I'VE never seen Aberdeen win in Glasgow. The first attempt was close: a 3-2 defeat to Rangers in the 1988 Skol Cup final (with - curses - a late winner from Ally McCoist). The Glasgow Garden Festival of that year is a hazily remembered footnote in the re-invention of Glasgow, a city that nearly two decades on, rather than quaintly chaging its image with herbaceous borders, is now brash enough to market itself as 'Scotland with style'. And still I've not seen Aberdeen win in Glasgow, in dozens of attempts. Including games against Partick Thistle.

So a few weeks ago I strode down to Firhill for a straightforward League Cup tie against Queen's Park, happy that I was finally to break my duck. Only to see the doughty collective of amateurs hold our abject mob to a 0-0 draw, then win on penalties.

I used to take defeat very badly. In 1984 I blubbed when Dundee United - a team I had no allegiance to other than they were representing Scotland - lost out to Manchester United in the UEFA Cup, then cursed as my mum watched Coronation Street (Ken Barlowe had the match on in the background, and and his indifference to the result was grinding insult into my injury). In 1989 I launched a sit-down protest as my callous parents attempted to coax me into playing an important tennis match mere minutes after Scotland's under-16s had succumbed to defeat in their World Cup final against Saudi Arabia ("But you don't understand," I railed, "They had beards! They're meant to be 15!). In 1996, the thought even crossed my mind that I would have to drop out of university after sitting behind the goal where Gary McAllister missed his penalty against England.

After the Queen's Park game, though, I was only numb. The defeat wasn't much fun, but it didn't linger for days afterwards. I'm 31 now, and, somehow, it didn't seem to matter as much, even if it was arguably Aberdeen's worst defeat in 103 years of history.

I will, one day, see Aberdeen win in Glasgow. It just won't matter as much as it would have done a few years ago.