You know, I can hardly begin to tell you how I feel today. Every atom of my body is tingling with an excitement that I've never felt before. This truly is one of the best days of my life! And I've been following the Fife since..... last April. For the friends I've made at our club since then, a simple thank you. I cannot even start to imagine how you're able to stop yourselves exploding. Sixty years. Sixty fucking years! And finally, the guys on the park have been able to deliver what you've all been waiting for for so long.

On the train and bus trips around the country I've been entertained by stories from Stewart, Angus and, God forbid (though they're isnae one), even Kenny the Polis. They all have the same things in common - dads, grandfaithers, uncles and brothers. Glories, desperation, wind-swept terracing, six fans on a miserable Wednesday night in some hole four hours away from Methil (and the occasional guy tripping over his laces at the top of the stairs leading to the cells). Tales trundling down the ages that make this club what it is - the greatest. And, you know, every yarn made me smile... and also made me envious. Why couldn't I be part of that fabled history?

But, I realised today on the way home from Falkirk that I do have my own stories and memories. I'd gotten fuckin' soaked when Gary Greenhill uncorked an excited bottle of fizz this afternoon and was then sitting in the back of the Vengabus steaming away like a big bald toley (sorry if that's just an Ayrshire word....). I pulled up my scarf tae wipe the champers aff ma puss and caught a delightful whiff of something no' quite tangible.... Not really noticeable but definitely there. The scarf's been to all the games I have and has its own memories (and kebab stains) too.

Like, why it all started in the first place.... Ma pal was in the Victoria Hospital wi' a suspected brain tumor and, no' tae put too fine a point on it, wusnae quite his usual self. "You know, Ian," he muttered, when ah was visitin one night, "we should go an' watch East Fife next season." A dozen words that made all the difference - didnae even have tae wait until next season cos I had my first taste of despair when we failed at the final hurdle of the play-offs. Fuck, I was already hooked. And, nearly as good, ma buddy got a bit better.... (no' cured, mind; he still goes tae Parkhead fae time tae time....)

And today wasn't the only soakin ah've taken for the jersey. Ah wasn't even at the game when I got my first drenching - as the real fans were in Elgin, I was making a twat of masel in a downpour at ASDA - ma missus still no' convinced that I was serious about this 'East Fife Nonsense'. She'd reluctantly worked it out by the time I was subjected to the horizontal horrors of the rain in Forfar three weeks before Christmas. Fuck me, what a day! Big Tweedie lasted an hour, remember, before he fucked off wi' hypothermia. Priceless!

And what about the CIS Cup game at Paisley? Ah'm sittin' wi the wife in a bar in Pigalle, a table full of noisy transvestites beside us, whispering furiously as they tried to work out what was going down wi' the baldy Scotsman wi' the wee drunk woman! Texts fae Cheeko, Keith the Hun, Colin the Par and Ninian the Fenian - fuckin' brilliant - ma mobile bill came in just before the one-one game at Dumbarton; thank fuck Jen didnae see it or ah'd never have made the train....

And, of course, some of them all just run into one another. Four wins against Stranraer - a 9-2 aggregate; ma wife drove me doon for the first game at the Arsehole of Scotland and vowed she'd never return (so, despite being married tae me, she does have some sense....); all the bother at New Year but all ah can remember is the daft auld fucker (remember, the boy that was standing in for Cazza FM) trying tae break up the fight in the tunnell; and, all along, there was one common demoninator causing all the bother - Gerry Britten. Whit a knob! And then, when we'd made friends again wi' the Blues fans, we headed doon a fortnight ago and gubbed them again in front of their new boss, Delbert Ferguson. The tosser's barely literate so at least he wouldnae have been upset wi ma match report!

Or, other times I just sit and reflect on the places ah've been. A year ago ah wouldnae have been able tae spell Inverurie but now ah can say that ah've been there, seen Tweedie scoring with his arse and realised that some of these wee towns in the middle of nowhere still manage tae have some of the biggest fuckin' TESCO superstores you could ever wish tae see. Elgin's the same, by the way but has the added benefit of having an equivalent of Cazza FM who was even less well informed than she is.... And then there's Stenhousemuir, Montrose, Albion Rovers, Forfar - this time last year ah couldnae have telt ye what fuckin' colours they played in.... but I can now. Utterly fuckin' awesome.

But, for those and all the other wild reminiscences that will stay with me until my dying day, none will ever be as good as today. Friday night ah was like a wee boy waiting for Christmas morning, tossing (oo err) and turning and singularly failing tae get tae sleep for want of the dawn to finally arrive. Of course, Saturday did eventually check in and with the daylight came twenty four hours that will never be forgotten!

Naturally, it was never gonna take long for Baikie's Barmy Boys to wrap up the points. The nerves (and the points) were settled just six minutes in. Surely laying claim for next season's attacking positions, Bobby Linn and Paul McManus combined to simply brush away the Shire defence. Linn slid the ball through to McManus who's first effort was parried by the keeper only for Paul to follow up and slip the rebound away. The roof near came aff the shed that six hundred Fifers had congregated in and that was enough tae get me all blubby (don't tell anyone, it was more a slight moistening of the eyes than floods of tears) and realise that history was finally going to be made.

We'd barely had time to catch our breaths when the dynamic duo were at it again, the Boaby once more happy to assist his buddy. Paul doubled the lead and chalked up number fourteen for the season and while the nutters on the terraces were going berserk, the guys on the pitch were doing a fair impression of being pretty bonkers themselves. Just picture it - eleven grown men behaving like weans; Ryan at the bottom of the heap, doing his best tae hold Paul and the Boaby up while the rest of the team took turns at jumping on the top of the pile. Whoever said that Blackadder isnae a team player was talkin' oot their arse!

We kept on pressing and should have scored more but, well..... let's face it, who the fuck cares? The minutes came and went, the guys played their hearts out (just the usual, then) and the Barmy Army risked everything to start their chant with the first half only twenty minutes old. But what a performance - kept it going all the way to the interval; even Scotland On Sunday were impressed and gave the "ringleader with the loadhailer" a special mention. If only they knew just how good he is - the self-same ringleader still managed tae put in his own cuff links three hours later. Hey, it's a better class of football fan that ah travel with....

We kept up the pressure in the second half and were unlucky not to add to our lead early on. Well, unlucky you might think. There's already a story going round that Paul McManus had himself doon for two goals on the fixed odds. Which maybe explains how he somehow managed to miss not one, not two, but three 'ma gran could have scored that' chances in the opening minutes. By then, of course, nae bugger was caring. The players were rippin' the Shire tae bits, the fans were already celebrating, the local polis were as cool as fuck and even Dave Baikie was relaxed enough tae gie us a wave every time the crowd asked him to.

You have to give credit to East Stirling as it couldn't have been easy; it was like the Fife only had to concentrate in doing half the work to be good enough. Which, I suppose, says it all. We are the first team in Britain to win a title; we have done it in record time; we are by far the biggest fish in the pond.

And just to prove the point, we grabbed a third goal. With fifteen minutes remaining the Great Fozzmundo fired over a great corner which was met by the ever consistent Greig McDonald. His team mates loved it; Smartie and the Boabie being the first tae get tae him but, as the noise rained onto the pitch from the fans, big Greig showed us all just what it meant to him. Fuckin' fabulous ma man - now tell me that you'd rather have been at Craig's stag do than being part of this team. Exactly!

And that was enough to bring the curtain down on what has been a season to end all seasons. Sixty years of pain, suffering, despair and 'very nearlies' have finally added up to deliver the greatest day of our lives. The whistle sounded, the Shire players congratulated their conquerers and hundreds of fans spilled onto the park in a show of emotion that was, frankly, humbling. I've never experienced anything like it. And what a performance from the local constabulary. Always fully aware of the light hearted, jubilant nature of the visiting fans, they stood back and let it happen, close enough to be of help if needed but content to let the players and the fans enjoy the occasion. So, for the record, let this by a note of my appreciation for that. The cops were as cool as fuck!

After that we all have our own memories and experiences. Click on the link below and you can see some of the photos that I took. But don't spend too long looking at what it meant to me. Everyone who was there will have their own way of reliving the day. Just close your eyes and let it roll over you. Our club has made history today and we should be proud of everyone who's played their part - the players, the management, the backroom boys and girls and the directors. But also remember another vital ingredient in our success - the fans. Get over your hangovers, enjoy rubbing it into the Lino Lickers at work on Monday and get back tae Bayview next Saturday. We've had a party tonight; let's have another six before the end of this remarkable season.

C'mon the Fife - WE ARE CHAMPIONS!!!!

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