Socrates MacSporran

Socrates MacSporran
No I am not Chick Young, but I can remember when Scottish football was good

Monday 28 October 2013

Sisters Are Doing It For Themselves

SUDDENLY, desperate for a good news story, perhaps to divert our attention away from the continuing, nay, increasing banality of the coverage of the Edmiston Drive soap opera, Scotland's mainstream football media at the weekend, got behind our women's football team.
 
Between Glasgow City's progress into the last 16 of the Women's Champions League, and the female international team's excellent unbeaten start to their Women's World Cup qualifying campaign, the girls are suddenly showing us men up.
 
Speaking as the father of four daughters - I can only say I am delighted for the girls. Women's football in Scotland, unburdened as it is by over a century of Ayebeenism and without the petty bickering which so characterises the men's game, is a breath of fresh air in the fetid swamp of the game up here. Let's hope the girls can see the campaign through and qualify for their shot at the Big Show.
 
 
 
I LIKE Kris Boyd, always have - and that isn't merely because his mother is from the village I now call home. Kris is the all-time top scorer in SPL history, out-shooting even the sublime Henrik Larsson.
 
Now, I would not be as crass as to suggest that this makes him a better player than the Magnificent Seven, clearly, Henrik was something very special indeed. But, for all his many great goals, he had the advantage of playing in some very good Celtic sides.
 
Would he have matched Boydie's goal-scoring feats with Kilmarnock? That we cannot say - probably yes, but, we cannot tell.
 
There again, might Boydie have scored even more goals for Rangers, had Walter had more faith in him. Boydie has had some bad press, he has been perhaps under-estimated, but, he has never said much - just gone out and do what he does better than any other Scot in the past 20-years  - he scores domestic goals.
 
Now, suddenly, on the back of his weekend brace against Hearts, a groundswell is building up to see his re-call to the national side. I don't see this happening, Gordon Strachan has been brought-up in the Scottish tradition in football which mistrusts out-and-out specialists, so I don't see him being prepared to tinker with the national team's system to make room for a guy who maybe will not work the opposition's back line when they are in possession; who (allegedly) doesn't track back, but who can and will, if allowed to simply concentrate on this most-essential part of the game, put the ball in the net with monotonous regularity, if he gets the right service.
 
 
 
SPEAKING of Hearts; devastating though it would be for the club and their huge fan base, I suspect it would be no bad thing were Hearts to be relegated at the end of the season.
 
For one thing, it would be good for their many promising young players, to enjoy a season at a slightly lower level, in which to find their feet. It would be good too, for the new owners, who will surely - since nobody else has shown the least interest in wishing to sift through the pile of manure they will take over - be fans, to have a chance to instal the right system of good governance in the Championship rather than the Premiership division in Scotland.
 
 
 
WHEN I was growing up in the 1950s, and television was still new in Scotland, the BBC used to put on a lot of variety shows, which always seemed to have on the bill an "entainer" named Dave King, who didn't sing too-well, couldn't dance and carried a tune with the applomb of an over-brudened Sherpa on the upper slopes of Everest.
 
The present-day Dave King, you know, that convicted tax evader from South Africa who wants to run things down Ibrox way, is far-more entertaining, certainly far funnier - don't know about his dancing abilities, however, but, I suppose he knows how to march during the season.
 
 
 
THE second round of the Junior Cup got underway at the weekend, and the mighty Talbot kicked off the defence of their trophy with a 7-0 hammering of Broxburn Athletic. I can already see win number 11 coming along - who can stop them? 

Thursday 24 October 2013

Hard Times, But, Might Change Be Around The Corner?

IT REALLY is becoming more and more difficult to philosophise about Scottish football - themainstream media in Scottish football simply refuses to engage in meaningful opinion-forming pieces, which will lead to debate; and who can blame them - the self-appointed aritocracy of Scottish football, aka the Hampden Blazers, simply are incapable of addressing the issues which are facing the game, while the two warring "mafia" families, the currently dominant Murphia and the grumbling, festering Brownbrogia are more-concerned with petty points scoring and finger-pointing.
 
On which subject, well-done to Phil Mac Giolla Bhain, who has this week taken his eye off his obsession with all things Rangers and posted an excellent article, which is worthy of the attention of the entire Celtic family, and in which he makes several salient points.
 
At least there are signs of democracy breaking-out. Pars United has won the battle for control of Dunfermline Athletic and it to be hoped, by everyone with the good health of the game in Scotland at heart, that they can manage a renaissance of the game in one of its heartlands - Fife.
 
On this side of the country, in fact, in God's Own County of Ayrshire, there are hopes that the downtrodden Kilmarnock faithful might get their act together and take their club forward. Of course, like any wee, learned Marr College FP, beleagured Chairman Michael J will push for a huge price for his departure. However, it is to be hoped that brighter days are ahead for Killie.
 
I shudder to pontificate on what might happen at Hearts. I might jest about tartan-clad Capulets and Montagues, or Corleonis and Sopranos, glaring at each other across the Clyde, but those fans who seek to purchase Hearts and turn it around are, I fear, likely to have to negotiate with genuine gangsters of the Eastern European sort - and that might get messy.
 
The last time Scottish football was a virtual one-party state, during Celtic's basement days between 1945 and the return of Stein in 1965 (although, to be fair, that fallow period included one double, one or two other significant victories - 7-1 and the Coronation Cup anyone), the likes of the Hibs team of the Famous Five, Tommy Walker's golden Hearts teams of 1955-1965 and the Willie Waddell-Walter McCrae-led Kilmarnock teams of 1958-1965 offered genuine competition to an otherwise dominant Rangers.
 
This time round, we await the shoots of recovery amongst the down-trodden. The trouble is, this time around, unlike back then, the greater riches of the English game will always handicap the non-Glasgow sides. Back in the day, with the huge crowds and the low overheads which the stingy directors of the time had to allow for, it was easy to pay Scottish players as much as they could earn in an English League in which the maximum wage ruled.
 
Today, with footballers' wages comparatively lower in Scotland and rapacious agenst hell-bent on making money out of the game, it is well-nigh impossible for a Scottish club outwith the Big Two - and even they struggle now - to keep hold of their best talent.
 
New figures came out last week, showing the best-supported teams in the world. Celtic are, globally, the 16th best-supported team, with an average home attendance of 46,000-plus. Rangers are 19th-best, with an average home attendance of over 45,000. Yet, in global terms, the two clubs are small beer, skint, minnows.
 
Something has to be done, to allow the clubs to realise their potential, without unduly weakening the Scottish game, of which they are a crucial component. But, that's a big circle to square. Maybe we should go back to the original idea of William McGregor and the pioneers of what they called - because they thought in British rather than English terms: The Football League. Then, our two major clubs, yes the Celtic-minded among you might want to accept this, even that lot currently heading the third tier in Scotland, could flourish properly, while those left behind, could find their own level.
 
Such a plan might go against the current fashion for more Scottish self-determination, but, it could be the saving of Scottish football.

Monday 21 October 2013

Lenny, Lenny - Engage Brain Before Opening Mouth

NOT FOR the first time, and probably not for the last, I find myself shaking my head in disbelief at Neil Lennon's thinking. No sooner has the dust settled on his attempted defence of the indefensible - Scott Brown's stupid red card against Barcelona - than he is yelping about Hibs' tactics in holding Celtic to a draw at Easter Road on Saturday.

Come on Neil - you cannot defend your captain reverting to a type we hoped he had grown out of one week, then complain about manly, old-fashioned Scottish "rummel-em-up" fitba the next.

But, that's Lenny for you. I suppose, given his upbringing, we ought not to be surprised when that Giant's Causeway-sized chip on his shoulder itches and causes him to howl occasionally. If he could only remember, there are two teams in Scotland whose players have long prospered, and continue to prosper on the back of Scottish referees deciding that what is so-often a foul, when perpertrated on a Celtic or Rangers player by a man from another Scottish club, isn't a foul when perpertrated by a man in green and white hoops or royal blue shirt.

To quote the great Ivan Golac: "All over the world it was a penalty - not at Ibrox".

I haven't seen the game, but, IF Hibs were guilty of over-vigorous play, then it's up to Celtic to overcome that; and the best way is to punish them with goals, something they failed to do. Now, I cannot give a reason for this: maybe Lenny's precious charges had one eye on Ajax tomorrow night, in which case - he has a problem with a lack of professionalism.

Might it be - there is a "soft" centre to this Celtic squad? I certainly feel they lack a "Celtic-minded" midfield enforcer, a Roy Aitken, or Peter Grant for instance. Not that I am inferring this abot the above two admirable players, but, Celtic (and the other lot for that matter), in domestic games, need "a fan on the park". Such a player will earn his corn in the SPFL, but, just might be a wee bit of a liability in Europe.

Until the day we bring back skill into the Scottish game, and cast "character" and "gerrintaerum" from our domestic coaching lexicon, there will be a place for such a man. Maybe Lenny could have done with one on Saturday.



NOW, what can I say about that other lot. I had thought the whole Edmiston Drive plot lines and script had gone beyond parody, then, in yesterday's Scotland on Sunday my splendid old pal Tom English came up with a cracker.

His back of the sports section "exclusive interview" with the Easdales is just about the funniest thing I've read on Scottish football for years. Chapeaux Tom.

Meanwhile, spivvery thrives. By the way, last weekend, spending a few days with "Management" in an upmarket British resort, where the principal industry is "financial services", I noticed that brown brogues are very popular in the sort of gentleman's outfitters patronised by financial services spivs aspiring to a veneer of gentlemanly class - clearly, in Ibrox terms, the "wrong" sorts are wearing the approved footwear.



FINALLY - well done to Allan Johnston and his Killie team, for getting that elusive win at the weekend. About time too. 

Wednesday 16 October 2013

Happy Days (Might) Be Here Again

HAVING just come back from a working holiday in Jersey, I wasn't at Hampden on Tuesday night, but, the highlights show on BBC at 10.35pm was a cheering hour. We won, we played well and WGS has definitely brought back the feel-good factor to the Tartan Army.
 
We actually put together some old-fashioned Scottish-style passing movements and we had 11 guys who wanted to be on there. Sadly, the improvement in our form has come too-late to get us to Brazil, and now there is a near-12 month break from competitive football, before we get back onto the roundabout for the European Championship qualifiers.
 
Can I say here, expanding the Euros to a 24-team final tournament is a nonsense; that 24 of 53 teams should be considered good enough to get into the final pool is a joke. A lot of dross will qualify and, even if we missed out, I'd rather see the Euros continuing to be left to a 16-team final tournament.
 
Surely we will be good enough to qualify, although, it might all come down to the qualifying group draw - where it would not be a shock if Scotland ended up in another Group of Death.
 
But, we will face that when it comes, in February. Right now, I hope, porbably against hope, that the SFA will come up with a development plan which might offer WGS and his men a reasonable chance of qualifying.
 
We have now got a spine to the team - McGregor, two young central defenders growing game by game, Morrison and Brown in central midfield and Naisy up front. But, we still have to sort-out one or two of the peripheral roles.
 
Alan Hutton has, I think, given his limitations, seldom let Scotland down; however, if he is not playing regular first-team football, at a reasonably high level, come February, he might have to be replaced. Thankfully Stevie Whittaker is, apparently, playing regularly and well at right back for Norwich, so, he could fill-in.
 
I think Charlie Mulgrew, although there may be times when he is put into midfield, can clinch the number three shirt, with Lee Wallace as back-up. We are strong in wide areas and I'd love to see us putting out a team with wee Burkie wide right and Ikeche Anya wide left.
 
Throw-in Robert Snodgrass, James McArthur and a please, please, please, fit-again Darren Fletcher and Stephen Fletcher and we should qualify.
 
Suddenly, our glass is again half-full, rather than half-empty. Isn't it great to be a Tartan Army foot soldier?

Friday 11 October 2013

Quality Rather Than Quantity

I SEE a new book has just been published, about Celtic's legendary Quality Street Kids. The cynic within me is always suspicious of any books written about either one of Glasgow's two biggest clubs - Graham Spiers long ago detected that I had bother buying into any sort of "authorised version". 'Britney', being an erudite university-educated chap came up with a big word to describe my deviation from what is seen as gospel, but, I have forgotten it and cannot be buggered looking it up.

But, I digress, books anent Celtic or Rangers generally seem to me to be somewhat "lazy" writes, aimed at the particular "family" audience - tending to perhaps paper-over the parts which "the family" will not like and following the Liberty Valance doctrine: "When the truth debunks the legend - print the legend".

Anent The Quality Street Kids. Sure, Messrs Dalglish, McGrain and Hay were 24-carat, platinum-plated, diamond-encrusted "stars", by any measurement. To have got even one of that trio out of an intake of young wannabees would be fantastic for any club. To get all three from a single grouping of players simply emphasises the talent-spotting and coaching skills of Sean Fallon, Jock Stein and their back-room staff. These three, plus Lou Macari, who stands one or two steps down in the pantheon of Scottish footballers - represents a fantastic return on talent identification.

There were others from the QSKs who served Celtic well - Paul Wilson should maybe have kicked-on and gained more than his single Scotland cap' Victor Davidson, if around today, would surely get capped. Also, if that troubled genius George Connelly had had access to the sort of help from sports psychologists today's young players can enjoy - what might he have achieved?

However, one or two of the lower quality kids, although they got the first-team exposure which today's Celtic management model of: "buy-in cheap foreign potential, polish and sell-on" tends to deny their Scottish-born successors - didn't exactly set the heather on fire.

THE QSK, still comes out pretty well in any measurement of how well a promising group of young players trains-on when they hit the big time. Dalglish, McGrain, Hay, Macari and Connelly surely measure-up to even Matt Busby's venerated Babes: Edwards, Charlton, Whelan, Violett and Pegg for instance. The Celts can be compared with Alex Ferguson's 1992 class - Beckham, Butt, Scholes, the Nevilles and Giggs and their adult performances dwarf those of the only other Scottish youth team to be as-praised: the "Lost Boys" of the 1989 Junior World Cup.

Stein gave his kids their chance early, and the better ones took that chance. Because in simpler times in the 1960s and early 1970s, Scottish football could and would allow young players to develop. I recall how Scot Symon refused to blood the young Willie Henderson, until he got Clyde at Ibrox and knew, Harry Haddock would not immediately set-out to separate Wee Willie's head from his shoulders. 

At Kilmarnock, Willie Waddell took the same duty of care when it came to allowing Tommy McLean to develop - in spite of being roundly encouraged by the Killie season ticket holders who watched reserve games to: "Get that boy into the first team Deedle".

Because, back then, Scottish football had a system which worked. Today, that system has been destroyed. At a time when squads seem larger than ever, where is the reserve team football? Where is the structured, long-term development plan? What good is age-group football - under-17/18/19/20 - when, once  the kids reach the maximum age, it's thank you and good night, because there is no next step: if the managers think they are good enough, they get kept on, otherwise, cheerio son.

This blog has repeatedly said and will go on saying: The quality of management in Scottish football, at board-room level, has been, for some time, pathetic. Poor, indeed incompetent directors, hire poor, incompetent managers and coaches and the cycle of downward spiralling goes on.

By all means, celebrate the Quality Street Kids; today, the kids are still there - sadly, Quality Street has been dug up, by the very men who were supposed to look after Scottish football's main roads - "The Blazers".

Thursday 10 October 2013

It's International Week, But, Edmiston Drive Is Still The Only Show In Town

HERE we are, in international week - and what is heading the agenda around Scottish Football? Only the latest episode of 'Edmiston Drive' - the Scottish sporting soap opera, which looks like running for as long as 'Taggart'.
 
I can barely keep-up with who's in, who's out, who's accusing whom or what this week; can we please get back to the football. I was pleased, however, to see my old mucker Tom English join me in taking a somewhat jaundiced view of "Walter's" exalted position in the pantheon of Ibrox heroes. Welcome aboard Tom.
 
I notice that strenuous efforts are apparently being made to get Dave King back inside the tent, from where he will no doubt continue to piss out on the punters. Let me repeat, given what went on in the Murray Years, never mind the blatant criminality of the Whyte era and the asset-stripping of the Green days, no former director of the old Rangers should be allowed anywhere near the new company.
 
That, apparently, some of the men at the top of that organisation should never have been allowed through the door is another matter.
 
Mr King is, for me, tainted and, given he allegedly lost some £20 million back in the Murray days - why is he still so-keen to get involved. He has been burned once, he is now itching, apparently, to thrust his hands back into the flames. Would you appoint a man so obviously intellectually-challenged to a position of power?
 
Meanwhile, WGS and his squad are beavering away, under the radar, in readiness for the unhappy conclusion to another horrendous failed qualifying campaign.
 
I wish them every success, but, in reality - am I bovvered how it all ends? Honestly, no. Get it over with and hopefully, we will do better next time around. But, that said, before we can harbour realistic qualifying intentions, something has to change inside the minds of the Hampden power brokers - and that aint gonna happen any time soon.
 
 

Sunday 6 October 2013

Jack Irvine -Yesterday's Man Helping Make Rangers A Long-Running Joke

LET'S be honest, if Ron Atkinson was to be trotted-out today as: "The Man With The Answers To What Is Wrong With Present-Day Football", the public would look, laugh, then say: "Aye Right".
So, how come Jack Irvine - as much of a failed media executive as Big Ron is a failed footbal manager - keeps getting trotted-out as the current Rangers management's spin doctor.
Irvine lost all credibility, I had thought, in his catastrophic management of the then Mr David Murray's short-lived attempt to found a Scottish media empire back in the 1980s. Irvine is as much yesterday's man as the Lisbon Lions, the Barcelona Bears or the Gothenburg Giants. Celtic, Rangers and Aberdeen wouldn't put these legends in their first team today - so how come Irvine still is thought of as having street cred, even in Grubb Street?
But, that is now Rangers' lot - where once Partick Thistle were: the other side, "the third team" in Glasgow, the joke XI. Now, regardless of how hard their sledgehammer cracks the nuts in SPFL One, or Level Three in Scottish football, the efforts of Irvine, and the rival factions in the battle for what "soul" is left around Ibrox - let's call them the Sharp-Suit Sect and the Brown Brogues Boys, has surely made Rangers Scotland's joke club.
THE on-going Edmiston Drive soap opera tends to dominate the Saturday morning media agenda, but, I have to say, this weekend's effort to get Celtic a mention, was a fairly poor show.
I know several members of The Celtic Family, who would be out there celebrating if young Master Stokes was to take what little talent he has elsewhere at the end of this season.
Sure, he is, if we are to believe what we see in print, Old School. Aye, he is word-perfect on the Fields of Athenry and the other anthems of Celtic's glorious Oirish past. This fails to acknowledge - as goes equally if not more so, unacknowledged across the city - the fact that, when you re-invent your club as a thrusting, stock market-quoted "brand" in the sports-recreation field, the Nationalist/Protestant, Northern/Southern Irish baggage, is frankly embarrassing
 Stoke is, apparently, "One of the Bhoys". Equally certainly, he can score goals in Scotland - but, so too can Kris Boyd. Boyd never came remotely close to his domestic strike rate in Europe, Stokes too struggles to hit the net when it matters for his club - in Europe. So, is he worth keeping?
This is the big question for Neil Lennon and Stokes's unfortunate ability to get onto the News pages as often as he can the Sports pages, might make it an easy call to let his contract lapse, or, to off-load him in January.
MEANWHILE, in my own second-favourite club, Kilmarnock (here in Ayrshire, the local junior team comes first - thereafter you support, as second-pick, whatever half of the Big Two you are linked to "culturally", or Ayr United or Kilmarnock), all is far from well.
I believe, given time, Allan Johnston, will get the club back into the top six, but, this will only happen once the boil of the relationship between Michael Johnston and seemingly everyone else in the Kilmarnock quarter of Ayrshire is lanced.
Johnston is a Marr College-educated, Alloway-living, Ayr-based lawyer. Therefore, by definition, his head is jammed up his own arse; he known so shame. He has to go, if Killie are to move forward, just as surely as the Laughlin brothers and their cohorts had to fall to the Fleetings back in the late 1980s.
But, for this to happen, a Fans' Champion has to emerge and I don't see anyone bending down to pick-up that challenging gauntlet. Until such a man emerges, the in-fighting and uncertainty will continue.
 

Thursday 3 October 2013

Journos Have A Shelf Life Too

EARLIER this week I waxed lyrical about my old boss Harry Reid's look at the state of Scottish Football in "the Noughties" - 'Final Whistle'. Reading this is a work-in-progress, progress coming at the rate of a chapter per night - read last thing at night.
 
Last night's segment had me chortling quietly, as I recalled the glory days of the Sunday Standard, between 1981 and 1983. I was part of that bold, but ultimately failed experiment and still look back with pride at what we produced.
 
Of course, it helped that we were a good team on the Sports Desk - Harry laid the foundations, on which Ian "Dan" Archer and Doug Gillon built splendidly. I was part of a freelance writing team which worked almost exclusively for the paper and included such stellar names as Ian St John, Hughie Taylor, Innes Ireland and the wonderful Norman Mair, and one or two lesser lights such as yours truly.
 
In his book Harry makes the point that, around that time, Dan Archer was beginning to feel he was "written out" as far as covering football was concerned. Of course, when roused, Dan could still write the rest of us off the page.
 
I remember once, travelling back to the Herald building in Albion Street to write-up and file my my report of a fairly straight-forward Celtic win at Parkhead, to see Dan - who had covered that day's Morton v Rangers match at Cappielow from the Directors' Box and who had clearly supped not wisely, if perhaps too-well.
 
"He'll never write a coherent report", I wondered, as I worked away further down the desk, but, next morning, it was a joy to read Dan's witty report of the match. I could see events unfurling as I wrote - which is the sign of a class act, showing its class.
 
If that was a man who was "written out", there was no hope for the rest of us.
 
A wee diversion here - back then, in the early 1980s, lap tops still hadn't made it as far as the press boxes of Scotland, no internet back then. So, we troops in the front-line had to - if too-far from the office - rely on dictating our match report over the telephone to the copy takers back at base.
 
Some of these, particularly in the Herald, were so good, they could correct bad grammar and harden-up slip-shod dictation, before the subs got to work on it. But, we had to have a cogent thread in place as we began dictating, and we had to come in on the word count.
 
So, the stress levels were always high at full time, as we dictated. However, I soon noticed, nobody filed copy - if they were sharing the box with him - when big Doug Baillie of the Sunday Post, was on the line to the Post's Glasgow office. To eavesdrop on Baillie's home-spun dictation style was a joy.
 
"Onion bags, custodians, pivots, wingers, thumping tackles, Greig's Grenadiers, McNeill's Militia, Fergie's Fusiliers, the spheroid, whistlers", there wasn't a cliche left unused when Doug put the 'phone down; but, how we youngsters marvelled at his ability to have a suitably individual take on the game.
 
Doug, of course, had had a guid Scottish education at Lanark Grammar School, Dan was an Old Rugbeian, surely the only Thistle fanatic who ever listed Denis Amiss as his favourite sportsman. So, Doug, was maybe less likely to ever be written out.
 
My favourite Baillie moment came one afternoon as we gazed out at the thousands of empty seats in the pre-Souness Ibrox. The latest big thing at Ibrox sprinted up the wing, then tripped over the ball, Baillie snorted: "See that yin, he'll still be a promisin' boay when he's 30."
 
Right enough, said would-be superstar was soon back in the juniors, where he belonged.
 
Any way, if football writers can burn-out, maybe, as with managers, we have a shelf life; we can only comment for so-long, before our public stops reading or listening.
 
With Dan in charge of the Standard sports desk, there was no pecking order, such as there still across the Scottish titles - we all got our turn to cover the Old Firm, we each had to travel up to Aberdeen for Dons'home games. There might have been an A team, who covered nothing but the Old Firm and Scotland, but while Dan was, naturally in it - the rest of us got our turn at the game of the day, that wasn't an A Team preserve on our title.
 
Thus, we stayed fresh and we got to know people. Before I switched back to rugby a few years ago, I used to get annoyed, when the Scottish Cup threw-up an SPL v First or Second Division tie, and one of the A Team had to lower himself to leave the Ibrox - Parkhead - Hampden Glasgow Triangle. We lesser beings who were on the provincial circuit had to spend half the game bringing them up to speed on who was who on the park and these precious creatures were clearly out of their comfort zones, not having to pay court to Walter, or Martin.
 
Maybe, if our alleged top talents in present-day sports writing had to get out of their rut, and if the papers realised not everyone is besotted with the Old Firm - then our coverage of the game in Scotland might be better, and, just maybe, a mainstream media, keen on more than extending the status quo, could lead the way in the revival we all know is long-overdue in Scottish football.
 
And amybe, if they were to become aware of howmuch talent there is in Scotland, in sports other than football, it would be better for everyone in this wee, crabbit nation.

Wednesday 2 October 2013

He's Not The Messiah - He's Just A Very Silly Boy

ONE of the earliest lessons I received as I set out in this mad trade of sports-writing, came from an elderly practitioner of the art, who had, after, in winning a bet, had written what became a best-selling action blockbuster novel, set out to drink himself to death.
 
This took him some years, but, while he was succeeding in this life-ending task, a few of we young whipper-snappers had the benefit of his experience, as we digested matches over a pint or ten of a Saturday evening.
 
My late friend always stressed that, whilst in many walks of life, there were lies, damned lies and statistics, in sport, the stats rarely lied. Specifically if one side enjoyed an overwhelming percentage of the possession in any game, unless they suffered from chronic incompetence, they should win.
 
Given this fact, which I agree might not be infallable, Celtic can have few complaints as regards the outcome of Tuesday night's clash with Barcelona. Clearly, on the night, the better team won.
 
It therefore did Neil Lennon no favours when, post-match, he embarked on his character assassination of Neymar, as regards the incident which got Scott Brown his red card. For me, the referee had no option other than to dismiss Brown. I accept the Brazilian made the most of the moment, but, given his countryman, yon big sap of an AC Milan goalkeeper, whose name escapes me's performance, when tickled in the passing by the legendary Celtic supporter Juan Guy some years ago - none of the Celtic Family should be surprised when a Brazilian indulges in Olivier-like histrionics when he gets the chance.
 
It was a red card Neil, forget it and move on.
 
What disappointed me was that Brown should be so-stupid. In his younger days, he more than once let himself down by getting involved in on-field incidents which mitigated against his talent. However, I had thought that, since becoming club then national captain, he had grown-up and put such childish indescretions behind him. Clearly I was wrong.
 
His dismissal and the suspension which will surely follow, makes it even harder for Celtic to claim the consolation prize of Europa League participation post-Christmas. In this Group of Faded Glory, that was always their most-likely prize, without Broon, they will struggle to outdo even Ajax, for third place and the Europa consolation prize.
 
Rather than seeking to defend his captain, Lennon should be making it clear in no uncertain terms, that his skipper let himself, the club and those marvellous fans down last night. A wee bit contrition should follow.
 
 
 
MEANWHILE, across the city, the Edmiston Drive soap opera continues, as the newly-published accounts are pored over by all and sundry. I have said since this whole shooting match kicked-off, with the exposure, even before he had got his feet below the board room table, of Craig Whyte's unsuitability for the role of guardian of the club, that the only people who would win out of Rangers travails were the lawyers and accountants.
 
I forgot to add the spin doctors and PR leeches. I didn't reckon on the guys who had to shovel away the shit Whyte left being just as crass crooks. I thought, having gotten into trouble via the excesses of the Murray Years, Rangers would slim down, seek to run a tight ship and, even though the road back might be longer and harder, try to build solid foundations from which to re-establish the duopoly at the top of Scottish football.
 
Clearly I was wrong. The same old mistakes are being repeated as far as fiscal management are concerned. The only conclusion I can reach is - be prepared for more tears guys.
 
 

Tuesday 1 October 2013

A Damned Good Reid

I HAVE a couple of self-indulgences which I am savouring in these present-day times of semi-retirement. One is family history: I have finally got around to researching my family tree, although, 'Er Indoors reckons my genealogy research is verging on OCD.
 
The other self-indulgence is collecting sports books; this encompasses the whole spectrum of sport, although the majority of the books are on football. Collecting is mainly done via second-hand book shops and charity shops and, last week I shelled-out a well-spent tenner in the British Heart Foundation shop in Kilmarnock for three crackers.
 
The one I am currently reading, the first of the three, is Harry Reid's 2005 tome: 'The Final Whistle', sub-headed: "Scottish Football: The Best And Worst ovf Times".
 
It is a quite wonderful piece of work, hardly surprising given Mr Reid's pedigree within Scottish journalism. I owe Harry a lot, he gave me a hugely-helpful break when he was Sports Editor of the Sunday Standard and, with him having the intellectual gravitas of an Edinburgh Academical - Oxford graduate, and the journalistic pedigree of years on The Scotsman and the Editorship of the Glasgow Herald, his words are to be injested and pondered upon.
 
As the coverage of the fall and subsequent crawl through the shite of Rangers has shown, Scotland has been ill-served by the "Succulent Lamb" school of journalism, or by the "exclusive revelations" of the red-top school - it is refreshing to read the work of a real professional.
 
 
 
SCOTTISH football is right in the limelight tonight, with the ITV coverage of their Champions League clash with Barcelona, at Celtic Park.
 
The TV screen will surely crackle with the electric atmosphere inside the ground, and, with the pictures beamed across the UK, this is Celtic's chance to show that Scottish football isn't a joke.
 
I suspect we Scots will have to make-do with our own STV haun-knitted commentators and pundits, as always on these big European nights, I'd love to tap-into the English-slanted coverage, if only to get my dander up. That said, Roy Keane is always worth listening to, while, I must admit I do like Adrian Chile's man of the people approach - as he and Frank Skinner have shown, no West Bromwich Albion fan can really take football - or themselves, seriously.
 
It is asking a lot for lightning to strike twice, particularly with Celtic's doughnut defence, but, to quote Barry Newman: "Why not?"
 
 
 
I TEND to avoid commenting on the foibles of other bloggers. As a species we each sit in our 21st century equivalent of the hermit's cave of past times, railing against what we perceive to be the wrongs and injustices of the world.
 
I, unlike many, believe in free speech, but am becoming increasingly worried by the protocol whereby, in 21st century Britain, free speech is only ok if what is being said measures-up to some sort of standard, laid-down by left-wing liberal opinion formers.
 
Hence the roasting Tam Cowan got at the weekend for what was clearly, the more you read the Daily Record piece, a tongue-in-cheek piece about women's football.
 
OK, Tam unfortunately for him, stuck his tongue in his lower rather than upper cheek; he clearly doesn't enjoy women's football, fair enough; he probably went too-far, but, in a land of free speech, he is allowed to hold his antedeluvian views; or isn't he?
 
But, to get back on-message. I don't know who is worse, David Leggat or Phil Mac Giolla Bhain. But, they do perform a service, as the book ends to the opinions of the more extreme members of Ra Peepul and the Celtic Family.

The Donegal Kid, however, easily won this week's version of who can be sillier in the extremity stakes, with his rant, complete with video, clip of the "Jocks" who were Rangers' guests at Ibrox on Saturday, breaking ranks to join-in a hearty rendition of that well-known peace anthem Derry's Walls.

This set young Phil off down the road of ranting about under-equipped squaddies being butchered in Afghanistan, because the old Rangers regime didn't pay their taxes, and about the iniquities of EBTs.

Aside from the fact, Rangers largely got off with the EBTs plan - that's the case until, if ever, the Big Tax Case appeal by HMRC is won - and, in any case, probably enough cash is squandered on the drinks bills in Officers Messes than was arguably kept out of the civil servants' clutches by the MIH EBT scheme.

But, to see a Scottish-born, raised and educated former civil servant, who was - allegedly - lucky to escape a brush with the law for his incompetence, who subsequently decamped to a foreign country, from where he comments almost daily on sporting events back in the land of his birth, going-on about perceived tax evasion.

This is beyond irony.