THE subject matter of this dissertation pertains mainly to footer but, if your interest in 22 muddied oafs obsessing over a sphere is limited, fear not.

I’m sure that, in the course of proceedings, I will conjure a spurious metaphor for life generally.

Now, what do I mean exactly when I say “glory hunting”? That’s a good question. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to answer it here, but I will say this: I’m referring to chiels supporting football teams that win everything, rather than their local team.

Manchester United fans famously attract the accusation. Celtic and Rangers do too. But what’s the problem with it? If you live in a remote area, for example, why should you not decide to support the team you see on telly winning all the time?

There’s something thrawn and Scottish about the idea that you should support your local team, no matter how bad. The basic ideal is that you turn out on a miserable February afternoon, in a tumbledown stadium with a few hundred other sad cases, and stoically watch your inelegant 11 being beaten 5-0 by the galumphing villagers up the road.

I can understand the native patriotism to a degree with larger communities and middling teams. I grew up supporting Hibs — the stadium was five minutes away — and it could have been worse. But it’s still been a curse around my neck. It says: “Loser.” Or as the motto of Leith has it: “Hibs — they always let you down.”

Locality needn’t be the be all and end all of football anyway. You may want to support a team that stands against prejudice or has a beautiful football philosophy.

Heck, listen: you can do what you want, back a winner, and stop associating with stoical, losing miserabilists. Just like in life generally.