THEY are sometimes dubbed the cathedrals of the masses, although those of a religious persuasion would no doubt argue that cathedrals are still in fact the cathedrals of the masses.

Football grounds, which often dominate the skyline of Scottish towns with their floodlight towers like giant brooding metal insects, are often the one reason why people elsewhere even know the name of the town from the ritual of football scores being read out.

And Glasgow can boast that before the First World War it possessed the three largest purpose-built football grounds in the world. Nor are they relics. The city's Hampden Park will be viewed by millions globally next year as it hosts Commonwealth Games athletics. Already £3 million has been spent upgrading Hampden and millions more will follow putting in the running track – although the lasting legacy argument is questionable as the track will be ripped out after the Games, and the stadium returned to its football obsession.

The three largest stadiums claim I learn from Richard McBrearty, curator of the Scottish Football Museum and himself a former player with Hamiltion Accies, who spoke last week on Scottish football architecture in the douce surroundings of the book-lined Jeffrey Room at Glasgow's Mitchell Library. He also cleared up the nagging question of why the first Scotland v England football international was played at the West of Scotland cricket ground in Partick, Glasgow, rather than on a football pitch. The answer is the wall that runs around the cricket pitch. It meant they could charge admission for folk to stand three-deep to watch the game as elsewhere the curious could just walk up to football pitches.

With the hefty shilling admission for the estimated 2500 attendees, organisers Queen's Park could start the fund-raising which led to football becoming the big business it is.

My own piece of Glasgow football stadium trivia is that Rangers' long-serving manager Bill Struth had a greenhouse at Ibrox where he grew tomatoes. Even at the most tense of games no opposition fans assuaged their anger by lobbing missiles at its glass. They might try to break rivals' jaws, but not greenhouses.

From that 19th century beginning, evolution was speedy. In 1937 a record 149,415 people watched the same fixture at Hampden – and that was just the official attendance. With children being lifted over the turnstiles, the more agile climbing the walls, and the occasional turnstile operative pocketing an unrecorded admission or two, the actual number is estimated at 180,000 with a further 20,000 locked outside. Similar numbers were recorded the following Saturday for the Scottish Cup Final. Glasgow was football mad.

Of course it wasn't up against much opposition. There was no television for the armchair-bound, few cars for a run in the country, no superstores for those who like to push a trolley when they perambulate. This was an era when workers were at their tools for five and a half days a week. Work on a Saturday morning till noon. Then a pie and a pint in the local pub and off to the game. Sunday, the country was closed for religious observance, so you had to make the most of the game on a Saturday afternoon.

Later, as disposable income grew, came the drinking that went hand in carry-out with big football matches. At Hampden in the sixties, on the ash-strewn terracing where the lucky had a crush barrier to lean on, the norm was pals sharing a box of two dozen cans of lager or pale ale. No ring-pulls then – someone would produce a can opener to punch a triangle in the metal lid, then a second on the opposite side to let the air in for an easier flow. The brick toilets at the rear too difficult to get to? No problem. Just use the empty can as a portable toilet, although a certain dexterity was required. The more civilised left said can at their feet. The more unruly launched them elsewhere. Architectural plans of football grounds used the Latin word vomitorium to show the passageways. How apt.

So if you are feeling nostalgic simply stand in the garden and ask a family member to fill a can with urine and throw it as close to your head as possible. That should dampen your enthusiasm for the football of your youth.

Now, of course, the larger stadiums – only pretentious Latin scholars call them stadia – are all-seated. But that in itself can pose problems. I recall the married couple who happily shared adjoining seats at Celtic Park with their season tickets until they split up. Neither would give up their seat. For the rest of the season they met every fortnight for a grim non-communicative gaze at the football.

But with football attendances falling in Scotland, are they still important? Well internet site TripAdvisor has just named Glasgow as a top British destination, with Ibrox Stadium as the sixth best attraction. Now that last figure has been artificially inflated by Rangers fans, but nevertheless, stadium tours in Glasgow, with the truly remarkable trophy rooms at both Celtic and Ibrox parks awash with dazzling silverware, and the aforementioned football museum at Hampden, may give foreign visitors an awe-inspriing vision of Glasgow that perhaps cathedrals give to travellers elsewhere.

All of course without strange smelling cans whizzing past their heads.