What does a 15-year-auld boy hae in common wi a 50-year-auld man?
Well, if they're the same person, turns oot it could be a fair bit.
On any given day, I can look doon (and peer oot ower ma belly) tae see a reassuring pair o Nike Air Max 1s or Adidas Kicks on ma feet.
I can batter away at a heavy bag at the gym - daeing the same vague impression o a boxer I've done for decades.
And I can catch a snatch o I Am The Resurrection by The Stone Roses on the radio - long-lost teenage romances and fights taking flight wi the chorus.
But as I approach my half-century, my life force is sustained by somethin stronger than clathes, movement, and memories. And somethin less nebulous than nostalgia. It's powered by the flesh and blood brothers peekin ower the precipice with me
They aw ken who they are, so I'll no list them oot. In 1992 we formed a gang. Well, it was supposed tae be an anti-gang, really. Cos maist o the gangs in Dunfermline back then were based on supportin the same fitbaw team. Or liking the same clathes. Or coming fae the same area or village. Or lovin the same music. We were borne by bits o aw they things, but bound by something bigger: first and foremost, we were real mates.
The type o mates who ayways had each other's backs. The type o mates who would sacrifice oor safety for each other. The type o mates ye stuck by nae matter what - because even if there were spells ye didnae 100% like each other, ye ayways loved one another.
That's what happens when pals become brothers. And friends become faimly. In the decades since, we've had each other's backs through breakups, breakdoons, and deaths. Raised glasses for milestones, marriages, and births. And been there for aw the wee bits in between that weave lives intae each other.
So here's tae The Juice Tigers.
Named efter a long-defunct American juice blender that had a belter o an advert on Sell-a-Vision.
We've gone fae tearaway paper boys tae stick o rock men.
Hedge hoppers tae mortgage proppers.
Mad chancers tae dad dancers.
Recieved wisdom is that if ye're the same at fifty as ye were at 15, ye've wasted yer life.
But I'm no sure aboot that.
Because the 50-year-aulds I see who've changed the maist are often the ones who feel the maist deid.
But the ones who've smuggled their 15-year-auld selves through the mangle o adulthood still have that vital spark aboot them.
That's what's different wi us boys.
The wild-eyed love that made us cut oor thumbs and swear loyalty tae each other is still in oor blood three decades later.
Aye, the fifteen quid Juice Tigers tattoo I got fae Jaggy Jim has faded. But still, its colours dinnae run.