At school, myself and some pals, all football-daft, divided up the old English First Division and wrote off to half a dozen clubs each asking for a trial.
Hearts was the pinnacle of my career. After I left, it really was downhill. Hearts is the club I always associate myself with, and I'm proud to have played for them.
I didn't want to be one of those ex-pros, aye hanging around. I think that's wrong.
I played for a lot of teams in my career, and I check all their results every Saturday, or at least the ones who haven't gone bust. But it's always Hearts first. They're the club who've really seeped into me.
I wasn't concerned with the money stuff; I only wanted to play football.
Football ruled my life for years, morning, noon and night.
People could see by your actions on the park that you cared about it. If we got beat, I'd fling the Sunday papers in the bin and wouldn't read them.
When you ran out the tunnel at the old Easter Road for a derby game, you'd get a spittal right on the back of your head. They were spitting on you as you ran out, which actually helped get you going. It was some place.
