I once headed the winner for City, into the West end goal at H R. Mind you, this was some 7 or 8 hours after the final whistle of a game we had actually lost.
Lots of commiserating post match alcohol and a wheelie bin stuck up against the sky blue stand gate in Thackhall street aided me in this "achievement". "Goal" duly dispatched, I milked the crowd's wild applause as I set off towards what were the early stages of the new east stand project which would facilitate my quickest route back home (I'd left the wheelie bin outside, remember) Half way across the building site, I impaled a foot on a nail sticking up from a piece of wood.
This injury, coupled with the realisation I would be 28 later that year meant I would never again reach that brief, dizzy height.