THEY say you remember smells more than any other sense. Football had such a smell. The smell of Saturday in the 70s. Younger generations can now access a live 90m every day of the week and that aroma is diluted. That's unfortunate.

School football, in Paisley, walking back all the way to Crookston.

Or when you weren’t doing that, especially in winter, you were watching the telly, when the Banana Splits ran seamlessly in to Football Focus. Pre-match to teleprinter to Jimmy Sanderson and Richard Park, and then Sportscene.

Playing cards and those Shoot league ladders. Every boy had them, maintained diligently up until September at least.

If you couldn’t get to the game – and I often didn't have that chance – you’d watch amateur or junior football at 3pm, and there would always be someone with a radio. Remember when you only got the second-half commentary? A goal could disrupt your keepie-up rhythm quite badly!

Thinking back to those days, never has the phrase "less is more" been more pertinent. We weren't in the world of instant access fully snackable content. And you valued your football more. You really can get too much of a good thing. Is the pendulum about to swing back?

My mates would have been split 50/50 between Celtic and Rangers fans. Good friends – still are – but, you know, always with that elephant in the room. Saturday created a kind of distance that we all understood and accepted. An edge. The different smell of Saturday.

Looking back, I think the first game that meant anything to me would be the 1970 Scottish Cup final when Celtic were beaten 3-1 by Aberdeen. An uncle of mine told me the result – there was no live TV then – and I totally refused to believe him. It was, for me, utterly inconceivable that Celtic would lose a game, let alone a cup final, and by the margin of two goals. Was he kidding? If he was, I didn’t find it funny – and of course he wasn’t.

At that time, defeats hurt more and left more of a lasting memory that trophies or games that Celtic won. The European Cup semi-finals against Inter Milan and Atletico Madrid fall in to that category. The semi-final of the European Cup; it was almost accepted as the norm then. It was the norm then. And that is why never, but never, will my generation of Celtic fan accept this current downgraded place in the food chain.

I could lay claim to being a genuine supporter. The posters were on the wall, Joe Craig, Ronnie Glavin. And over the next couple of years, Murdo MacLeod, Tommy Burns, Charlie Nicholas and Davie Provan became the key players of that era for Celtic. That famous phrase: two defenders away from winning the European Cup. In a later life I never much took to Jim McLean, as I still resented him not selling us Paul Hegarty and Dave Narey.

Great days; there was a dynamic change in Scotland. Rangers were rivals but not the big threats. That came from Aberdeen (I was still scarred by 1970) and Dundee United. It was less about Rangers' players, more about Gordon Strachan and Stevie Archibald, Paul Sturrock and Eamonn Bannon.

Scottish football offered quality, real emotion, uncertainty of result. Scottish football was treated with respect. TalkSPORT wouldn't have dared.

Then Charlie Nicholas left for Arsenal, and maturity made you question the amount of emotional capital you were expending in supporting what was a selling club, run by a less than mediocre board. I checked out. An attitude, still there, that for sure at the SPL hindered my empathy with those who were/are admirably unshaken by their talent siphoned off every January and June.

The national team were magnificent. Where your World Cup draft squad of 40 was bursting at the seams with talent. Getting down to 22 was a challenge. The annual week of long summer Home International Championships was something to truly look forward to. That Wednesday midweek game, for some reason is always associated with still-light games of street football at 11pm. The Saturday, England game was immense. The build up, the tension.

What the hell happened?

You can get upset, angry, smile, fall out, be distraught, laugh, cry, laugh again. But ultimately football will bring you together and keep you together. We should never depart from that love of the game.

Roger Mitchell is a former CEO of the SPL. He works from his home in Italy, operating his digital knowledge consultancy advising across creative industries such as media, sport, music, and technology.