My close amigos will be aware that my ongoing schedule of personal physical repairs has so far deprived me of any visits to Glasgow's east end this season. My enforced absence from live footy action has caused me to reflect on whether or not I'm really missing it. The answer is "yes" and "no".
I'm not missing the hum-drum (is that how it's spelled?) SPL nonsense. Encounters with St Johnstone, Hamilton and Kilmarnock et al, perhaps fortunately in current circumstances, don't get my heart racing.
Grudge matches against Johny Foreigner, which are 25 years in the making, on the other hand, are more likely to get me into dangerous cardiac territory. It's pathetic I know, but the sense of injustice, indignation and downright combustible rage is still palpable when you reflect on the events of 1984 and watch some of the bizarre TV pictures. It puts Eduardo-gate into perspective.
I'd love to be there on Thursday night to see Rapid Vienna put to the sword. Even 25 years and a couple of football generations later, it will still be sweet if we wipe the floor with the Austrians. After all it's only right and proper that a nation, which encourages adult men to wander around in leather shorts shouldn't progress in any serious sporting competition.
At the weekend there's the first Old Firm game of the season - or rather the latest instalment of sport's longest running "tallest dwarf" competition. I was a having a heated debate with a blue-nosed pal last week about which of us was worse. He insisted that his lot were marginally more dire than mine. I'm just not sure I care that much any more, but no doubt I'll manage to get caught up in it when it all kicks off.
My own apathy has somewhat taken me by surprise. I can hear cries of "heresy" from some quarters and I do feel slightly sheepish given the the central premise of this blog. My defence is based on the natural effects of the aging process. My contention is that, as I mature into a seasoned and rounded fifty-something, my perspective is changing and the attractions of other leisure pursuits appear more agreeable. My attitude towards the Hoops' fortunes is being moderated by a growing desire to be striding down manicured fairways, breathing in fresh air and wallowing in self congratulation about my improving golfing prowess.*
Before I can grapple properly with this thorny issue, I must get myself sorted out in the ticker department. Next week will see me yet again throw down a challenge to Glasgow's finest medics. Let's see what they can do about my frazzled and narrowed arteries using only some kirby grips and a can of WD40. I fully expect they will excell themselves and I'll be on the first tee at Crail on the Friday morning.
*Ps. Watch this space for some big golfing news in the coming weeks - if I'm spared.