Partick Thistle 1-2 Rangers: Our cup runeth over

I'm not sure what you can say after last night's performance, other than justice wasn't really served. Unlike the 2-0 replay defeat at Firhill last season, this wasn't a match where we let ourselves down on the day. Quite the opposite in fact, this was a performance that Jags fans - of which there were several thousand - should cherish.

But it's that heartbreaking moment that kills me. It's not even a case of so near and yet so far. For spells - and not just small spells either, great whacking chunks of the match - we dominated the game. The passing was a joy to behold. Simon Donnelly, already the conductor of so much of Thistle's play this season, covered just about every possible inch of grass, soil and paint in the 90 minutes, while Ian Maxwell continued to fill the previously perilously wide gap in the heart of the Thistle defence.

As for McKeown's goal? What can you say? Other than it was, technically, as good as the other two on the night - and when you think both of those will be shoe-ins for the Goal of the Month competitions, that's high praise indeed.

I don't know what was more overwhelming coming out of Firhill. The anger that we'd been undone not by being outmatched, but by a moment of sloppiness and some truly horrific refereeing (of which more later), the frustration of knowing we'd come so damn close before being denied.

Or the sheer, unadulterated pride in the team, the fans, the coaches... anyone and everyone last night wearing a Partick Thistle crest.

Of course, there were niggles. There always are.

Gary Harkins' quest to become the anti-Paul McStay continues - hitting beautiful raking cross-field balls and skipping past opposing defenders, then botching a simple square five yard pass to a teammate.

The BBC somehow don't know we've changed our badge. Everyone else and their mother managed to get the new logo, yet the BBC continued to use the stealth bomber logo in their coverage last night, I found out afterwards.

And the way so many of the Rangers players managed to get away with murder. Seriously. I try not to indulge in Old FIrm bashing on here, but last night was a classic textbook example of how Scotland's big team get the benefit of the doubt.

From Mendes' cynical throwing himself down, to Thomson squaring off against Gary in the dying minutes, to the elbows, leaning in, offsides that aren't, throw-ins that aren't and every other moment of refereeing incompetence, it made you feel at times that every piece of conspiracy theory and hatred of Scottish refereeing might be right after all.

But forget all that, because so many moments of joy were to be found there. Sid's wee dink. Rowson's dogged tackling. A flying header which looked like it might carry on through the ad hoardings and onto the CIty End banking. The non-stop, devoted chanting and singing from the Jags support. Especially against a passionless Rangers support which sat on its hands for 90% of the 120 minutes, bursting into life only with the occasional blast of Rule Britannia or songs unworthy of mention here.

And those moments, and more, go some way to easing the pain of defeat. It'd be easy to blame Robertson or McKinlay for the defeat last night - but I don't and will not. The latter may have made the error, but he ran his heart and soul out in his best performance in red and yellow this season.

Yes, we deserved a result. And we squandered the chance to win a match that was ours for the taking. But last night also showed how good this side really can be. If we even play half as good as that for the rest of the season, who knows what we can achieve.