SURELY THIS MAN IS THE SON OF GOD by Jabba's Trainers

For a minute yesterday you could see deep into Walter Smith’s soul.

Not for long mind you. This is a man who keeps his emotions in check, a stoic pillar of integrity and honesty.

But at the final whistle yesterday, this elder statesman let his guard slip momentarily, like a defiant boxer distracted for a moment by a yearning call from the crowd.

As he stared around Hampden for the last time as Rangers boss he had a tear in his beautiful eyes, and I swear the reflection in his perfectly polished brogues was the face of God himself.

Smith has won much silverware as manager of this proud quintessential British institution but yesterday he reacted differently than normal.

Yesterday he opened up.

That fact alone was enough to have this writer sweating profusely and ready to pounce but the moment was only fleeting, there one minute then gone the next, an unfulfilled promise of that pot of gold we all strive for.

The ticker tape that filtered down from the stands must have felt like it came from the lord God himself, and where Smith is concerned it probably did. Then again there will always be a place in heaven for men like him.

As for Celtic manager Neil Lennon, where he was at this moment is unclear. Maybe he sat alone, reflecting on bringing everything onto his self, for that is what this man does. Or is he allowed to do or say anything without a Queens Counsel these days?

If he were in the stadium still, he should have studied his counterpart as he stood, weeping with happiness and thanking God the creator for his historic and earth shuddering League Cup win.

In fact, scrap that. God was probably waiting in a queue to talk to him.