I've been with the Herald for 30 years, though regular readers swear it seems longer. I've been chief sub-editor, literary editor and deputy sports editor. Opinion is divided on whether this is a testimony to my versatility or a judgment on my inability to hang on to a job.
It is a destiny that endures even as more tangible assets have thinned to the point where the one-time clamour of shipbuilding and steel-making has been reduced to a whisper.
Sir Alex Ferguson's retirement as manager of Manchester United serves as reminder that great Scots continue to be produced and still prosper in foreign fields. They do so by not only failing to lose the accent of their youth but by employing the best characteristics of their homeland and of the illustrious personalities it produces.
"Papa, you were a sports writer," the boy says, "did you ever do anything good, or important?" The old man does not pause. He says "Lance Armstrong."
The scene cuts and then there is a fade to a street in Liege, Belgium, David Walsh, that great grandfather to be, is pulling his case behind him. He has toothache. He has 2000 words to write about the Tour de France. He has been abandoned by fellow pressmen who have said they cannot give him a lift to the next stage.