Thanks For the Memories, Big Man

 

                                                Image: The Scottish Football Museum

On a recent visit to my daughter’s house in darkest Dalkeith recently, I was heartened to see my 16-year-old granddaughter Hannah enjoying the sun in the back garden. She wasn’t lying incommunicado with a set of headphones stuck in her lugholes – rather she was engrossed in a good book. And not on one of these technically fangled Kindle things – it was an actual hardback book, leather bound with actual pages that required turning.

I was delighted to see Hannah has her ageing grandfather’s aptitude for reading. I had rather wished I had taken the book I’m presently engaged in – Alex Brown’s excellent Niddrie Boys, an autobiographical tale of a lad of similar age to me growing up in Edinburgh’s Niddrie/Craigmillar area and the trials and tribulations he went through.

It was whilst reading Niddrie Boys that I heard the recent sad news of the passing of one of Scotland’s finest defenders – Gordon McQueen.

There’s a chapter in Niddrie Boys where Alex Brown detailed his adventure to Wembley in 1977 to watch Scotland play England in the bi-annual pilgrimage to old London town. In what were less technically operated times, Brown sneaked on a London bound train without paying at Edinburgh’s Waverley Station and joined the thronging masses for the journey south. Brown regales us with the story that the train was so ‘rammed’ as he puts it that there was next to no chance of any ticket inspector even attempting to check tickets of passengers, the number of whom far exceeded the capacity of the train. The Niddrie Boy then fell off the train at London King’s Cross and staggered his way to Wembley Stadium where he – and doubtless countless others – managed to climb into the stadium without paying.

Brown said he had a great view of Gordon McQueen heading home Scotland’s first goal. It was one of those goals you never forget and never tire of seeing. The towering figure of a Scots warrior, leaping above a hapless English defender, his mop of blonde hair straddled over his head which bulleted the ball past England goalkeeper Ray Clemence. McQueen then ran to soak up the acclaim of an adoring Scottish support, given another shot of adrenalin just as the effects of copious amounts of alcohol was beginning to wear off.

That Scotland team of 1977 had the fans daring to believe. McQueen was a tower of strength at the back while the genius that was Kenny Dalglish, wing wizardry of Willie Johnston and the power of striker Joe Jordan were huge contributions to a team that was genuinely considered by some to be among the best nations in Europe. After all, hadn’t Scotland eliminated reigning European Champions Czechoslovakia from the qualifying group for the World Cup finals in Argentina the following year?

Dalglish scored a second Scotland goal in the second half before England pulled back a late goal. The Scots won 2-1 and thousands of them – including Alex Brown – poured on to the hallowed Wembley turf before demolishing the old stadium. Bits of Wembley turf and goalposts are still to be found all over Scotland to this day.

My favourite tale from that afternoon was from manager Ally MacLeod. Before Wembley, the ebullient Ally wasn’t quite as well known down south as he was in his homeland. MacLeod struggled to get back to the dressing rooms after the game and with panic setting in amongst what little security there was – the 1970s were different times, dear reader – MacLeod had difficulty persuading one of the security staff that he was indeed the Scotland manager. As MacLeod himself put it – “eventually I made it to the sanctuary of the dressing room and found goalkeeper Alan Rough in the bath – with two Scotland supporters…”

The tragic passing of McQueen brought memories of that day flooding back for me and, unquestionably, thousands of others. In later years, the great man became a summariser for Sky Sports and his reaction in the studio whilst watching James McFadden score an absolute screamer for Scotland against France in Paris in 2007 became iconic. McQueen did well not to lapse into a sweary rejoice when he shouted ‘Goaaaaaaallll!’ although the presenter’s subsequent question of ‘who for, Gordon?’ was the definition of the term pointless.

There was sadly something symmetrical about reading author Alex Brown’s account of that day whilst hearing about McQueen’s death, attributed to the effects of dementia, aged just 70. The footage of McQueen during his spells at Leeds United, Manchester United and, of course, Scotland mean the big fella will never be forgotten.

Thanks for the memories, big man.

 

Mike Smith

Twitter @Mike1874

Get Yer Official Programme

 

Regular readers of this column – and I thank you both – may have a notion that I tend to look at the past through rose coloured spectacles. Those far-off days of decades ago long before football became the corporate beast it is now; when teams took to the field in plain shirts with not a sponsor’s name to be seen; when you didn’t need to buy a ticket in advance – just handed over your cash to the friendly old man at the turnstile - and when you had to buy a match programme in order to get the half-time scores from around the country. I still miss those half-time scoreboards…

I’m currently reading Cliff Hague’s excellent book ‘Programmes, Programmes!’ which not so much wallows in nostalgia but nearly drowns in it. A Manchester United fan who actually hails from Manchester, Hague writes affectionately about how he still treasures his ticket stub from the 1968 European Cup final (although he felt the need to add ‘Champions League’ in brackets) between United and Benfica played at Wembley Stadium. It cost the princely sum of £2 and the match programme set the author back one shilling – that’s five pence, young ‘uns. Of course, everything is relevant. The pay packets (in the days when we had such a thing) didn’t exactly bulge for the working class in this country more than half a century ago. But it’s a sobering thought that the price of a ticket for a European Cup final in 1968 wouldn’t even get you a pie at a domestic league game today.

Hague also writes about the programme for Manchester United’s first home game following the Munich air disaster in 1958. Twenty-three people died when the plane carrying Manchester United players and officials and members of the press back from the club’s European Cup quarter final in Belgrade crashed on take off from Munich airport where it had stopped to refuel. Atrocious weather conditions with snow and ice on the runway meant the pilots had tried three times to take off but the plane failed to clear the runway on the third attempt and more than half the forty-four passengers onboard perished, some immediately, some days and weeks later. The programme for United’s game against Sheffield Wednesday merely left the names blank on the team sheet, a poignant indication of the tragedy. The importance of the programme is forever a reminder of a tragedy that destroyed one of football’s greatest ever teams, the legendary Busby Babes – although manager Matt Busby survived the crash.

Programme collecting has always been popular among football fans so it’s disappointing to read of some clubs who have stopped producing them, in paper format at least. Some have gone digital in producing programmes which may reduce a club’s carbon footprint but takes away, in my view, from the matchday experience. In days of yore one would leave the pub after partaking of a half pint lager tops and push through the turnstile five minutes before kick off (after greeting the friendly auld fella at the gate – Ed) and stand on the often open terrace. The programme would make a good read at half-time along with a pie and a cup of Bovril (other beverages were available)

One could catch up with the manager’s thoughts on the previous game. Whenever I went to Tannadice, reading Dundee United manager Jim McLean’s thoughts were often enough to have one crying into one’s Bovril but usually a manager’s ‘notes’, as they were often described in the programme, contained the usual cliches about ‘treating today’s opponents with respect and how it will be a tough game but the boys are ready for the challenge’

Scrolling through the digital version on your mobile phone doesn’t quite have the same effect and, try as I might, I just can’t write the team changes or the half-time scores on my mobile phone screen…

Much to the dismay of many, some clubs – and I’m talking about you, Hibernian FC – have even stopped producing any programme, digital or paper, which is a real shame. 

Cliff Hague’s book is a wonderful recollection of times gone by and some programmes such as the aforementioned Manchester United one against Sheffield Wednesday are a moment in history.  Yes, everyone needs to keep a tab on their carbon footprint and paper is a commodity that is easy to cut back on now we’re in the digital age. But producing football programmes on recycled paper may be a way of offsetting that.

Much of what gave me huge enjoyment when I first began going to the football more than fifty years ago has disappeared. While I don’t miss some of it – open air toilets which amounted to little more than a brick wall with a drain – football programmes are an essential element of going to the game.

Please don’t let this disappear.

Twitter @Mike1874

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