Let's Be Less Conservative and More Egalitarian

CONSERVATIVE, inward-looking, prone to looking back to better days - the perennial curse of "Aye Beenism" - no wonder Scottish football seems to be in an eternal search for its soul.

Once again, in mid-season, there is much talk around the game, of change to the league format - the basic template for the season. There will be much sound and fury, while the debate rages on, but, I would reckon, the only way we will get, real, meaningful change, will be if either the Rangers Tribute Act or Hibs fail to negotiate a way back into the top flight next season, either by winning the Championship outright, or coming out on top via the play-offs.

The basic premise of the Scottish Football League, when it was started back in Queen Victoria's reign in the 1890s, was to ensure regular fixtures between the top clubs back then. When the new league kicked-off, all the top teams, with the exception of Queen's Park, whose hegemony in Scotland was already collapsing in the face of that club's aversion to professionalism, joined.

Ever since, Scottish senior football has been a two-tier body. We have the "Top" teams, who seem to be ever-presents in the top-flight: pre-2012 Rangers, Celtic, Hearts and Hibs, Aberdeen, the two Dundee clubs, St Johnstone, Kilmarnock, Motherwell, St Mirren and Partick Thistle.

The two Highland clubs, Inverness CT and Ross County have, to their credit, muscled into the establishment, as have Hamilton Academical, while one or two of the smaller establishment clubs - Airdrie, Falkirk, Dunfermline Athletic, Ayr United, Morton and Queen of the South for instance have become yo-yo clubs, given to good seasons and bad, but, always capable of shocking the so-called big boys in one-off cup ties.

It is a given that the RTA is the chosen successor to real Rangers, therefore, we have 20 middle-to-upper class clubs in Scotland. Add Livingston and Dumbarton or Clyde - who have never recovered from being decanted from Shawfield, and we have 20 clubs who deserve the title: "Senior Clubs". The other 22 so-called "Senior Clubs" are, in my view, little better than the best of the non-league teams.

These numbers do not add-up in the popular current context of a return to a 16-club top flight. Sorting-out the first 10 or 12 clubs would not be too-much of a problem, but, picking the final four would leave some deserving clubs on the outside looking in.

Fairness demands that all these clubs, all of which have made considerable investment in stadia and facilities deserve to be in the top-flight. So, how do we decide who gets in and who is left out?

I would suggest we find a way of keeping all 20 on board, by adopting the North American conference system. We have 20 clubs, which could be split into two conferences of perceived equal status. To do this, we do what they do across the Atlantic.

There, in cities such as New York and Los Angeles, which are large enough to support two fully-professional clubs in a single sport - we split these clubs; thus, Celtic go into one conference - the RTA into the other, ditto in Edinburgh and Dundee. Near-neighbours, with a history of rivalry are similarly split - Kilmarnock into one conference, Ayr the other, ditto St Mirren and Morton, Motherwell and Hamilton and so on.

These clubs play each other home and away in the first part of the season, 18 fixtures, then, following the mid-season break, we get down to the nitty-gritty of the cross-conference play-offs.

The top four clubs in each conference then go into a new eight-club pool, to play-down European-style, to the final two, who will contest the Championship Game. The pool games are knock-out, over two legs.This was the top Scottish clubs gain, in the domestic game, experience of playing such games in Europe.

The losing clubs in each round of games would then play each other, so, at the end of the season, we would have a one-to-eight ranking of the clubs.

I would also have the other 12 clubs, those not involved in playing-down to the Championship Game, play each other using the same format. Thus, at the end of the season, we would have a 1-20 pecking order. I will return to this later.

What of the other 22 "Senior" clubs? If we reduce the senior Scottish League to a mere 20 clubs they lose status and would seem to have nowhere to go.

Well, we redefine these other clubs as "Development" Clubs. They would be limited as to how many players over the age of 23 they could field in any match - I would suggest three.

Their principal remit would be to groom the next generation of players. It might be worthwhile having, as is the case in Rugby for instance, for having pairing agreements with the 20 senior clubs, so that when a young player with one of the top 20 clubs reaches 21, he moves to the associate Development club to continue his career.

Then, when he turns 23, he could go into a pre-season North American-style draft, whereby the lowest ranked of the top 20 clubs, has first pick of the available young talent, and so forth, thereby ensuring the best talent is spread around.

I know my suggestion breaks new ground for Scotland, but, we have to try something, the status quo isn't working.

We Hated Jimmy Hill, But, He Was Never A Poof

HOW like Jimmy Hill, arguably the most-innovative man in British football in the 20^th century, to have the inevitable end to his long battle against the ravages of Alzheimer's Disease occur on a Saturday, so he grabbed all the pre-match headlines.

Because, if ever a journeyman footballer's career was written in headlines and controversy, it was Hill's, as he repeatedly tore-up and re-wrote the game's script. One can only wonder what English football might now be like, had the "blazers" who run the game ever allowed Hill into their tent for any length of time. But, given the way he tore at its fabric, as Players Union boss, revolutionary manager, the man who almost single-handedly re-invented television coverage of the game and no-nonsense club chairman – the grey men in grey suits who ran things were always going to do their best to limit his potential for improving matters.

He came from humble origins in Belham, where his father was a food delivery driver. He won a place at Thornton Grammar School, in Clapham, and, in later life he was president of the school's Old Boys Association.

His football ambitions then stretched no further than success for the Crystal Palace team he supported, and it was not until the stockbroker's clerk did his National Service as clerk in the Royal Army Service Corps that his own football ambitions began to surface, as he held his own against the professionals who served with him. Even then, his leadership potential was being seen, as he was promoted to Corporal and considered for officer training.

Back in civvie street, he played as an amateur for Reading, before, in 1949, Brentford took a chance on him and in three years at Griffin Park, playing alongside future England manager Ron Greenwood, he blossomed. Hill himself paid tribute to the encouragement he received at Brentford from former Rangers, Arsenal and Scotland wing-half Archie MacAuley and, after 87 games for 'ford, in 1953 he moved downriver to Fulham, where he would spend the remainder of his career.

His arrival at Craven Cottage coincided with that of the club's greatest player, future England captain Johnny Haynes. Haynes took the number ten shirt, Hill, the number eight. The club was then in the Second Division, but, as several great players began to arrive – the future Sir Bobby Robson, England full backs Tommy Langley and George Cohen, England striker Bedford Jezzard and finally, in 1958, Scotland winger Graham Leggat, Fulham's star rose.

In 1958, Hill scored in every round as Fulham reached the FA Cup semi-final, where they lost in a Highbury replay to the post-Munich Manchester United. In truth, he was not a prolific goalscorer, but, a five-goal haul against Doncaster Rovers shows, he knew the way to the net.

Season 1958-59 saw Fulham promoted to the top tier, finishing tenth in their first season there, with Tottenham the only London side above them.

They slipped to 17^th the following season, but, in Hill's defence, he was starting to fry other fish at this time. As Chairman of the Professional Footballer's Association, the players' union, he had started a campaign to lift the maximum wage, which limited English players to just £20 per week during the season.

This was a long and bitter campaign, and it took a full-scale strike, organised by Hill, to bring the club directors to their senses, before they capitulated and ushered-in the huge salaries which are paid today. As Gary Lineker, for one, noted after Hill's death was announced – every present-day player should be grateful to Hill for his work in ending the maximum wage.

But it was time, after some 300 games, for Hill to move onto the next stage of his career. With Robson, he had been one of the first players to qualify from England manager Sir Walter Winterbottom's FA coaching courses. A knee injury hastened the change and, in 1962 he became the latest man to pass through what had been something of a revolving door, to the Manager's office at Coventry City.

Not since the Luftwaffe visited had Coventry undergone a change such as Hill brought about. He changed everything, not least the strip, turning to sky blue as his blue sky thinking produced: "The Sky Blue Revolution", slumbering, Third Division Coventry woke up to showbiz razzamatazz, a new realisation of the commercial possibilities of football and Highfield Road became the first all-seater stadium in England.

Success on the field took a wee bit longer. City escaped Division Three as Champions in 1963-64. spent two seasons consolidating in the middle of Division Two, before, in May, 1967, they won promotion to the top-flight in England, the old Division One.

It was time for Hill to move on to the third stage of his career. He had a short spell with the BBC, as Technical Adviser on their football club-based soap opera 'United', before he joined London Weekend Television, as Head of Sport, even having a short spell as Deputy Head of Programmes. It was at LTV that he remodeled how television covered the game, not least when, during ITV's coverage of the 1970 Mexico World Cup, Hill chaired the first pundit's panel.

Perhaps the BBC continued to attract the bigger match-coverage audiences, but, when it came to the talking heads, it was no contest. The ITV panel of Chairman Hill, Manchester City manager Malcolm Allison, Manchester United's Scottish midfielder Paddy Crerand, Wolves' Northern Ireland striker Derek Dougan and Arsenal's England full-back Bob McNab was the only show in town, as they bickered, argued but, under Hill's shrewd guidance, dissected the games.

The BBC knew a diamond when they saw one and quickly poached Hill to present Match of the Day, before, when Des Lynam took over, he stepped aside to become THE television match analyst. He was opinionated, he caused rows, but, he was listened to. Hill particularly shone during the big tournaments such as World Cups and European Championships, where his forthright views were often echoed by the fans.

During this time he became a hate figure for the Tartan Army, not least after he appeared to chuck cold water on the quality of David Narey's goal against Brazil during the 1982 World Cup.

Careful analysis of what he said, however, kills the myth: "Some might call it a toe-poke" is not the same as: "That was a toe-poke", while his follow-up line about it being a good goal for Scotland is overlooked.

With the Daily Ranger in the vanguard, Hill became a hate figure to the Tartan Army and for many years afterwards: "We hate Jimmy Hill......." you know the ridiculously wrong and slanderous second line, was on the Tartan Army's Hampden play list.

But, he didn't merely appear on TV. He had started a weekly football magazine: 'Jimmy Hill's Football Weekly', he wrote columns for the Daily Express and a handful of football books, including a well-received autobiography. He worked for the (English) Sports Council, and was a trustee of the Stable Lads Association and patron of a Labrador Rescue Society.

He also found time, in September 1973, to become an emergency linesman during an Arsenal v Liverpool game at Highbury. How typically Hill, to have qualified as a referee as he immersed himself in football.

From the BBC, he was poached to Sky, where his Sunday morning programme; 'Jimmy Hill's Sunday Supplement' was essential viewing for the football anorak, as he and his guests dug deeply into events in the game.

He went back to Coventry as Managing Director and Chairman, before leaving to, after a brief spell as Charlton Chairman, returning to Craven Cottage, to save Fulham from bankruptcy and a touted merger with Queen's Park Rangers, which would have seen Craven Cottage lost to football.

Briefly, he was elected to the Football League's management committee, but, a maverick free-thinker like Hill was never going to be comfortable amongst the "blazers", a fact which was English football's loss.

He rode to hounds, before cancer of the colon put paid to that. He joined a gentleman's club in St James' and became a playing member at the All-England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club, thus allowing him to tread the hallowed lawns of Wimbledon.

Then, in 2008, his Alzheimer's was diagnosed and his long descent began. He admitted in his autobiography to "serial adultery" during his first two marriages, to teacher Gloria Flude, whom he married in 1951, and Heather, his former secretary, whom he married in 1962.

With Gloria, he had two sons, Duncan and Graham, and a daughter, Alison. His marriage to Heather, produced a son, Jamie, and a daughter, Joanna, before, in 1991 he married Bryony, his former secretary and manager who survives him.

He was made OBE, Coventry City erected a statue of him outside the Ricoh Arena in 2011, he was there to unveil it, while he was inducted into the Football League Hall of Fame.

He was a maverick, he was opinionated, he but, he was the consumate professional football man. If two goals and a "maybe" in a World Cup final qualifies an English journeyman footballer for a knighthood, perhaps Hill's immense contribution to the game, including the introduction of the three points for a win system, deserved, at the least, a place in the House of Lords.

He does, however, for all the abuse he took, hold a warm place in the hearts of the Tartan Army, who knew a genuine caring football man when they saw one. Plus, the fact he, proud and passionate England supporter though he was, he refused to climb on board the "England are wonderful" band wagon with so many other media men - pointing-out, frequently to criticism from other pundits who had nothing like his qualifications, England's failings; well this helped the TA to admire him.

Football has indeed, lost one of its all-time greats.

Can I Hibernate For The Next Year?

SOON, in less than two weeks to be exact, Big Ben will toll for the televised start of the year 2016. This is a year which promises to be heavy going for that embattled species, the Scottish fitba fan, because, it will be 50 years on from 1966.

 

We, particularly those who were alive at the time, will not need reminding, but, mark my words, reminded we will be, often, in 1966 They, The Enemy, England, won the Jules Rimet Trophy and were crowned World Football Champions.

 

However, this was, as was emphatically demonstrated at their own Wembley nine months later, a false coronation. Once a Scotland team inspired by Jim Baxter got their hands on the English back in April, 1967, it was soon clear which nation was indeed the Football Master Race.

 

Well, that's our basic credo and we must, in spite of massive evidence to the contrary believe it.

 

In the summer of 2016, 50-years on from "They think it's all over - it is now" and all that, it will be deja vu again. England, backed by their largely unloved Barmy Army of travelling fans will embark for France for Euro'2016, and already, on the back  of what was, in spite of the paucity of opposition they faced, an impressive qualifying camaign, their media cheer leaders are warming-up into full: "Engurland, Engurland, Engurland" mode.

 

Thus, between now and the kick-off this summer, the pressure from the fawning English media will gradually be ratcheted-up on Roy Hodgson and his squad. Fifty years on, England still expects and all that.

 

But, it is ever thus, the English press will build-up their team, the representatives of what, despite lots of evidence to the contrary in Champions League games, the BUMS (British Unionist Media) still refers to as: "The Greatest League In The World", as potential Champions.

 

Then, when England go out, somewhere around the last eight, all Hell will descend on the heads of Hodgson, a decent man and good manager, and his captain, the fading force that is Wayne Rooney, and the rest.

 

That 1966 World Cup in England hasn't worn well. Yes, it was a violent tournament, the manner in which Pele and the Brazilians were kicked out of it, the festering sore which was the England v Argentine quarter-final, these are among the lasting images of the event.

 

But, think too of the wonderful story of how North Korea won the hearts of the football fans of Tees-side in particular. They took to referring to Pak Doo Ick and Co as "Us".

 

Remember Eusebio's virtual one-man demolition of the same North Koreans in Portugal's come from behind quarter-final win. Close your eyes and you can still see Bobby Charlton, running on, and running on, before burying one of his specials in the Portugese net in the semi-final.

 

Consider again the elegance of the young, 21-year-old Franz Beckenbauer in the German midfield, unhurriedly gliding forward to score. Remember too, almost the last flourish of the flawed Hungarians, the succcessors to the wondrous team of Puskas, Bozcik, Czibor and Hideghuti.

 

England will probably not win in France next summer, for a start, whereas the squad Alf Ramsey had half a century ago contained several players who were the best in the world in their position - Gordon Banks, Ray Wilson, Bobby Moore, Bobby Charlton and, although he failed to make the final XI, Jimmy Greaves. Roy Hodgson doesn't have that level of ability at the core of his squad.

 

But, never mind, we Scots need not trouble ourselves with such passing fads as the European Championships, we will be engrossed in the annual pantomime of the Old Firm rumour mill - who will be the next big signing, not forgtting that continuing sporting soap opera - Edmiston Drive, or Court of Session Live, as it now threatens to become.

 

Who needs football, when fitba offers so much more. 

Lock The Back Door - Or Suffer In Europe

THE elephant in the room when it comes to Celtic and Manchester United is the demand and expectation that the team entertains. It is not simply enough to win games, the games have to be won with swashes buckled, elan and flair.

 

All well and good, for their fans: better a 5-4 "nine-goal thriller" than a dour 0-0 draw, settled with a last-minute penalty, or breakaway goal, but, unlike ice dancing, you don't, in football, get bonus points for entertaining. Breath-taking 5-4 or scraped 1-0, you still only get three points.

 

But, it is one of football's certainties - you can have all the swashbuckling, exciting and inventive forwards you like, but, if the back door is left permanently ajar, you will win nowt.

 

And, watching Manchester United slip quietly out of the Champions League on Tuesday night, then the start of Celtic's 2015-16 European finale on Thursday night (a prior engagement took me away before half-time, and, to be honest, I didn't see the point in recording the rest), there was one common denominator in the demise of British football's two great entertainers - the cry was no defenders.

 

Good teams are built round a solid spine: a great goalkeeper, two classy central defenders who work as a pair, a midfield general and a great goalscorer; if those five elements are in place, it doesn't really matter about the other six, so long as they have an element of quality.

 

The hole in the heart of the Celtic defence is obvious. It doesn't really matter, or hurt them all that often in the backwater of the SPFL, but, is a glaring gap in Europe. Manchester United's central defence is a work in progress, after the loss of the formidable Ferdinand/Vidic pairing. The guys who have come in have yet to reach that level of competence, but, in time they will. For Celtic, ah hae ma doots.

 

Until these two clubs sort-out the deficiencies at the back, however, they are going to struggle in Europe.

THE death of Alan Hodgkinson earlier this week was sad, albeit, 79 is a reasonably good innings. Hodgy was a wee man, but, he had a huge influence on the odd-men-out in football, the goalkeepers.

He played nearly 700 games, he was capped by England, he was actively involved in the game for 60-years, and his influence will live long, how he has gone. Had he done nothing other than coached Jim Leighton (before the pair had a spectacular fall-out), Andy Goram and Peter Schmeichel, he would have been respected. But, it was the advice and hep he gave to other stoppers, often unpaid, which set him apart.

I had a cousin, sadly taken too-soon, who played over 500 games in the English League, got into a Scotland squad, when with a very unfashionable club, but never got the cap he deserved. His active career overlapped with that of Hodgy, and he said: "If I was having a problem, I could call Hodgy up, we would talk it over and I always came away feeling better about myself and goalkeeping.

Speaking as an old, and not very good goalie myself, I know only too-well, the hardest thing about our position is the mental strain. A striker can fail to trap a ball and concede possession; if the midfield does not strangle the counter-attack at birth, if the full-back lets his winger pass, the centre-half misses the cross then the ball is deflected home by the striker; if the 'keeper merely gets a hand to the ball as it goes in - somewhere in the ground, someone will blame the goalie for conceding the goal - even though he was probably the one member of the team conceding it who made the smallest error, if he erred at all.

That is the goalie's lot. The outfield players usually have an alibi, the goalie seldom has - and that means mental pressure.

Hodgy was Yorkshire to his core, but, his service to Scotland during his years as goalkeeping coach, and the legacy he has left, through his disciples such as Jim Stewart, Billy Thomson and Stevie Woods is great.

I bet, up there in the great locker room in the sky, Hodgy has already settled-in beside Bert Williams to dissect the art of goalkeeping. And, he will surely give that great goalkeeper-philosopher Albert Camus a run for his money.

IN a sad week, in which we lost two great writers in Willie McIlvanney and Ian Bell, my spirits were lifted by a wee quip in Ken Smith's excellent Herald Diary. In the wake of his technical ko win in the Election Court, somebody in the Diary suggested: "This verdict means Alistair Carmichael has been considered by the SFA to be  a fit and proper person to join the Rangers' board.

 

 

Shockeroonie - Change Comes To Scottish Football

WELL - I never saw that one coming, but, it appears the "blazers" on Hampden's sixth floor do occasionally lift their snouts from the feeding trough to consider the well-being, both present and future, of Scottish Football.

 

This has brought forth changes to the format of the League Cup, the unloved third child of the game up here; and not before time. It is a case of "back to the future", with the return of group games, weeding out the chaff, before knock-out rounds eventually produce a winner.

 

Of course, when the League Cup was introduced at the end of World War II, there were groups, which worked well for a time, before everyone became bored and indifferent.

 

Now they are back, but, with a wee twist - penalty shoot-outs in the event of a draw after 90 minutes. I applaud these efforts to breathe new life into a somewhat moribund competition, however, in this instance, I don't think the powers-that-be have gone far enough.

 

As things stand, the League Cup does not currently have European competition in the following season as an additional incentive for the winners. Therefore, it can be used for experimentation.

 

I would, for instance, have classified the League Cup as a "Development" competition, with clubs forced to select a majority of Scottish players in their team. Why not, since they are going back to an old system, go back to another former system - the "three foreigners" rule, whereby at least eight players on the park at any one time had to be Scottish.

 

Straight away, you even-up the playing field, between those Premiership clubs who can afford non-Scots, and their lesser bretheren who cannot.

 

Also, since the initial phases are in groups, and the SFA has embraced "bonus points" by allocating an extra point to any team which wins the penalty shoot-out at the end of a drawn game; why not take a leaf out of rugby's book and also award a bonus point for scoring four or more goals.

 

And, while we are at it, how about another rugby innovation - the "losing bonus point", whereby a club which finishes one goal behind in a high-scoring game (say 4-3, 5-4 or similar) gets a bonus point.

 

These changes might just encourage attacking football, which is what the public wants to see.

 

 

 

THE other big BTTF announcement concerned the return of the mid-season break. Again, I welcome this, in principle; of course, what will happen is - the bigger clubs will swan-off to Italy, Portugal or Spain after Christmas each year, the lesser lights will stay at home to struggle through training in mid-winter Scotland.

 

Oh, and while the big boys  are abroad they will no doubt try to fit-in a wee friendly or two, which doesn't exactly help the notion of a break for the players. Still, a couple of winter weeks in the sun will be a nice wee number for those fitba writers lucky enough to be sent over to cover events.

 

 

 

AN unfortunate anniversary for Scottish international football passed almost without notice this week. Monday was the 50th anniversary of Scotland losing 0-3 to Italy in a crucial World Cup qualifier in Naples.

 

This game, now remembered mainly as the "Ron Yeats game", because the giant Liverpool centre-half wore the Scotland number nine strip, was, I like to think, the beginning of the end for the dominance of the SFA's Selection Committee.

 

Jock Stein was acting-manager for the trip, but, it should be remembered, he did not pick the squad, that was still down to the selectors. I refuse to believe Big Jock would not have the final say as to the team which took the field, but, he could only select from the squad the wise men of Park Gardens, as they then were, gave him.

 

Scotland's build-up wasn't helped by other events. Jim Baxter was injured and, to replace him, the selectors called-up Billy Stevenson of Liverpool, a player who, ironically, had seen his Rangers career ended by the arrival of 'Slim Jim' from Raith Rovers.

 

Efforts were made to have some of the Anglo-Scots rested on the Saturday before the game, but Stevenson's manager, Willie Shankly, and Matt Busby at Manchester United refused to heed the SFA's pleas and, Stevenson was injured and denied his Scotland debut - he never did win a full cap - while the iconic Denis Law was also injured on the Saturday.

 

Up here, Willie Henderson of Rangers also picked-up an injury and was out of the Naples trip, and, a disastrous outing for Kilmarnock against Real Madrid at the Bernabeu saw goalkeeper Bobby Ferguson, who had come in for the injured and vastly-experienced Bill Brown of Tottenham  considered too mentally fragile for the Italian Job. This meant a recall from the international wilderness for Burnley's Adam Blacklaw and the final XI which Stein cobbled together showed five personnel and three positional changes from the team which had thrashed Wales 4-1 at Hampden just two weeks earlier, and contained just six survivors from the team which had beaten Italy in the first game, at Hampden.

 

The Scotland team contained just one player, skipper John Greig, whose caps tally was in double figures and, hard though they fought, once the Italians went in front, Scotland were never going to win, although two late Italian goals rather slewed the result. 

 

It took a wee while for the necessary changes to the international team to be implemented, but, within 18-months, Scotland had a new manager, Bobby Brown, who did pick the squad and the final team - the power of the committee had been broken.

 

This change was a long time coming, but, the disastrous outing to Naples certainly helped hasten that change, for which we should be grateful.

Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

THE cynic in me is almost tempted to say: "Mark Warburton will be Fulham manager by the New Year". After all, in football, the likelihood of a manager coming or going from a club is in inverse proportion to the denials issued; i.e. the more a chairman proclaims his support for an under-fire manager - the likelier an early sacking. And, the more a manager says he is staying put, the more-likely it is he is trawling property websites elsewhere in the country of an evening.

 

However, if you have been in-charge at Ibrox for just a few months, and have seen the level of support your team is getting, in the second tier, might it not be hugely tempting to hang around and experience that atmosphere, in the top-flight, more-so when the team from the East End of the city comes calling?

 

Warburton will be given time to sort-out the Rangers Tribute Act and perhaps lay the foundations of a top-flight recovery, to the point when the likes of I will drop the words Tribute Act, when referring to the team playing out of Ibrox. And, make no mistake, getting the club into a position where they are the principal challengers to Celtic will not be an overnight job.

 

The potential worry for Warburton is - is the cash there?

 

Funding a recovery job and getting Fulham back into the Premiership is possible - the money will be there. Keeping them in the top-flight in England might be more-difficult.

 

The current squad at Ibrox is well-enough equipped to win promotion, but, once up there, it will not challenge Celtic unless some serous cash is splashed in better players. Is the money there for this?

 

Good question - next one please.

 

 

 

AFTER the weekend's virtual wipe-out of Scottish football, that old hoary chestnut about changing the timing of the season has raised its head again.

 

The problem, as always is - you are as likely to get a sudden heavy snowfall in Scotland in August as December. Enough rain to swamp the country could fall in any given 24-hour period of the 365 possible in a calendar year.

 

In other words, no matter how we re-schedule the season, given our weather pattern, we would still see games called-off at short notice.

 

Sure, if the money was there, we could see every club playing on an artificial surface, beneath a roof. But, the money is not there, will never be there, and, in any case, the factors mentioned in the previous paragraph would still come into play - and the chances would be, half the potential fans could not get to a game.

 

If God loves the Scots so-much, how come we got such shit weather, to go with our shit neighbours, and our shit football?

The Pyramid Just Got A Wee Bit Closer To Being Built

ON A weekend when Storm Desmond was the biggest sporting entity in Scotland, Stenhousemuir were blown out of the William Hill Scottish Cup by Lowland League East Kilbride. Was anyone really surprised?

 

The long-running closed shop attitude in Scottish senior football has meant, our version of the national knock-out competition does not have the back catalogue of "giant-killing" acts by non-league clubs.

 

However, I contend, as the Lowland League grows in strength and recognition, and with the bigger Junior clubs now granted entry to the Cup, we will see more giant-killing acts in the future.

 

Sometime very soon, the best club outwith the SPFL WILL win the end-of-season play-off to knock one of the perennial Division Two strugglers out of the SPFL and into either the Highland or Lowland League.

 

It may take a wee bit longer, but, I can see some of the perennial junior giants also breaking ranks to join either the Lowland or Highland league, and, when that happens, at long last, we will see a proper "pyramid" in Scottish Football.

 

I have long held, we have far-too-many "senior" teams in Scotland, and these too-many clubs are paying in too-many divisions. 

 

If we are to get Scotland out of the lower ground floor of European football - just above the "wee diddy" basement nations, we need to make serious changes, to our league set-up and to our attitude. Unfortunately, making the necessary changes will not be easy. Indeed, in some ways, this is a chicken and egg position - do we change the set-up and hope to change the attitudes, or vice-versa?

 

 

 

I WAS pleased to see Hearts are finally, going to modernise the main stand at Tynecastle. For me, the best suggestion for updating the match-day experience at Hearts, was the one which was touted, about a new state-of-the-art ground, (at Sighthill if memory is correct?) which would have provided a modern 20,000 all-seater stadium, to be shared by Hearts and the professional Edinburgh rugby team.

 

However, conservatism (note the small c) and self-interest put paid to that one. It was clear, Hearts saw their future as being, like their past, in their somewhat hemmed-in Gorgie ground, even though, updating and upgrading the stand, which is the oldest part of the ground, was always going to be a tough one to pull off.

 

However, Anne Budge seems determined to  get the new stand built, and, given that formidable lady's deeds this far since arriving at the club, I am sure she will deliver. I await developments with interest.

 

 

 

LOUIS Van Gaal is a manager who divides opinion. For everyone who is convinced the Dutchman is some kind of managerial genius, you will find someone else who has a lower opinion of him.

 

In arriving in England, Van Gaal did not exactly pick an easy gig. Given David Moyes' failure to maintain the lengthy Ferguson-inspired hegemony in the Premiership, whoever took over was always going to find himself under pressure.

 

This season, Van Gaal HAS to deliver some kind of silverware. Now, that in itself isn't that difficult. United are one of just a handful of  clubs capable of winning the self-styled "Greatest League in the World". BUT, this is Manchester United, "The Greatest Cub in the World", playing at the "most-atmospheric" stadium in football - Old Trafford: "The Theatre of Dreams".

Yes, United are expected to win games, particularly at home. But, they have to win: "The United Way", with style and panache. "Parking the bus", frustrating the opposition then snatching the only goal of the game on a breakaway; no, no, that will not satisfy "the prawn sandwich brigade" in the more-expensive seats at Old Trafford.

They want, champagne football, flair and elan and to be lifted by super soccer. Aye, the ghosts of the Busby Babes, the Golden Trio of Best, Charlton and Law and the Boys of '92 have left an onerous burden for today's United to overcome.

It's is a sort of more-expensive version of the task facing Ronnie Deila at Celtic. here too, matches have to be won by swash-buckling, high-tempo, attacking football, and anything less leaves the fanatics unmoved.

 

There is maybe something to be said for the Rangers Tribute Act's way: "Just win, any way you can - it's our entitlement", that's the mantra of Ra Peepul, who know, if all else fails - they will get a late penalty.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like Ronnie Deila - I'm Backing The Kids To Do Well

ALAN HANSEN built a post-playing career on saying: "You win nothing with kids". Of course, this rule is not golden, but, by and large it holds good in football. Young players may: "lack fear", they may offer fresh energy, but: "On a wet Wednesday night at Stoke", you want a fair sprinkling of old hands, who have been over the course, in your team.

 

It is good, therefore, to see, now they are out of Europe, Ronnie Deila fielding  team with a fair number of the club's excellent young Scottish talent in the ranks. Perhaps, indeed, I would say probably, given the paucity of the challenge they face in the SPFL, this is surely the best-opportunity Celtic will have for some time, to give the kids their heads.

 

But, will he? If a seven-point lead can be strung out to a ten-point one, he might well be tempted to leave well alone and allow the kids to flourish, I hope he does.

 

Leigh Griffiths, of course, is no longer the enfant terrible he was a season or three back, but, I do hope his current "hot" sell continues. We need a Scottish goal scorer who consistently hits the back of the net. Wee Leigh was hard on himself for his failure to score against Ajax on Thursday night, but, at Inverness on Sunday, he potted his 19th goal of the season. I hope he goes on to score more than 30 this season, indeed, I am almost praying he hits 40.

 

Mind you, this would be more certain if Deila could get the right co-striker to play alongside him. Playing off a big old-fashioned target man, I am sure Griffiths would flourish even better than he currently manages. This tactic might not work in Europe, but, would surely pay dividends in Scotland.

 

 

 

MIND you, THE scoring feat of the last week was surely the Scottish Women's team hammering ten past a hapless Macedonian goalkeeper, at Paisley. What a cracking strart for the controversial new pink kit.

 

Maybe the main SFA honchos should nip along the sixth floor corridor to see the Women's officials, for a clue as to why, Scottish women's football is thriving and on the rise, while the Men's game is in decline. But, take advice from a wummin - naw, ah dinnae see it.

 

 

 

SO, the off-field soap opera around "Rangers" will go on, all the way to the Supreme Court. Well, it will pay school and tuition fees, sell papers, attract clickbait to newspaper websites and keep us all interested for a wee while yet - while in the real world, we rush to Hell in a hand-cart.

 

My old mentor Ian "Dan" Archer was right, when he would caution his troops: "Never forget boys - we are the comic strip section of the paper".

 

Speaking of which, I remember, back in the 1950s, when the DC Thomson comics such as the Adventure, Hotspur, Rover and Wizard all included lengthy written-down stories - no comic strips back then - there was one, in the Rover I think, about some mad foreign scientist who discovered a way of syphoning the X-factor out of great footballers and into normal men. He then took over a struggling lower league team and turned them into world-beaters.

 

Now, substituting foreign funds, be it petro-dollars, allegedly ill-gotten  Russian cash, or fortunes made on the back of Asian sweat shop labour, for the scientific mumbo-jumbo, isn't that what the English Premier League has become?

 

If you have enough money, why anyone can now become a player in English football ownership.

 

Me, I still long for the simple memories of Nick Smith and Arnold Tabbs, regularly taking some stuttering Division Three North side to Wembley, in the series: "It's Goals That Count". Or of, my all-time "Bouncing" Bernard Briggs - who never lost a goal, "Limp-Along Leslie - shepherd from Monday to Friday, midfield general on a Saturday and the gypsy centre-forward Ishmael of Darbury Rangers.    

 

One Christmas, among my presents was the Rover Annual, in which the specially-written It's Goals That Count story was entitled: "The Goalie's Name Was Muggins", about a mystery goalkeeper who comes to the aid of whichever struggling lower league side Smith was managing at the time, when all their other goalkeepers are injured.

 

He proves an inspiration as he back-stops a late promotion push, before, with the title clinched, he is revealed as a star ballet dancer. Yes, his real name was indeed Muggins, and, in a reverse Billy Elliot story line, his big ambition had always been to play in-goals for that club. They don't write them like that any more, and these stories are no-more far-fetched, and a lot easier to read than the latest report from Court Number Three.