Sunday 8 December 2019

The Faither.

As a wee boy in Aberdeen my first memory of Pittodrie was a Scotland Under 23 game against England along with my Dad. We sat in the centre stand alongside Mr Lawson who owned Lawson of Dyce, grand  makers of pies and bacon, My Dad worked there, was it a coincidence we sat there that evening? Was it a cunning plan, a career move for him? Was I pawn in my father’s climb to the top? Did I get a free pie at half time? So many questions, it was 24th February 1963, I was 6 and if I, even at this age went to the social work with accusations of parental cruelty then  I think there still would be a case. Is there a statute of limitations on Scotland disasters?
The game finished 0-0, My Dad remembers Billy Bremner was pitted against Alan Ball in midfield, so although there was no goals there certainly would be a few tough tackles flying.
Thus all these years later I can reflect on 56 years of watching Scotland and Scottish fitba. This disease has no known cure, why should there be? I should ask social work, or better a psychiatrist.
Other early memories of Pittodrie are of course at best hazy, a visit of  Kilmarnock, me  entering the terraces to see a pipe band welcoming the 1965 Scottish Champions. A draw methinks, turns out 1-1 was the score, not 2-2 from memory.
Enter my wee brother Scott and a 1965 Cup Final trip to Hampden, he was 5. This was the game that marked the start of the Stein era, Jock that gigantic figure that would dominate Scottish football from his management of Dunfermline and the Hibs and on until his sad death. Celtic won 3-2 to defeat said Dunfermline courtesy of a late Billy McNeil header. We stood at the corner of the ‘Rangers End’ and ‘Wee Enclosure’. I make no apology for such descriptions, those were the widely used terms of the times, later thankly to change.
We drove down from Aberdeen to Glasgow probably staying with my Grandparents, Nana and Pop of whom I will devote a separate chapter alongside my maternal Grandfather Gramps.
A year later we three attended our first Auld Enemy game. Again the same spot. Hampden was then massive, truly massive and then a bit. Attendance at the cup final was 118,000 and the England game 123,502. Scott and I must have gazed in wonder. Our first Scotland goal was a magnificent Denis Law header from a corner taken directly in front of us. I am so glad I saw Denis at his best, the King. An Aberdonian my Dad tells me I spoke to Denis ( King ) at a phone box. A story I trust is true. 
Parents have a certain wisdom. I innocently questioned my Dad as to why the Queen was at the English Cup Final and not the Scottish one. I was introduced to republicanism. More of that not that long into the future.
We were regular visits to Dons home games. The visit  of Celtic circa ‘67, perhaps as European Champions saw a Tommy Gemmell penalty saved by Bobby Clark. He scored the retake and in the rumpus that followed the controversy,  the referee, alleged villain, was banjoed by a pitch invading fan. Dad told us the fans paid for his court fine. I seem to remember Celtic scored five. Perhaps the perpetrator should have played in goal. 
Celtic reached the European Cup Final and we watched the final live on a black and white TV. At half time with Celtic 1-0, a dodgy penalty, we played football in the garden. As Scots we were supporting a Scottish team, a habit we have follow followed ever since. 
The 1966 World Cup was held in England and mysteriously all England’s games were played at Wembley. Football was of course coming home. As an 8 year old I wanted England to win, no excuses because of age, I just did. During the tournament we went on holiday to The Maidens, near Girvan in a hut with no TV so we possibly would not have seen all the goals. We watched the final in Stirling on the way home. The vision of Bobby Moore, boo, would be ever present for years, holding the Jules Rimet Cup. We went to see the dreadful World Cup film in the cinema. Dreadful. 
We lived in a beautiful big house, 119 Broomhill Road and to pay the mortgage we had students living in the attic. We watched England win the cup in a student’s house. 
I do remember the opening game a 0-0 England draw with Uruguay, other memories are of the great Bobby Charlton’s goals, Alan Ball and Nobby Stiles. I have not supported England since that day, I habit I have followed ever since. 
Every Christmas Santa brought Hugh Taylor’s Scottish Football Annual, starting with number 10. A loose colourful cover with wonderful picture from that year’s Scotland England game. Santa must have on the way passed by my Nana  and 
pop’s house to get each annual signed, very thoughtful of him as that night he had many other chimneys to drop through. 
I have a memory of being in my Gramp’s flat in Govan prior to the ‘64 game. They had a spare ticket, they discussed whether I should go. I didn’t go, I had to wait 10 years to see us beat England. I was 6, did I not have human rights? 
To this day Scott and I treasure Hugh Taylor’s Annuals. My almost encyclopaedic knowledge of irrelevant Scottish football facts derives from many many hours pouring over the books.
Highlights; 
Annual 10,I have the green book minus the cover lan Gilzean’s 1964 headed winner, the picture of the ball sitting in the back of the net. A net that folded beautifully over the white ball. Ever since I have loved nets. I studied nets. Why did some clubs have crappy brown nets when white was so brilliant? Rangers suddenly had brown nets, why? Stanchions . Hampden’s were distinctive, a curve and lovely folding nets, unfortunately Queens Park bought new white tight nets. The ones where the ball would bounce out and not lie enveloped in a white net.
Annual 13,the first hard cover, a picture of Ronnie Simpson’s late save. We had beaten England 3-2. A picture of the Scotland fans standing on Wembley’s sacred turf. Surely this would never be repeated? Surely?
On the opposite page Law ( King ) and Ronnie McKinnon celebrate a Scotland goal and the net visibly lifts as the ball hits the back of the white Wembley net. Beautiful. 
The end of the match report had a picture of....you guessed it Martin Peters, ( Alf, Sir Ramsay of, described him as ‘ahead of his time’. ), lifting the crumpled net to get the ball from the back of the net. The vision lives with me to this day.
I may mention nets later on, Hearts for example had an almost round stanchion and had for a period striped nets.
In those days I am it sure if the whole game was live on TV, perhaps only the second half. After our annihilation of the World Champions Dad gave me money for a new football and I ran up Broomhill Road to the shop and imitated scorer Jim McCalliog  goal celebration. On the Monday a girl mentioned in the class that she had been on a bus, number 2 to Auchinyell no doubt and had wondered what I had been doing.
Celebrating Scotland being World Champs that is. We did not hold this title for long as we lost to Russia not long after.
Celtic won all that year and we went down to Glasgow to see the Dons lose 2-0 in front of 130 odd thousand fans. I stood beside a classmate Neil Carsey and Dad got a speeding ticket on the way home.
We had various matches Pittodrie, invariably in the wee corner stand. On European tie, a Belgium team methinks, must have been in the cup winners cup as cup losers. As a boy amongst other thing was my interest in track suits. The foreign teams seemed to have really good ones and I am sure a cracker was evident that night. 
Fitba boots were not in abundance in the mid 60s for a mad footballer like me. I seemed to have been picked for Broomhill School as a 7 year old, I am sure of this, they must have been desperate and their results were dire. We were regularly thumped. 13-0 and a 16 goal humiliation. Our strips were a Hibs top, black socks with green tops. Far too big. I loved looking at the width of the top turnover. Loved wee thin ones. 
My boots for a boy of size 3 were a Puma 300 size 5. Only ones available. A beautiful Puma flash with green rubber soles. I was taken aback when a 333 model appeared with white soles. Screw in soles came later.
The sports shop was Peter Craigmyle, former referee, on King Street.
My father came to the games, a piece of advice for me as a right winger was not to talk to the opposition, I had been guilty of this heinous crime as a I remember once in an away game.  
We were often taken to Pittodrie for the second half, entry free. Please note modern clubs this is a vital introduction for kids to senior football, no longer available. 
Latterly Scott and I would take the bus to games, we were so young, however in those days it was perfectly natural.
As a wee boy I was Rangers mad, a visit of the hordes from Glasgow filled me with great excitement. I once had a home made flag which my pal, the Jannie’s son and a I took to a 4 goal win.
Dad once , that I remember, played for Lawson of Dyce, I stood behind the goals chatting to the goalie. Wonder if he had Puma boots on?
Aberdeen FC goes on, our visits are now seldom , mostly for Scotland games. Our stay however ended in 1968, I had a Saturday visit to my teacher Miss Mackie’s bungalow which meant as missed my last Aberdeen home game for about 10 years. Scott went.
A postscript in that on the way to Chorleywood we stopped off to stay with Gran and Gramps. He took us to the last game of the season, Rangers vs, guess who....The Dons. Rangers were to finish 2nd whatever the score however they would go the entire season unbeaten if they did not lose. Aberdeen won on the same day Dunfermline beat The Hearts in the Scottish Cup final, on the same day!!!
Sportsreel was the TV football programme on Saturday night. Midweek games were late and the routine was that we went to bed and were promised that we would be woken for the highlights.
Scotland played Italy in 1965 and I have an extremely hazy recollection of the late John Greig’s winner. 
When will we see the likes again, highlights are a rarity midweek, shame.




Carlisle 1971-1978

Carlisle 1971-1978

We moved to Carlisle in August 1971 settling into Eden Mount. 
I have a memory of Dad taking us to a midweek game soon after, Bolton Wanderers thereafter he was but an irregular attender at Brunton Park as he worked during the week and played golf on a Saturday. 
I had a similar pattern as I played at the weekend.
Me and my pals did however attend a few Carlisle games, mostly midweek and cup tie replays. Liverpool and Spurs come to mind. 
Liverpool in the FA Cup at Anfield; we didn’t go as either we had bought a new Toshiba Whirler the week before or Dad had a gold tie on. My pals went and Pete Tuer got a doing, had his scarf on his wrist and got dragged down an alleyway. ‘couldn’t get it off’. Jes laughed. 
Scotland games of course took precedent, 
The first game was the midweek Portugal Euro Qualifier; Scotland vs Portugal. Tommy Docherty’s first game. He was quoted as having Jimmy Johnstone scratching the dressing room door to get at them’. Bob Wilson was making his debut, Eddie Colquhoun was Centre half. The guy beside us confided in us loudly. ‘ Just what we needed a big centre half and a goalie with a safe pair of hands’.
We were in the North ( Big Enclosure ), we won 2-1, scorers John O’Hare and Archie Gemmell. 58,612 turned up. 
The Carlisle Scotland 70s adventure started and want a decade it was indeed. We rarely missed a game, 2 I can think of a Peru 1972 2-0 win friendly which I can only think we may have been there and I have no knowledge. The 5-0 England 1973 Centenary International grubbing was played on a freezing February Wednesday and thereafter the Husband’s were an ever present that momentous decade. Every Scotland game at home and some away.
A disastrous 1-0 1972 England defeat was a really poor result, the game was a battle and we lost. Dreadfull. Awful. 
I was at the Brazil friendly, losing 1-0 to a Derek Johnstone own goal with Jes. The year was 1973 and the greatest night of my possibly our Scotland adventure took place in September
Following Scotland would never be the same again..  Attachment.png

Govan 1969-71

Chorleywood 1968-69

We moved to Chorleywood in April 1968 and we attended only a couple of Watford games, the Hornets were the nearest club. Strangely, or unbelievably one was a pre-season friendly against Morton which we attended. 
My thoughts were always towards Scotland and Rangers who were continuing to live under the shadow of Celtic.
I played for my school Russell County Primary School who were hopeless, there was no league just a few friendlies. My developing style was based on my heroes Baxter and Willie Henderson and the romantic tales of skill and dribbling. Dad told me about some Scottish player who could score direct from corners and many of my corners were indeed wasted as it turned out that that skill was impossible. 
To this day I can still nutmeg at will, my talents which are many derived from watching the Real Madrid vs Eintracht Frankfurt European Cup Final 1960. A 7-3 game which is legendary and which my father was there. He told us so. Seemingly. 
My pals, Michael Rowbottam and Mark Service wearing kilts travelled in the back of our wee Mini van to White Hart Lane to see a pre-season friendly against Rangers. Rangers lost, possibly 2-0.  We were so disappointed that the terracing was square and the view so poor. There were loads of Rangers fans there, possibly drunk. The nets were white. 
By the way he was at the 1945 Ranger vs Moscow Dynamo game. He was, and he was on the track. Seemingly.
We went to an England friendly, Bulgaria at Wembley. In 1966 I was an England supporter, however now a supporter no more.
I was obviously an attentive child as when God Save the Queen was played I booed. Dad was horrified, to this day I can’t understand his issue, maybe 90,000 nearby loyal England fans were of immediate concern. 
A 1-1 draw , a few years ago I saw the game on Sky TV and the great Bobby Charlton scored, what a player.

 My class went to Dawlish, Devon for a weeks holiday. Returning on the Saturday Dad took us to the evening game, the bi-annual England Scotland game. We were grubbed 4-1 by the then excellent England team. Colin Stein scored a headed goal from a corner, the highlight, the one highlight. An experience we would have to get used to.

Chorleywood 1968-69

Chorleywood 1968-69

We moved to Chorleywood in April 1968 and we attended only a couple of Watford games, the Hornets were the nearest club. Strangely, or unbelievably one was a pre-season friendly against Morton which we attended. 
My thoughts were always towards Scotland and Rangers who were continuing to live under the shadow of Celtic.
I played for my school Russell County Primary School who were hopeless, there was no league just a few friendlies. My developing style was based on my heroes Baxter and Willie Henderson and the romantic tales of skill and dribbling. Dad told me about some Scottish player who could score direct from corners and many of my corners were indeed wasted as it turned out that that skill was impossible. 
To this day I can still nutmeg at will, my talents which are many derived from watching the Real Madrid vs Eintracht Frankfurt European Cup Final 1960. A 7-3 game which is legendary and which my father was there. He told us so. Seemingly. 
My pals, Michael Rowbottam and Mark Service wearing kilts travelled in the back of our wee Mini van to White Hart Lane to see a pre-season friendly against Rangers. Rangers lost, possibly 2-0.  We were so disappointed that the terracing was square and the view so poor. There were loads of Rangers fans there, possibly drunk. The nets were white. 
By the way he was at the 1945 Ranger vs Moscow Dynamo game. He was, and he was on the track. Seemingly.
We went to an England friendly, Bulgaria at Wembley. In 1966 I was an England supporter, however now a supporter no more.
I was obviously an attentive child as when God Save the Queen was played I booed. Dad was horrified, to this day I can’t understand his issue, maybe 90,000 nearby loyal England fans were of immediate concern. 
A 1-1 draw , a few years ago I saw the game on Sky TV and the great Bobby Charlton scored, what a player.

 My class went to Dawlish, Devon for a weeks holiday. Returning on the Saturday Dad took us to the evening game, the bi-annual England Scotland game. We were grubbed 4-1 by the then excellent England team. Colin Stein scored a headed goal from a corner, the highlight, the one highlight. An experience we would have to get used to.

The Faither, Part1

The Faither.

As a wee boy in Aberdeen my first memory of Pittodrie was a Scotland Under 23 game against England along with my Dad. We sat in the centre stand alongside Mr Lawson who owned Lawson of Dyce, grand  makers of pies and bacon, My Dad worked there, was it a coincidence we sat there that evening? Was it a cunning plan, a career move for him? Was I pawn in my father’s climb to the top? Did I get a free pie at half time? So many questions, it was 24th February 1963, I was 6 and if I, even at this age went to the social work with accusations of parental cruelty then  I think there still would be a case. Is there a statute of limitations on Scotland disasters?
The game finished 0-0, My Dad remembers Billy Bremner was pitted against Alan Ball in midfield, so although there was no goals there certainly would be a few tough tackles flying.
Thus all these years later I can reflect on 56 years of watching Scotland and Scottish fitba. This disease has no known cure, why should there be? I should ask social work, or better a psychiatrist.
Other early memories of Pittodrie are of course at best hazy, a visit of  Kilmarnock, me  entering the terraces to see a pipe band welcoming the 1965 Scottish Champions. A draw methinks, turns out 1-1 was the score, not 2-2 from memory.
Enter my wee brother Scott and a 1965 Cup Final trip to Hampden, he was 5. This was the game that marked the start of the Stein era, Jock that gigantic figure that would dominate Scottish football from his management of Dunfermline and the Hibs and on until his sad death. Celtic won 3-2 to defeat said Dunfermline courtesy of a late Billy McNeil header. We stood at the corner of the ‘Rangers End’ and ‘Wee Enclosure’. I make no apology for such descriptions, those were the widely used terms of the times, later thankly to change.
We drove down from Aberdeen to Glasgow probably staying with my Grandparents, Nana and Pop of whom I will devote a separate chapter alongside my maternal Grandfather Gramps.
A year later we three attended our first Auld Enemy game. Again the same spot. Hampden was then massive, truly massive and then a bit. Attendance at the cup final was 118,000 and the England game 123,502. Scott and I must have gazed in wonder. Our first Scotland goal was a magnificent Denis Law header from a corner taken directly in front of us. I am so glad I saw Denis at his best, the King. An Aberdonian my Dad tells me I spoke to Denis ( King ) at a phone box. A story I trust is true. 
Parents have a certain wisdom. I innocently questioned my Dad as to why the Queen was at the English Cup Final and not the Scottish one. I was introduced to republicanism. More of that not that long into the future.
We were regular visits to Dons home games. The visit  of Celtic circa ‘67, perhaps as European Champions saw a Tommy Gemmell penalty saved by Bobby Clark. He scored the retake and in the rumpus that followed the controversy,  the referee, alleged villain, was banjoed by a pitch invading fan. Dad told us the fans paid for his court fine. I seem to remember Celtic scored five. Perhaps the perpetrator should have played in goal. 
Celtic reached the European Cup Final and we watched the final live on a black and white TV. At half time with Celtic 1-0, a dodgy penalty, we played football in the garden. As Scots we were supporting a Scottish team, a habit we have follow followed ever since. 
The 1966 World Cup was held in England and mysteriously all England’s games were played at Wembley. Football was of course coming home. As an 8 year old I wanted England to win, no excuses because of age, I just did. During the tournament we went on holiday to The Maidens, near Girvan in a hut with no TV so we possibly would not have seen all the goals. We watched the final in Stirling on the way home. The vision of Bobby Moore, boo, would be ever present for years, holding the Jules Rimet Cup. We went to see the dreadful World Cup film in the cinema. Dreadful. 
We lived in a beautiful big house, 119 Broomhill Road and to pay the mortgage we had students living in the attic. We watched England win the cup in a student’s house. 
I do remember the opening game a 0-0 England draw with Uruguay, other memories are of the great Bobby Charlton’s goals, Alan Ball and Nobby Stiles. I have not supported England since that day, I habit I have followed ever since. 
Every Christmas Santa brought Hugh Taylor’s Scottish Football Annual, starting with number 10. A loose colourful cover with wonderful picture from that year’s Scotland England game. Santa must have on the way passed by my Nana  and 
pop’s house to get each annual signed, very thoughtful of him as that night he had many other chimneys to drop through. 
I have a memory of being in my Gramp’s flat in Govan prior to the ‘64 game. They had a spare ticket, they discussed whether I should go. I didn’t go, I had to wait 10 years to see us beat England. I was 6, did I not have human rights? 
To this day Scott and I treasure Hugh Taylor’s Annuals. My almost encyclopaedic knowledge of irrelevant Scottish football facts derives from many many hours pouring over the books.
Highlights; 
Annual 10,I have the green book minus the cover lan Gilzean’s 1964 headed winner, the picture of the ball sitting in the back of the net. A net that folded beautifully over the white ball. Ever since I have loved nets. I studied nets. Why did some clubs have crappy brown nets when white was so brilliant? Rangers suddenly had brown nets, why? Stanchions . Hampden’s were distinctive, a curve and lovely folding nets, unfortunately Queens Park bought new white tight nets. The ones where the ball would bounce out and not lie enveloped in a white net.
Annual 13,the first hard cover, a picture of Ronnie Simpson’s late save. We had beaten England 3-2. A picture of the Scotland fans standing on Wembley’s sacred turf. Surely this would never be repeated? Surely?
On the opposite page Law ( King ) and Ronnie McKinnon celebrate a Scotland goal and the net visibly lifts as the ball hits the back of the white Wembley net. Beautiful. 
The end of the match report had a picture of....you guessed it Martin Peters, ( Alf, Sir Ramsay of, described him as ‘ahead of his time’. ), lifting the crumpled net to get the ball from the back of the net. The vision lives with me to this day.
I may mention nets later on, Hearts for example had an almost round stanchion and had for a period striped nets.
In those days I am it sure if the whole game was live on TV, perhaps only the second half. After our annihilation of the World Champions Dad gave me money for a new football and I ran up Broomhill Road to the shop and imitated scorer Jim McCalliog  goal celebration. On the Monday a girl mentioned in the class that she had been on a bus, number 2 to Auchinyell no doubt and had wondered what I had been doing.
Celebrating Scotland being World Champs that is. We did not hold this title for long as we lost to Russia not long after.
Celtic won all that year and we went down to Glasgow to see the Dons lose 2-0 in front of 130 odd thousand fans. I stood beside a classmate Neil Carsey and Dad got a speeding ticket on the way home.
We had various matches Pittodrie, invariably in the wee corner stand. On European tie, a Belgium team methinks, must have been in the cup winners cup as cup losers. As a boy amongst other thing was my interest in track suits. The foreign teams seemed to have really good ones and I am sure a cracker was evident that night. 
Fitba boots were not in abundance in the mid 60s for a mad footballer like me. I seemed to have been picked for Broomhill School as a 7 year old, I am sure of this, they must have been desperate and their results were dire. We were regularly thumped. 13-0 and a 16 goal humiliation. Our strips were a Hibs top, black socks with green tops. Far too big. I loved looking at the width of the top turnover. Loved wee thin ones. 
My boots for a boy of size 3 were a Puma 300 size 5. Only ones available. A beautiful Puma flash with green rubber soles. I was taken aback when a 333 model appeared with white soles. Screw in soles came later.
The sports shop was Peter Craigmyle, former referee, on King Street.
My father came to the games, a piece of advice for me as a right winger was not to talk to the opposition, I had been guilty of this heinous crime as a I remember once in an away game.  
We were often taken to Pittodrie for the second half, entry free. Please note modern clubs this is a vital introduction for kids to senior football, no longer available. 
Latterly Scott and I would take the bus to games, we were so young, however in those days it was perfectly natural.
As a wee boy I was Rangers mad, a visit of the hordes from Glasgow filled me with great excitement. I once had a home made flag which my pal, the Jannie’s son and a I took to a 4 goal win.
Dad once , that I remember, played for Lawson of Dyce, I stood behind the goals chatting to the goalie. Wonder if he had Puma boots on?
Aberdeen FC goes on, our visits are now seldom , mostly for Scotland games. Our stay however ended in 1968, I had a Saturday visit to my teacher Miss Mackie’s bungalow which meant as missed my last Aberdeen home game for about 10 years. Scott went.
A postscript in that on the way to Chorleywood we stopped off to stay with Gran and Gramps. He took us to the last game of the season, Rangers vs, guess who....The Dons. Rangers were to finish 2nd whatever the score however they would go the entire season unbeaten if they did not lose. Aberdeen won on the same day Dunfermline beat The Hearts in the Scottish Cup final, on the same day!!!
Sportsreel was the TV football programme on Saturday night. Midweek games were late and the routine was that we went to bed and were promised that we would be woken for the highlights.
Scotland played Italy in 1965 and I have an extremely hazy recollection of the late John Greig’s winner. 
When will we see the likes again, highlights are a rarity midweek, shame.




Sunday 13 October 2019

Returning from a wonderful trip to wonderful Moscow it was only at Heathrow I became angry. A woeful performance, not for the first time. The BBC were in front of me at security. It was of course their fault.

I have listened to football on the radio since I was a lad. Radio Scotland in Carlisle, Radio Scotland in Darmstadt West Germany on clear atmospheric winter nights. Back in Scotland with Radio Clyde. Richard Park and the wonderful Jimmy Sanderson. Sometimes I was at the game, often not. The phone - in. In Ayr I had to have the radio on the kitchen window ledge to receive the signal.
Jimmy passed and Radio Scotland sharpened their act.

Tighter and best of all good discussions with journalists. The occasional barney. If Jimmy Sanderson was obtuse James Traynor was controversial and stubborn and unlikeable. Probably deliberately so. Entertaining, oh yes and a must for a Saturday afternoon.

We had the period of the New Firm and Scotland’s regular qualification for tournaments and decent club runs in Europe. Really good quality players if not in the Law or Baxter quality. Rangers emerged as a real force financially, Celtic followed. Good but not brilliant.

Then came the period of decline. Dreadful football. Truly awful. 21 years of failure internationally, with more to come. Rangers self-combusted and we had the wee teams winning trophies. Great. not brilliant though,

As for BBC Scotland. The journos have disappeared, save the excellent Tom English. Punters, jings they seem to mirror the standard of oor fitba. ‘You know’.

I put forward for the case for the prosecution the word ‘brilliant’. An oft used word. You know.
Scottish football and the word ‘brilliant’. Our performance in Moscow? The preceding 2 games at Hampden? Killie losing to a team of Welsh semi-pros? Continual failure in Europe for our clubs?
I could go on. You know.

‘You know’. By a pundit using the words ‘you know’ by definition implies that since I the listener
 ‘ you knows’ then the pundit is redundant. You know.

Anyway, you get my drift. ‘Brilliant’ is a word redundant in the description of anything in Scottish fitba.

Of course the ( terminal) decline of Scottish fitba is not the sole fault of the media. We have all played our part, we are all collectively guilty. I watch Scotland and often I am not sure I recognise some of our players, a centre half who was last week on the bench for Aberdeen. Jings.

I saw Denis Law play. Jim Baxter. Henderson and Jinky Johnstone. They were ‘brilliant’.
A suggestion. In describing Scottish fitba, goals in Scottish fitba, games in Scottish fitba please use the phrases; nae bad, quite good, good, excellent, adequate. You get my drift. You know.

Thursday 13 June 2019

Westa Motivating speaker

The West of Scotland Tartan Army invited Scotland Women’s Team Manager to our Burns Supper, she announced she was thrilled to come. She was brilliant, in perfect Dutch English her speech went down a treat. The highlight was when she was heckled. She announced she had 50 odd caps, a shout from the audience ‘ had she ever beaten England?’
Yes ‘5-0’. The cheer was the loudest of the evening, she had achieved the highest Westa acholade. ‘Conqueror of the English’. We to this day await another.
When Scotland qualified for the Euros 2 years ago we invited manager Anna Signeul to a meeting. She was great, she loved the Tartan Army, our passion. In honour of their feat I offered to speak to the team, offer accepted I indeed made my first ever motivation speech.
I wrote a piece, and on the night with the Scotland team facing me I changed the talk. In the  end outlined the experience of a Scots fan watching Scotland in the finals. How despite the best laid plans of mice , managers and logic there was and would be a tragic Scottish curse that could not be broken.
The players were so bright and optimistic, I probably was the same as an 8 year old watching Scotland for the first time, we lost 4-3 to England. My first two Wembley games a total score of England 9 Scotland 2. You get my drift.
I tried to warn them, to no avail.
I was in Utrecht when a startled Scotland team lost 6-0, including a corner converted in the 5th minute of injury time. 
We lost to Portugal when we should have won then beat Spain, a higher ranked team missing a sitter in the last minute thus not going through to the next round.
Glorious defeat, just like the men, tragic. I warned them. However we have qualified for the World Cup.
This time Olympic champ. Katherine Grainger, five times Olympic medalist was the motivation speaker. A step up in class. 
We played well in the first game, the realisation that we have a lot to offer seemed to have dawned on the team after England had a third chalked off. We played them off the park, scored but it was not quite enough.
Japan tomorrow, 
Then I am off to Paris for the game that may (will) see us into the next round, the first time we have done it.

Hamish



Westa supporting Scotland women’s team

There are those kids who have no first hand evidence of Scotland participating in the World Cup. 21 years, a long long time since we were there and even then we scored 2 goals and won not one game. None, mind you we drew with mighty Norway. We did lose 2-1 to then world champs Brazil despite scoring 2. A rare talent that.
Our women’s team are there, in France and were in Holland 2 years ago for the Euros. I was there. Scotland is in the World Cup, finally. I repeat we are in the World Cup.
A squad of highly talented footballers, thrilling to watch with Technique, yes I will repeat the not often used adjective to describe a Scots footballer. Technique.
Many years ago, in the dark ages of the early 2000’s West of Scotland Tartan Army (Westa) had a major issue with their player of the year. Which hapless, nay hopeless Scot should we pick? We had our annual award ceremony in the Iron Horse coming up and the with the nomination deadline approaching we had none.
Some of us had been watching the women’s team and had witnessed Scotland winning. Yes , winning. We decided to nominate, thus choosing a women’s player as oor POTY. Democracy be damned we chose a player. Mhairi. It can finally be revealed that she was chosen as we found out she worked at nearby Greaves Sports. I popped down to break the news to her in person.
Unwise it seems. She looked shocked and possibly slightly worried. She was polite and walked backwards to the fire escape as I explained the great honour she was to receive.
The next day I got a phone call from the SFA telling me off. A right good telling off by the way. ‘How dare I’. Any approach should be made officially. Official approach was made.
Vera Pauw, the Dutch Scotland manager made contact and both she and the still startled Mhairi attended our POTY.
I imagine our trophy proudly sits on Mhairi’s sideboard to this day. Unless that is she presented it to Scotland’s Football museum. I will check the next time I am there.

Hamish

Ask a Belgian

Having been to Belgium 3 times I found it prudent not to waste my time repeating the mistake. I still have to ask a Belgian how come a wee nation is so good? Why in the last 40years have they continued to produce really good players.
I do however remember the last time we were in Brussels and lost 2-0, it could have been more. A Belgian looking at the thousands of Scots in the stadium asked me ‘ Why are you all here?’
A good question indeed. In the face of undeniable evidence that we are not very good, why do so many travel?
I didn’t.

Hamish

Wednesday 12 June 2019

A new start

The nation rejoiced, we found and got the man we wanted. A man who could work with limited ability, and we are very limited, very. A narrow 2-1 win over Cyprus including a late equaliser and a very late winner. We looked organised, sat deep against a team limited in talent possibly in preparation for the visit to Brussels.
Getting the Belgium game into perspective we went there with absolutely no hope of a victory, our last win was at Hampden in 1987, a game I missed as I was unforgivabley in Corfu.
Yesterday we faced the best team in the world, ranked number one and not for no reason.
I did not travel, I have witnessed 3 drubbings in Brussels, 3 x 2-0 scores each one a thumping. I wish to travel in hope and not just for a party, I have saved my trip for a wee visit to Paris to see a real Scotland team, one with skill and one with faces of sheer delight to be representing Scotland in the World Cup.
We, the men are paying the price for neglect. The waste of our talented kids, wasted by the clubs in their pursuit of.......?
 I stop to consider the question of ‘pursuit’. Just what have the clubs done for the fan?
In the way of skill and technique? The joy of enjoying football, of caressing a ball. Game awareness.
We don’t have the answer to our ills, I have been asked many many times where are all the Scots, the one who dominated English teams of the past.
Maybe we should ask a Belgian.

Hamish

Saturday 25 May 2019

Boris & Eck a story of failure

We welcome a new manager, the nation rejoices in unanimous celebration of  Scotland’s saviour. A national good guy had taken on the top job, for the second time and was definetley not first choice.
Alex Mcleish had deserted the sunk ship following a half decent campaign that left Scotland with half decent failure. Off to Birmingham City, sharpish and the fans had not forgotten.
A qualifying campaign that had seen no hopers Israel showboating in a home annihilation of the less than gallant Scots. Bad enough we then were slaughtered in Kazakhstan, humiliated.
The press looked for reassurance, Craig Brown came to Eck’s defence as did other managers.
We were not kidded, not for one minute.
In asking the old manager’s club for a view the answer was predictable and also there was no further questioning in just what evidence was there of progress or of  hope.
Step forward to this weeks big news that following months of shamefull, nay shameless hopelessness we are to get a new (sic) PM.  Number one candidate, first off the blocks, or should I rephrase ‘off his block’, the incorrigible Boris.
His record as a government minister made oor Eck’s reign seem like one of sheer genius. I nearly crashed my car as Eddie Mair in interviewing the then foreign secretary on BBC radio 4. His, Boris’s performance was so woeful, so unprepared in his brief that said Boris was heard shuffling his papers and in fact continually answered the previous question. Eddie Mair politely suggested that the interview was not an episode of the Two Ronnies, a Mastermind sketch.
Just as oor woeful BBC Scotland journos asked Eck’s pals for reassurance the London BBC asked Boris’ father for a recommendation on Boris’ suitability for PM.
Beyond satire but sadly in either case not beyond belief.
I await my father’s views to the media on my suitability for the Scotland job.
Hamish



Friday 17 May 2019

Poland

The Times ( London ) phoned. The question posed; ‘would the West of Scotland Tartan Army be supporting Poland in the 2006 World Cup?’
There I faced the dilemma of the headline ‘The Tartan Army wish Poles harm...shocker’ if I said ‘no’.
What a responsibility, I chose the safe option and the Times ( London ) ran a story with the subtext of Scots support Poland and therefore the thousands of Poles in Scotland were assured of of our undying loyalty. Scotland’s  almost permanent absence in major football finals had already been assured.
Three days later BBC 5 Live phoned asking where was the best pub to broadcast live from a pub in Scotland where the Tartan Army would be showing undying love for Poland in the first tie against Germany of all teams, the hosts. Calmly I suggested a pub in Inverness where I assumed there was a sizeable Polish community.
2 days later The Warsaw Metro phoned for an interview reference Westa’s  support for the gallant Polish Team. I duly obliged with a few well chosen words, they also requested I send a photo for which I posed in front of a home made red and white flag.
The next day I was phoned by a Warsaw Radio Station where Westa’s  support was now obviously big national news. The journalist had just urgently booked a flight and was now asking if I could meet him in Edinburgh where he would broadcast live from a pub full of The Tartan Army supporting Poland. I apologised and wished him ‘arra best’ and suggested a well known Tartan Army Edinburgh pub. He however gave me an hours notice and interviewed me for live broadcast.
I quickly checked the Net and was able to expand upon my love of Deyna, Boniek as my favourite ever footballers. The best ever  Pole and definitely Scotland’s favourite was of course the 1973 goalie Jan Tomaszewski who single handedley, mind you he had 2 gloves, put England out of the World Cup at Wembley.
Football did not come home that night by the way. Brian Clough called him a clown, we in Scotland however  celebrated a national hero of 2 countries, Poland and Scotland.
So, having assured the nation of Poland the  undying support of Scotland and wishing them all the luck of lucky Scottish heather they finished second bottom of the group and went home to think again.
Oh, did I mention the Latvian Football Association phoning me in 2004 asking for the support of Westa  in the Euros? I duly obliged. They finished bottom with a draw against a very poor German team as their only point. Scotland did not qualify.

Hamish

Europe

As Scotland vainly attempt to qualify for next years Euros and perchance a chance to play some of the games at not only Wembley but Hampden we Scots are about to leave Europe politically.
I was wandering Ayr High Street the other day when I came across a wee table with none other than the Brexit Party. Led by that forager of a man Nigel Farage. See Channel 4 for an explanation of this immoral charlatan and his access to funds that have not been declared to his employer and paymaster THE EU.
A normally placid man I approached the table. I was unable to fully nor partially explain my complete disdain and extreme dislike for this ‘party’. I ended up shouting ‘shamefull’, loudly and often.
My main, but not sole reason for being a European and by default a remainder lies in Europe. In many parts and countries of Europe the EU is important. Town and village council halls fly the EU flag as the flag , symbol of peace in a Europe that has been at war and in conflict continually and almost perpetually. We in the U.K. have had conflict, only recently resolved.
I do not wish to be a citizen of an insular nation, we are about to implode into ‘Brexit means exit’ insignificance. Well maybe we in Scotland don’t have to.
Anyway, politics enters my football Blog, normally it is only down to the fitba team to exit Europe. Here’s hoping sense prevails and we qualify for Europe next year and we don’t need non EU passports in a non EU airport queue.

Hamish

Thursday 16 May 2019

New Manager

The day dawns on a new era, a new manager for our national team. What hope for the hopeless? The task has defeated the best. Jock Stein did the job twice, Mat Busby but once. Bertie Vogts managed the Euro 96 German team to victory and he inherited players who were astounded to be asked politely to play out of slightly out of position. I personally think I was born to Brazilian parents but taken home by a Scots couple by accident. I insist on following Scotland despite my true heritage and continue to watch tripe when for a few hundred pounds I could emigrate to Rio and watch football royalty.
The interview process will have posed the question , (surely); how to get the best from rubbish? The best from guys who can't pass, who can't score and who can't play football.
And by the way a country where we score 2 goals in the last minute at home to England, 2-1 up and with a breakaway, 2 on 1. we decide to pass to an English player who passes to Harry Kane.
2-2.
Good luck.

Hamish

Clueless punter

In 1928 Scotland beat England 5-1 and forever in Scottish football folklore became The Wembley Wizards. 1928 was before I was born. The goalie played for Queens Park.Alan Morton was the winger.
I often despair at the current  BBC radio Scotland fitba discussion. The casual and lazy use of 'you know' peppers each and almost ever sentence. Here's a thought; if the expert asks us to ' you know' then I must 'know' and the punter can be disregarded.
Amongst the current 'experts' the  self assured raconteur is one 'Stephen Thompson' best described in a Scotsman's poll of best Scottish punters as 'easily the best dressed of the punters on the list'. A former Scottish international I witnessed his goal in Dortmund's Westphallen Stadion in our 2003, 2-1 defeat. A brilliant stadium.
Bland might be his method of summarising Scottish fitba, criticism of current managers and players is rare.
He may one day care to explain his constant use of the word 'brilliant'. 'Brilliant' is an adjective last earned in Scotland possibly by Henrik Larsson, or to balance the books Brian Laudrup. One could conjour synonyms for brilliant; beaming, bedazzling, candescent, lucid, radiant. However Scottish fitba, brilliant, surely not. We now have access to top flight football 24 hours a day worldwide.
Pittodrie with a 30 yard shot that narrowly  misses? Brilliant.  Really? Fir Park?
Whenever I venture south I am continually  asked by English friends and colleagues; what ever happened to good Scottish footballers?
The context of the well intentioned question is easy; up until 30 odd years ago Scottish players populated England's top  clubs in vast numbers. We had players who dominated the wonderful Leeds United teams of the 60s and 70s. Manchester United had Law. The Liverpool who dominated Europe had a backbone of Scots, Dalglish and Souness for goodness sake.
Our almost constant qualification for the World Cup 1974-1998 was in hindsight our golden international era.
History, ours , most of it was  before I was born.
Last week  I was aghast at Thompson's admission that the pre-Argentina Hampden send off was 'before I was born'.
The SFA sent their 1954 World Cup squad of 14 players to Switzerland with their own training gear and a set of extra thick woolen jerseys in the expectation of chilly weather. We ,they were  trounced 7-0 by Uraguay in 90 degree heat. Before I was born.
The 1974 pre-West Germany rowing boat incident. I was 16. A necessary requirement for Scottish fitba misdemeanors.
Then there was the Argentina send off. Demanded by the police for safety reasons and authorised by the SFA, not wanted by Aly Mcleod. A prelude to the impending disaster that was our World Cup 1978. Before Stephen was born.
History. Does it matter?
Our fitba history is littered with great players. Grabbing defeat from the jaws of victory. Tales of stramash.
John Greig’s last minute winner, Italy 1965.
To understand why many still care for Scottish fitba it requires an understanding of the past, when we were often good, sometimes terrible and more often than not Scottish, much of it before any of us alive today were born.

Hamish