In the last week or so, anyone whose source of news is Radio Scotland or even, heaven forfend, Radio 4, it can’t have escaped their notice that a seismic change is taking place in Scottish football. Heart of Midlothian FC, who last took the title in 1960, have been sitting top of the Scottish Premiership since September. Now, with one game to go, immortality beckons for manager Derek McInnes and his squad.

Regardless of the result on Saturday afternoon, Hearts are guaranteed to finish at least as runners up. That would still be a mighty achievement for the Edinburgh club, although it may not seem like it after the adventures of the last nine months. We’ve been here before though, finishing second in 2006, 1992, 1988 and 1986. Ah, yes, 1986 …

Inevitably there has been much reminiscing about how Hearts “lost” the title that season, Dundee defeating them 2-0 on the last day of the season while Celtic stuffed St. Mirren 5-0 to take the title on goal difference. I honestly can’t remember much about it. (How did we know Celtic had won? Was it announced over the tannoy?) I vaguely recall grown men in tears as we made our way out of Dens Park, but it was freezing cold and I just wanted to get back to Edinburgh ASAP. In retrospect, because I’d come to the game, to football, late in life (this was only my second season following the Jambos) I probably thought, well there’ll be plenty other chances. Didn’t realise I’d have to wait 40 years.

When it came to watching Hearts, I was pretty hardcore for about a decade after not winning the league. Season ticket, a smattering of away matches, even a couple of European fixtures (“When we're afloat, on some big boat / We'll tie our scarves, around the funnel”). The latter weren’t entirely successful: Hearts’ gutless day of shame v. Bologna, and the Mallorca affair where the goalposts were the wrong size. Good fun though.

My attendance trailed off through the early part of this century. Can’t put my finger on why, although when I found myself one time reading The Guardian instead of watching the action on the pitch, I had to question what I was doing there. But I managed to get a ticket for the Motherwell game a month ago, first time I’d been in the new stand at Tynecastle, the one that replaced old one designed by Archibald Leitch. And (3-1 victory aside) being back at Tynecastle was fantastic, hadn’t realised how much I missed it.

And so, to last night, Hearts’ final home game against Falkirk. Despite my best efforts, I couldn’t get a ticket. 2-0 up at half time I decided to take a wander down to Tynecastle to see what was happening. As it transpired, fuck all. A surreal experience though: standing in a deserted McLeod Street opposite the stadium where there are 19,000 people watching a game of football which I can see on the plasma TV screens through the windows of the hospitality suites while listening to BBC Sportsound on my headphones. The novelty of that wore off after a few minutes, and after trying to blag my way in claiming I’d lost my ticket (like that was going to work) I headed off to the Polwarth Tavern to watch the last half hour.

The joyous atmosphere in the pub soured somewhat when, after full time at Tynecastle, the cameras switched to Fir Park where Celtic were awarded, then scored, a 99th minute penalty. But then, why was anyone surprised? Bookies would have given you pathetically short odds on that scenario before the games kicked off.

On Saturday Hearts will win the league for the first time in 66 years if they avoid defeat in their final game against … Celtic. At Parkhead. It’s a tough ask, but I’m sure Derek McInnes won’t be messing about; even though a draw will suffice, he’ll be asking his charges to go out for the win. I believe they can do it.

This time, tears are not enough.

Tears Are Not Enough

The Man in the Hüsker Dü T-Shirt