I guess I have been sidetracked for a few days. My dad's hometown team - Greenock Morton Football Club - won the big game yesterday. This morning after, I feel a level of relief that surprises me - I didn't realize I got so caught up.

I suppose making phone calls to strangers in the Norseman the pub across the road from Third Division soccer ground should have told me I was a little obsessed. And spending hours on a bulletin board site with other fans of this not quite obscure club was another give away. And having a programme subscription. And buying 1914 cards of the keeper on eBay. And emailing the Sports editor of a major UK sports news service last week to tell them to get a camera to the game so I could catch the sight on my TV of the goal I prayed would come.

And the goal did come. And a little team which won the Cup in '22; had it stolen from them in '48 during the over time in a replay second game by the flash of a camera bulb at dusk; played with the big boys in the late 70's and early 80's in the premier league; almost died in the 90's due to incompetant ownership; but which has been brought back to life by one who must be the greatest most generous owner in all of sports scored the goal and won.

They won the Third Division of the Scottish Football League and are on its way up to the Second next year. 8,500 folk gathered where 2,000 or 3,000 had watched most games this year and hundreds more - economic exiles and their children ship builders computer workers and profesionals of exiles around the world followed through the internet.

I've only been to see them play at their home at Cappielow Park once - a few more times away. But since I've been old enough to know what sports are I have loved this little team.