Billy Abercromby dies at 65 as tribute paid to man who led St Mirren to cup win

THEY say you should never meet your heroes. 

They warn you the reality will never match the expectation.

Well, whoever ‘they’ are, they clearly never got to meet Billy Abercromby.

A guy who was everything you wanted him to be and so much more.

I idolised him as a player. I loved him as a pal. And, like everyone who knew him, I’d spent a long time preparing to hear that he’d passed away.

It’s no secret that he didn’t look after himself, that he had demons and issues and however else you care to dance around the fact that his lifestyle made old age a very long shot indeed.

But just because bad news isn’t a surprise doesn’t make it any less of a shock. 

And for dozens of former team-mates, for all his old gaffers, for every fan who ever warned opposing midfielders that he was Gonnae Get Ye, that shock will take a while yet to sink in.

Aber got his break in Alex Ferguson’s first team of all talents, the St Mirren side who won the First Division title in 1976-77; Fergie’s Furies, the headlines called them and, even aged 19, no one chased victory more furiously than the wee man when he was called on.

Rookie or not, he still elbowed his way into the front row of the end of season photo, right next to chairman Willie Todd and two along from skipper Tony Fitzpatrick. Then again, he never hid at the back of the line, whatever the situation.

He was forever first up to carry the fight to the other lot, first into the tackle, first to pull up a team-mate who he thought wasn’t pulling his weight, first to help a new boy who was struggling to settle in – and, yes, first up to the bar on a night out.

He scored the winner in the club’s first-ever European tie, 2-1 away to Elfsborg in Sweden, three days after his 22^nd birthday. As bigger names were sold for big fees, he stepped up to be the heart and soul of everything Saints achieved.

Then, unforgettably, he was the skipper when they – no, when WE – won the Scottish Cup against Dundee United on May 16, 1987. As he held the trophy aloft in the old Hampden main stand, his was the face of a wee boy who’s just opened the best Christmas present ever.

I hope, in the worst times of a later life filled with way more than its fair share of pain, he could still close his eyes and see that moment, to know that he’d done something magnificent, something life-changing for all of us who’d never seen our team achieve the likes.

That should be the image of Billy Abercromby the football world remembers, not that of someone who took too many wrong turnings once injuries set in and his career spiralled downwards.

Though personally, I will always treasure the way he was on another day when the Saints lifted another cup.

 Back in 2013, Aber had got his act together and was smiling again. He was back in and around the place on matchdays from time to time, something like his old self once more.

So when we made the League Cup Final, my pal David Davidson invited him as a special guest on the bus running to Hampden from his restaurant. 

Aber took over the day, telling stories non-stop, having a cheeky wee glass of red here and there, kicking every ball of our 3-2 win over Hearts; and then, when the video of 1987 came on screen late at night, giving the room his own, wonderful commentary of how it all happened from his point of view on the pitch.

Right then, you could have heard a pin drop. Because that was Aber, a magical man with a magnetic personality. A leader, a legend, a Buddie to so many.

If only he could have been as good a friend to himself.