RULES is rules – and they were rigidly applied on Tuesday evening when Paul Hartley was sent off for leaving his technical area in celebrating Dundee’s last-gasp derby equaliser at Tannadice.

It has been widely reported that Dundee’s manager branded referee John Beaton and, more particularly, Craig Charleston – who reported his misdemeanour – “killjoys” for their rigidity.

In essence, Hartley accepted that he had committed an offence but felt that some discretion might have been shown, and few sports lovers would disagree.

Some sympathy is due to the officials on duty since they would doubtless feel that any failure to apply the legislation to the letter would be picked up by some assessor in the stands and that they would be the ones to be penalised.

Overall, though, it seemed to speak to a joyless lack of flexibility long associated with sporting officialdom in this part of the world in particular.

Similar sentiments were in the Tannadice press box on Tuesday evening that the night’s most inevitable decision from a Scottish referee had been made elsewhere – in the UEFA Super Cup final being overseen by Willie Collum, who awarded a penalty to Seville.

In fairness, having seen a re-run of a match that was almost as exciting, stylish and important as events at Tannadice – (are my roots showing?) – the presence of a Scottish referee in no way detracted from and may even have enhanced a celebration of the beautiful game at its most captivating, if not its most efficient.

Fair, too, to note that the on-field officials did nothing to undermine a Dundee derby which Hartley rightly described afterwards as having been a great advert for Scottish football, played in front of a good crowd and a TV audience.

Let’s hope, then, that the manager’s contribution to promoting the game is also recognised when he gets hauled up in front of the beaks for what was – barring any evidence that his behaviour was in any way deliberately provocative rather than a spontaneous celebration – surely a minor offence.

And Another Thing...

A decade or so ago an ageing rugby player got upset because I took issue with the way he appeared to be seeking to cash in on his status in the game.

Among those who had done very well in the early days of the game going professional, he set up some camps which, his marketeers claimed, were his way of putting something back into the sport.

All very well, until a parent of twins contacted me to complain that his sons were keen to take part but that the prices being charged were exorbitant, something in the region of eight or nine times those the SFA were charging for comparable experiences in the same school holidays – which I explained in print.

Refreshing, then, this past couple of weeks, to cover a couple of events that remind us that some Scottish sportspeople are genuinely giving something back.

Paul Lawrie’s extraordinary work on behalf of golf development since winning the Open has been exemplary and the warmth expressed towards him by his fellow professionals at the staging of the inaugural European Tour event to carry his name reflected his stature in the sport.

That Stephen Gallacher has emulated him in setting up a charitable foundation in his part of the world can help revitalise a Scottish golfing community that has been too set in its ways for too long to damaging effect.

That being the case, last week’s announcement of the creation of the Matt Murdoch Foundation, set up in his memory by his family, including son David, the two-time world champion skip, was hugely encouraging on behalf of another sport that is looking to modernise.

In generating funds to send Scottish youngsters to Canada to gain exposure to the world’s most vibrant curling scene they are very obviously giving something back while looking to the future.

And Finally...

You have to wonder how many of those celebrating the “Glorious Twelfth” yesterday also shed crocodile tears for Cecil the Lion the other week.

One man’s big game hunting is another man’s field sports but the justification offered for the Scottish version yesterday brought to mind Orson Welles’ ferrous wheel speech to Joseph Cotton in “The Third Man,” when comparing the people below with ants as he sought to justify his behaviour in engaging in despicable black-market misdeeds that were costing lives.

“Victims? Don’t be melodramatic,” he oozed.

“Look down there. Tell me. Would you really feel any pity if one of those dots stopped moving forever? If I offered you £20,000 for every dot that stopped would you really, old man, tell me to keep my money or would you calculate how many dots you could afford to spare?”

All of us who eat meat enter dangerous territory when we pontificate about the killing of animals, but when we engage in what is best referred to as blood sports, or killing things for entertainment, we enter dangerous territory when differentiating between those we consider magnificent and those we consider dispensable.