. That we didn't do it is tearful to even think about. But somewhere out there the Great God of Football perhaps has a hidden agenda. Out of our pain can come a greater story than the writers of Roy of the Rovers could ever have imagined. Oh ye of little faith. Believe in your team, come back to support the guys you so noisily honoured at Hampden. That was a grand occasion when the Dees from all over came together as One huge beating dark blue heart.
We must fill the terraces, make a hidden pact to do our bit for the team, then and only then, can we speak of the glory days returning.
Dundee, my team, so often berated, so often the laughing stock of minions who don't know what love really is. So often the yo-yo team of promotion and relegation. Now, stabilised and moving into turbo gear.
Jim Duffy is our captain, he has steered the ship well, managing players brought in by the great God Ivano and moulding them into men of fire, now playing for the team cause in a way never thought of before his arrival. If we can only believe. Believe in him and his players. The youths coming through and the love in our hearts.
I believe Dundee are on the brink of great success. All we need is returning fans to cheer the team on to victory. It's over to you, the unknown legions who can carry this team on a sea of scarves and flags into uncharted territory.