Words and images by Kateryna Kostrova
Saturday, 4 October – Derby Day in Edinburgh. The city felt different from the moment I woke up. Cold air, wind howling through Leith, fitting really, since Storm Amy seemed ready to join the matchday lineup herself.
By midday, Block 7, the soul of the Hibs support, were already on the move for the corteo—drums, chants, flares, smoke: all the essentials. Before the march even began, the team bus rolled past, swallowed by noise and colour, outstretched hands reaching through the haze. For a moment, the players and fans were one, separated by dark window glass, but united by the same pulse.
It felt even more powerful this year, as Hibernian celebrated its 150th anniversary, a century and a half of history and hope carried on the shoulders of every supporter that day. The corteo wasn’t just a march; it was a moving tribute to everything the club has been and still means.
When the corteo finally moved, hundreds filled the streets, a river of green cutting through the city toward Gorgie. The chants echoed off the buildings, that deep, rolling sound that makes you feel part of something far bigger than yourself.
Inside Tynecastle, the atmosphere was pure edge. The wind cut across the stands, and you could feel the tension crackling between the two ends. The game was tight, physical, scrappy, the kind of derby where every throw-in feels like it might tip the balance.
Boyle went close early on, Obita tested their back line, and Sallinger kept us level with a brilliant stop from a Hearts free kick. We’ve seen it all before as Hibs fans – a match balanced on a knife-edge. Waiting for someone or something to make the difference, and hoping it wasn’t you who’d be leaving with the damage.
The songs from the away end never stopped, even when the team struggled to find rhythm. And when Boyle chipped the keeper in the 61st minute, time seemed to freeze. It clipped the crossbar and dropped inches short, the kind of chance that sticks in your head for days.
For ninety minutes, we kept waiting for that goal of our own. But deep into stoppage time, Craig Halkett got the touch that decided it. The home end erupted; ours fell silent for a heartbeat before applause broke out for the effort and the fight.
Outside the ground, the streets were lined with police, their presence hard to ignore. It added a cold edge to what had been a day full of colour and emotion – a reminder that in Scotland, football supporters are still too often treated as a problem to be controlled rather than a culture to be understood.
Walking away through the smoke and wind, I caught bits of conversation that summed it all up:
“Thought we’d draw but we lost – the march was good, being drunk’s good, the hangover’ll be bad.”
That’s Hibs: frustration, humour, faith – all rolled into one.
Words and images by Kateryna Kostrova
