The salt in the Leith morning coffee

Wake up, Leith. Smell the betrayal. It is April 23, 2026, and apparently, the world has officially tilted off its axis. I just finished reading Simon Murray and whatever Taylor-branded pundit he’s dragging along for the ride suggesting that Hibs fans should actually be happy if Hearts win the Scottish Premiership title. Let that sink in for a second. It is like asking a cat to throw a surprise party for a neighborhood Doberman because it is good for the local animal population. It is absolute, unadulterated madness.

We are currently looking at a league table where the unthinkable is actually on the horizon. For the first time since 1985, someone other than the Glasgow two-headed monster might actually lift the trophy. On paper, that should be a victory for every person who pays for a season ticket at a stadium that isn’t Parkhead or Ibrox. It should be a moment of national celebration for the underdog. But when that underdog wears maroon and plays its home games in Gorgie, the rules of physics and human decency change completely.

Simon Murray played for Hibs. He knows the walk down Easter Road. He knows the specific scent of hope and impending doom that defines our existence. For him to come out and suggest that a Hearts title win would be a positive for the city is the kind of clinical delusion usually reserved for people who think pineapple belongs on a deep-fried pizza. This isn’t about the good of the game. This is about the fundamental laws of survival in the capital.

The myth of the greater good

The argument from the 'objective' punditry crowd is always the same. They say that breaking the Old Firm stranglehold is the only way to save Scottish football. They tell us that if Hearts win it, it proves that the dream is alive for the rest of us. It is the rising tide that lifts all boats, or some other nonsense you’d hear in a corporate boardroom. Let me be very clear: if the tide is rising and it’s carrying a maroon bus through the streets of Edinburgh, I would rather my boat just stayed at the bottom of the Firth of Forth.

Think about the sheer, concentrated misery of the last few decades. Think about the 5-1 drubbing in the 2012 Scottish Cup Final. That wasn’t just a game of football; it was a decade of therapy sessions waiting to happen. To suggest we should now turn around and offer a polite golf clap while they parade a league trophy around Tynecastle is an insult to every fan who had to endure that afternoon at Hampden. Rivalry isn't a switch you can just flip off because the narrative requires a feel-good story for the BBC Scotland highlights package.

If Hearts win the league, the bragging rights don't just last for a summer. They last for an eternity. We spent over a century being reminded of our Scottish Cup drought before 2016 finally washed the stain away. If they get a league title in the modern era, we will never hear the end of it. We will be hearing about it in the year 2075. It will be carved into every pub table from Dalry to Haymarket. No Hibs fan with a pulse wants to live through that reality.

A city divided by more than just postcodes

The Edinburgh derby is built on a very specific kind of friction. It’s not the religious sectarianism of Glasgow; it’s something more personal. It’s the difference between Leith and the West End. It’s the difference between a club that prides itself on being 'The Famous' and a club that thinks it’s the moral guardian of the game. Hearts fans already have a level of arrogance that could power the National Grid. Giving them a league title would turn that into a supernova of smugness that would make the city uninhabitable for anyone wearing green.

I’ve seen Hibs fans on Reddit trying to play the 'rational' card. They say, 'Well, if Hearts win it, maybe investment will flow into the city.' What investment? Are we expecting a sudden influx of luxury flat developers who only want to build next to Easter Road because the neighbors won a trophy? It’s a fairy tale. The only thing a Hearts title win brings to Hibs is a fresh wave of mockery at the workplace and a sudden desire to move to another country until the celebrations die down in 2026.

The reality of being a football fan is that you are allowed to be petty. In fact, it’s practically in the job description. You don't want your rivals to succeed, even if their success technically improves the standing of your league. If you were a Manchester City fan in the mid-90s, you weren't cheering for Manchester United to win the Treble because it 'helped the brand of the city.' You were praying for their downfall with every fiber of your being. That is how football works. That is how the soul of the game stays intact.

The Hibs problem that nobody wants to talk about

Here is the part where I have to be brutally honest, and it’s going to hurt more than a late winner at Tynecastle. The reason this conversation is even happening—the reason Murray and Taylor feel comfortable talking this trash—is because Hibs have become a non-factor. We are currently watching our rivals chase immortality while we are stuck in a cycle of perpetual 'transition.' We’ve changed managers more often than I’ve changed my socks this month, and the recruitment strategy seems to be based on picking names out of a hat filled with fringe players from the English League One.

While Hearts have built a squad with a clear identity and a backbone, Hibs have looked like a collection of strangers who met in the parking lot five minutes before kickoff. We are soft. We are inconsistent. We are the team that lets a lead slip in the 89th minute because we forgot how to mark a simple cross. It is the lack of our own success that makes the prospect of their success so terrifying. If we were sitting in second place, breathing down their necks, we wouldn't be talking about 'the good of the game.' We’d be talking about how to trip them up.

The current gap between the two clubs is the real issue. Hearts have managed to professionalize their operation in a way that Hibs simply haven't matched. They found a formula that works and they stuck to it, while we’ve been busy chasing the next shiny object or the next 'revolutionary' tactical setup that falls apart the moment we face a bit of physical pressure. It’s embarrassing, and it’s the primary reason why Simon Murray feels he can lecture us on our own loyalties.

The verdict on the 'Support Hearts' movement

So, what do other Hibs fans think? I’ll tell you what they think. They think that anyone suggesting we should support a Hearts title win should be barred from every pub on the Shore. They think that the rivalry is the only thing that keeps the Edinburgh football scene alive and vibrant. Without that edge, without that genuine, localized dislike, the derby becomes just another game on the calendar. It becomes a 'family friendly' event where people take selfies together. That is not what we signed up for.

We have waited 41 years to see the Glasgow grip broken. We can wait a few more years until it’s a club that doesn't play in maroon doing the breaking. Or, better yet, we could actually get our own house in order and be the ones to do it. Until then, I will be supporting whoever is playing Hearts on any given Saturday. I will be cheering for every missed penalty, every deflected goal, and every VAR decision that goes against them. That isn't being bitter; it's being a Hibs fan.

Simon Murray might have moved on to a stage of his career where he can look at the game with a cold, analytical eye. Good for him. He can enjoy his seat in the press box or his role as the elder statesman. But for the rest of us, the ones who have to live in this city and listen to the noise from Gorgie, the stance is clear. We don't want them to win. We don't want their success. We want our rivalry back, and we want a Hibs team that actually makes us proud enough to ignore what’s happening on the other side of town.