Socrates MacSporran

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

Monday 13 June 2016

Let's Be Honest - Do We Really Want To Associate With These People?

THERE is something to be said for Scotland's continued failure to qualify for major tournaments – at least, there is no risk of the Tartan Army getting caught-up in incidents involving the ultra wing of other nations.
We have enough bother here in Scotland with our own football followers, who seem to believe, once you start following a football team, the normal laws of good behaviour and public decency do not apply to you. We accept, two clubs in particular have a large minority of followers who believe – to quote the war cry of one side's lunatic fringe: “We arra peepul”, but, while a lot of folk, particularly if they are inside the sixth floor corridor magic circle at Hampden, refuse to believe their fans are anything but sober, sensible church-going paragons, the fact is, EVERY club has its lunatic fringe.
I welcome UEFA's warning to the English and the Russians, I still somehow feel, even if the English fans decide, somewhere further down the Euro 2016 track, to hold another riot, UEFA will sweep it under the carpet. The English hooligans seldom, unlike their Russian counterparts, riot INSIDE the stadium – by doing that they risk UEFA's strict liability sanctions – no, they will misbehave elsewhere.
The English press is now, predictably, seeking to blame everyone but the English hooligans – the Russians, the French police, UEFA, that too is entirely to be expected.

Russian Ultras - a handy diversion for Fleet Street
The Tartan Army will be under the microscope on 11 November, when we travel to Wembley to face England. Can we be sure our Tartan tourists will behave themselves? Hopefully yes, but, we do know, there will be English hooligans in London, eagerly awaiting their chance to have a bit of sport with the“Sweaties”, and, we must reluctantly acknowledge, a chance that some of our lads are up for a wee bit of “fun” in return.
We can be equally certain, given past form, they will come to Hampden in numbers, in less than a year's time, for the return World Cup Qualifier. There have been unsavoury incidents the last twice or three times the English have ventured north. We can be sure, particularly if the result of the EU referendum triggers Indyref2, that there will be flashpoints. No amount of forward planning will prevent this. We can only hope Police Scotland will, as their predecessors, Strathclyde Police managed in the past, nip the trouble in the bud.
I still feel, football can and should do more to prevent trouble. But, the will is simply not there.

AS TO the football. No shocks yet for me. Now they have got their first game out of the way, I trust Northern Ireland can play better. I await with interest, the Republic's first game, and, I have a feeling, Wales can get a draw against England. That English defence, well, you have to be as poor going forward as Scotland not to score a goal against them. I still fancy the Germans to ratchet-up the pressure as the tournament unfolds and be there at the finish.
Bastian Schweinstiger
Big Bastian Schweinstiger, something like 22 minutes of football in three months, comes off the bench and gets into position to score that German winner – that's class.

BY THE WAY – Joey Barton, difficult though it will be for you to pull this one off – a period of silence on your part might prove beneficial.
A very rare picture of Joey Barton - the photographer had just 12 minutes in which to take it

Sunday 12 June 2016

Send Them Homeward To Think Again - Assuming They Are Capable Of Thought

I HAD vowed, this time, I would not revert to type; there would be no Anyone But England as I watched Euro'2016. It didn't last, it couldn't last, as BBC and ITV reverted to their default position as cheer-leaders for Engurland, Engurland, Engurland, and the Carlsberg-fuelled Barmy Army, no probably about them, undoubtedly the worst hooligans in the world, set to work demolishing Marseilles and exporting English football culture to the tournament.
England fans in France - we come in peace!!!
Quite why UEFA does not simply expel England from the tournament now and save themselves a lot of bother, I do not know. No, that's a lie, I do know – they are scared and, in any case, the FA is one of the principal gangster “families” in the corporate underworld of World Football. That said too, I doubt if being chucked-out now would alter the mind-set of your average English football hooligan, they don't even have a brain cell which functions, and, it would harm the vast majority of the decent English fans, who must be more fed-up than most at the way their game and their nation sees its name dragged through the mud at every major tournament.
The English hooligans may give we Scots our wee injection of schadenfreude, which we relish, but, it's not as if we don't have our own hooligans to worry about, and, remember, the English are coming our way early in the new season, and I am sure we have our own social inadequates just counting the hours until they can get stuck into the English fans.
I appreciate, in Marseilles, they found themselves facing Russian "opponents", who were equally up for a fight, but, the well-established fact is: England fans + big tournaments + sunshine + cheap booze has long been a highly-combustable mixture. Time to stop it I think.

AS TO the actual England v Russia match. I just wished I could have watched it with the sound off, but, I don't know enough of the players to immediately identify them without the help of the commentators. We had the usual mentions of 1966 and 1996 when the teams were in the tunnel, yawn; we had England repeatedly referred to as “Us” and “We” throughout the broadcast. Unfortunately, we have to thole this, no way would STV or BBC Shortbread be allowed to put their own commentators in place to give us a less-biased commentary.
How I longed for the days of the late, great and much-lamented Bill McLaren, who was able to commentate on his son-in-law scoring twice against England without falling into GITFUY, Scotland-Scotland mode. Clive Tyldesley, eat your heart out.
I always felt, as England failed to turn possession and pressure into goals against the Russians, that failure would come back and bite them. Even when they did, eventually, go in front, I always had confidence in the inability of the English back four to defend properly, which would allow Russia to level matters, which they did. Two points flung away by Roy Hodgson's men - these points might prove costly.

WELL DONE Wales, for winning their opener. OK, the opposition goalkeeper should be put up against a wall and shot for letting-in that Gareth Bale free kick, but, as old Nick Smith used to say on a weekly basis in the Rover comic of my youth: “It's goals that count”, and, bad one to lose though it was, Wales's effort counted.
Gareth Bale - scorer of Wales's goal - with some help from the goalie 
If, as I believe they can, Wales can at the very least draw with England net time out, things in that group will become very interesting indeed.

AND FINALLY, good luck to the two Irish teams as they set-off on their tournament. They have the example of Joe Schmidt's rugby boys to inspire them on their way.

Tuesday 7 June 2016

The Greatest Fans - That's Not What The Figures Say

BBC cameras were outside Celtic Park on Monday, to film: “The Greatest Fans In The World” queuing for season tickets for the new season. Maybe the Celtic board, as they watch the faithful lining-up to hand them their hard-earned dough, should sent a wee bottle of something across the city to Ibrox.
Because, I reckon it is the return of Rangers to the top-flight which has brought the Parkhead faithful out in force. For a body, many of whom spend long hours on the internet, proclaiming that: “Rangers is deid and youse is a new club”; they come across as very obsessed by these newcomers.

 

 TGFITW - well, maybes naw
And rightly so, because, if the Celtic Family comprises: TGFITW, then Ra Peepul across the city are surely The Greatest Fans In Scotland. Why do I make this outrageous suggestion? Simples – facts.
Last season, Celtic, in the Premiership, attracted 803,125 fans through the Celtic Park gates for the club's 18 home games in the Premiership. This equates to an average attendance of 44,618, which represents the ground being 74% full.
Rangers, playing in the next tier down, the Championship, attracted 815,841 fans to their 18 home games, an average attendance of 45,325, which represents the ground being 89% full.
The Celtic crowds varied between a high of 49,009 and a low of 41,396. Rangers' high point was 50,349 and their low point 37,182.
I compared these attendance figures with the last occasion in which the Old Firm was in the same division, 2011-12. Then, Celtic attracted a total of 916,593 fans through the doors for their 18 home league games, an average attendance of 50,922, and an 85% seat occupancy rate. Without the two Old Firm games, the occupancy rate at Celtic Park was 84%
Rangers, in that same calamitous season for them, attracted 880,160 fans to their 19 home games, an average attendance of 46,342, and a 91% seat occupancy rate – a 90% occupancy rate without the two Old Firm games.
Therefore, for all Celtic's greater success in the two seasons, Rangers had the more-loyal following.
It would be, I feel, wrong to blame the absence of Rangers from the top flight for Celtic's declining attendances, clearly, the “product” was not encouraging the fans to turn out, but, the fact the faithful are again excited about the new season, I accept - in part through the recruitment of new boss Brendan Rodgers, however, anticipation of the resumption of hostilities with the hated enemy across the city, demonstrates how much the Celtic Family have missed Rangers.

THE other big story of this week, has been speculation about the exact position between Mike Ashley, Sports Direct and Rangers. The more I see of this troubled relationship, the more I am convinced - Mike Ashley and Dave King, neither of whom comes across as a nice guy, perhaps deserve each other.

SPEAKING of not very nice guys, I see Chelsea have finally reached a settlement with their former Lady Doctor, Eva Carneiro. Given the good lady reportedly rejected a £1 million-plus out of court settlement, I think we may presume the Blues had to pay somewhat more.
Nice one Jose, who failed to come up with the apology for his conduct which Dr Carneiro was seeking. Clearly the Chosen One will do well at Manchester United. Are United not Royalty in English football? Royalty's golden rule: Never Apologise, Never Explain.

 Apologise - Me!!

CRAIG Brown is pretty much football royalty in Scotland – he has been there, done it and got the t-shirt. So, I was a wee bit disappointed to read in today's Herald, he has not been asked to provide official input into the latest review of why we are shite at youth development. Dinna fash yersel Bleeper – this one will make as much difference as the other ones – the Rinus Michels review, the Henry McLeish one, plus a couple of others whose leader I have forgotten.
Craig Brown - what could he teach the blazers?
The blazers don't want change, they don't want improvement – turkeys do not vote for Christmas.


Sunday 5 June 2016

We Have Had Better Weekends

WHAT a lousy weekend. On Friday night, our Women's team, a beacon of light during recent disasters for the Men's team, were cruelly exposed and thumped by Iceland, in their European Championship qualifier. Then, on Saturday morning, we learned of the death of The Greatest – Muhammad Ali – before, on Saturday night, the Scotland Men's team were given a footballing lesson by the French. The way things are going, I am not too hopeful for Andy Murray's chances on the red clay of Stade Rolland Garros this afternoon.
I have long championed the Scottish Women's team; indeed, the SWFA is perhaps the beacon of good sense along the Bedlam of Hampden's sixth floor “Corridor of Power”. Because those running the SWFA are, 1, women, and 2, not hide-bound by the dogma of Scottish sporting administration: “Ye canna dae that son, it's aye been done this way”, they have been, for some time, an under-appreciated progressive alternative to the hide-bound conservatism of the SFA “blazers” next door.
In the SWFA, the national team comes first, in the SFA, it often appears to come last.
However, on Friday night, at Falkirk, the girls got a doing, and a bad one. Of course, the Icelandic women are a class act, and, rightly, one of the favourites for next year's Women's Euros in the Netherlands. It is fair too, to say Scotland had a bad night at the office. They defended crosses with all the authority of Rangers, the passes didn't stick, it was a horror show.
Maybe their big wins against the minnows in their group had given us a false sense of how good our girls are, but, it is clear, Women's football is where the Men's game was back in the 1960s – with a few class teams, a lot of poor teams and poor old Scotland somewhere in the middle.
Then came Saturday night. I settled down to listen to the live BBC Scotland broadcast of the game v France – I turned off when the third goal went in. Fortunately, the French decided to soft-pedal after half-time, giving their bench a run, they have bigger fish to fry later this month. The game was over at 3-0, we might just as well have gone home and curtailed a bad season 45 minutes early.
David Marshall - saved us from thrashings from Italy and France
So, apart from confirming we are shite, but, that David Marshall is a “World Class” goalkeeper, what have we learned from our couple of end-of-season friendlies?
Well, I think we have learned, it doesn't really matter who is Scotland manager, he does not have the tools to work with, in terms of player talent. Quite honestly, we might as well withdraw from the 2018 World Cup qualifying now, we will do well to finish third in our group.
Scotland will do nothing and get nowhere in top-level world football, until we blow up Hampden, with all the SFA blazers securely locked inside, and start again from the beginning. Aye Beenism is not working, it has not worked for years and we are kidding ourselves if we think the stumblebums and self-servers who rule the roost now are going to change things, or allow things to change.
We are all doomed, doomed Ah tell ye laddie.

Johnny Coyle in action for Dundee United

Word came through last week, a couple of weeks after his death, of the passing of perhaps the unluckiest player in Scottish football history – Johnny Coyle.
To those reading who have never heard of Johnny, read on. He was a Dundee bricklayer who, in a little over two and a half seasons with Dundee United, between 1955 and 1957, scored goals for fun. United were at that time, very much the poor relations in Tannadice Street. The switch to tangerine shirts was still a decade or so away, they played in black and white hoops and rarely got above mid-table in Division B as the second tier in the senior game was then termed.
Coyle arrived from Dundee St Joseph's in 1950, but, between doing his National Service and a spell out on loan to Brechin City, not to mention competition for places, it wasn't until 1955 that he established the number nine jersey as his. He went on to score 112 goals in 132 games, before United sold him, for £8000, to Clyde in December, 1957.
In his first half-season at Shawfield, he scored 31 goals, including a hat-trick in a 3-2 Scottish Cup final win over Motherwell and a double in what was only the Bully Wee's third Glasgow Charity Cup victory win, beating Rangers 4-0 at Hampden.
Oh aye, and there was the small matter of the only goal of the game, albeit with the help of a wicked deflection off John Baxter, as Clyde beat Hibs 1-0 to win the Scottish Cup, in front of over 95,000 fans at Hampden in April, 1958.
During that season, Lawrie Reilly, who had been Scotland's first-choice centre forward for the past eight years, and who had scored 22 goals in his 38 internationals, was forced to retire through injury. Scotland were finding him difficult to replace. In the season in question they drew 1-1 wit Northern Ireland, beat Switzerland 3-2 to clinch their place in the World Cup Finals, drew 1-1 with Wales and lost 4-0 to England. Jackie Mudie, who had replaced Reilly as Scotland's centre forward, scored just once – the second goal against Switzerland.
Now, given Coyle was scoring so-freely, and given his club trainer, Dawson Walker, was in all but name, Scotland's team manager, you might have thought a cap was coming his way in the end of season friendly against Hungary, at Hampden. Trouble was, Walker didn't pick the team; that job was too-important to be left to the professional, the butchers, bakers and candlestick makers of the SFA's Selection Committee decided which 11 players would play, and, they decided not to include Coyle.
To be fair to Mudie, he did score Scotland's goal in a 1-1 draw with the no-longer Mighty Magyrs, his 8th goal in 13 internationals, but, the “Fans with Typewrters” in the Scottish Football Writers Association were already calling for Coyle to be given his chance in the final pre-World Cup warm-up, against Poland in Warsaw.
He watched from the stand as a brace from Bobby Collins gave the Scots a 2-1 win. He was then left out of the team which played a local Swedish club in a bounce game, and from the team which opened Scotland# World Cup campaign with a 1-1 draw with Yugoslavia.
Next up was Paraguay, who kicked the Scots off the park in beating us 3-2. Finally, after just two wins in eight games that season, the selectors rang the changes for the final “must win” group game against France. They made six personnel and two positional changes, including dropping captain Tommy Younger, but, in a game in which goals were a necessity, the selectors again left Coyle in the stand.
We took 22 players to Sweden, Coyle was one of five not to get a game, the others being his club skipper, Harry Haddock, Tommy Docherty, and the Rangers' pair, Alex Scott and Ian McColl. The other four were all capped prior to the World Cup, but Coyle never got a game in Sweden, and indeed, uniquely never even got a cap.
He left Clyde at the end of the 1959-60 season, moving south to join non-league Cambridge City. Between his part-time football earnings and his full-time Monday to Friday earnings as a bricklayer with the Cambridge chairman's building company, he was a lot better-off in the Southern League than in the Scottish one.
He struggled to establish himself at Cambridge, but, he kept scoring before retiring to concentrate on laying bricks rather than scoring goals. John Coyle died, in Cambridge, aged 83, on 14 May. I don't know how good a brickie he was, but, with 171 goals in 217 games in Scotland, that's 0.8 goals per game, he was certainly a better than average striker, hitting the net at better than the 0.5 gpg which is the benchmark for a top-quality goal-scorer. All his goals came with unfashionable clubs. What might he have done in Sweden?

Saturday 4 June 2016

The Greatest - Simply The Best




Muhammad Ali - one of the final pictures

He said it



Muhammad Ali – LEGEND

Born: 17 January, 1942

Died: 03 June, 2016, aged 74



DEATH, the opponent not even he could beat, has claimed "The Greatest", with the passing, aged 74, of Muhammad Ali, arguably the best-known man on the planet. Born Cassius Marcellus Clay, into poverty in Louisville, Kentucky, his unique boxing skills earned him a fortune which he squandered, had stolen from him and gave away.

He transcended his sport, until, long after he had retired, he was still recognised wherever he went. Previous Heavyweight Champions of the World had been honoured and recognised in the USA, Ali was recognised in every country. He was, rightly, named as the Greatest Sportsman of the 20th Century - he transcended his sport.

The legend has grown, how his bicycle was stolen when he was nine, he reported the theft, and was guided towards boxing by one of the Louisville policemen to whom the theft was reported. He had found his niche. He left high school barely able to read and write, but, after two Golden Gloves victories, he was, aged 18, selected to fight at light-heavyweight in the US Olympic Games team for the 1960 games in Rome.

The boxing writers covering the tournament had never seen anything like him. He carried his hands low, eschewed normal defence but his combination of dazzling footwork and incredibly fast hands carried him to the gold medal – a star had been born.

But, back home in segregated Kentucky, he found doors slammed in his face. He famously flung his gold medal into the Mississippi river, then turned professional, his career funded by a group of white Louisville businessmen.

Clay decided to be different. Modelling himself on professional wrestler Gorgeous George, he began to predict the round in which his opponent would be beaten, proclaiming what would happen with his doggrel poetry. The public loved him, because he lived up to his hype – he was box office, but, many bought tickets in the hope of seeing him beaten. White America wanted to see this "uppity nigger" put in his place.

Initially he had been sent to train under Archie Moore, one of the great light-heavyweight champions, but, the pair never gelled. The syndicate who backed him, called in Angelo Dundee and, for the remainder of his career, Ali worked with the Florida-based Dundee. It was a match made in heaven as Dundee forged the most-formidable fighting machine the world had seen.

Just four years after his Olympic victory, Clay was, in his own words: "heavyweight champion of the whole wide world", after sensationally dismantling the aura of menace and invincibility which had surrounded champion Sonny Liston. Liston, the so-called: "baddest man in the world", quit on his stool between the sixth and seventh rounds of their title fight – beaten and bemused by the combination of dazzling footwork and hand speed which Clay had unleashed on him.

Hardly had the championship belt been fastened round his waist than Clay announced his conversion to Islam and membership of the Black Muslims, one of the most-militant of the organisations which had arisen out of the cause of racial equality then tearing the USA apart. In some respects, the Black Muslims were the ISIS of their day and, by his loud and proud proclamation of his membership, Muhammad Ali, as he had renamed himself, was the most-hated man in America.

America sought to bring him down, and found a way by drafting him to fight in Vietnam. As ever, Ali had the response: "I aint got no quarrel with Vietnam, no Viet Cong ever called me nigger". It was a brilliant response, which made him even-more hated. It mattered little that he had already failed the US Army's intelligence test, he was called-up, but refused to fight. America's response was to ban him from boxing.

The ban lasted three years, but, crucially, these were the years between 25 and 28, the supposed peak years for a boxer. Barred from the sport he loved, Ali toured the world, he appeared on-stage and in films, he recorded songs, he kept himself in the public eye and, by his wonderful gift for self-promotion, he became, rather than rebel, a victim. America caved-in and restored his boxing licence.

But, the damage was done. Clay was a one-off. No heavyweight had ever danced round the ring as he did, his footwork – the Ali Shuffle as he dubbed it, was incredible; he had the hand speed of a middlewwight, and, he was merciless once he spotted a weakness.

No fighter ever "sold" himself as Ali did. In concert with his cornerman, "Bundini" Brown, Ali would boast of his prowess, how he would: "Float like a butterfly – sting like a bee", he scandalised the old-timers.

The post-ban Ali had lost the edge in his speed of hand and foot, the amazing physique, which had moved one top American sportswriter to say: "I want to be him for 24-hours, I have three men to beat-up and three women to impress", had grown less sleek. At six foot three and nearly 15 stones, he remained a formidable fighter, however.

Boxing, denied its main box office draw had sought alternatives. One had arisen in the shape of 1964 Olympic Champion Joe Frazier. "Smokin'Joe lacked Ali's physique and charisma, but, he was a formidale slugger, able to unleash torrents of blows. He had become Heavyweight Champion, Ali styled himself "The People's Champion", they had to meet, in what was dubbed: "The Fight of the Century" where else but the temple of boxing, New York's Madison Square Garden. The world had never seen pre-fight hype like it.

In the build-up, Ali taunted Frazier relentlessly, they nearly came to blows on a tv show. Half the world wanted to see Ali reclaim his crown, the other half wanted the champion to knock his head off. Could the fight live up to pre-match expectations?

It did, and more. They were all-square going into the 15th and final round, during which Frazier unleashed a mighty blow which dumped Ali on his backside, his face already swelling. Amazingly, he got up, beating the count, but, losing the fight. However, an unmatched rivalry had been born.

Ali reinvented himself, had his revenge over Frazier, then went after the new champion, George Foreman, who had demolished Frazier with a single punch. The African republic of Zaire won the right to stage their fight – "The Rumble in the Jungle" was set for its capital Kinshasa.

Many in boxing feared for the new 32-year-old Ali, as he faced a younger, taller and heavier opponent. But, in October, 1974, in the sweltering heat of an African night, he produced something so audacious as to stun the watchig world. For seven rounds he allowed the hardest puncher in the game to trap him on the ropes and pound him, but, he kept his head out of range, and took most of the blows on his arms. Then, sensing Foreman had punched himself out, in the eighth round, Ali went up onto his toes, went forward and knocked him out – he was Champion of the World again.

A third, deciding fight with Frazier had to happen, as Kilmarnock's own Hugh McIllvanney, Britain's greatest boxing writer wrote: "In their nineties, and in wheelchairs in a nursing home, these two would still produce a fantastic fight, such is the emnity". They did produce another wonderful fight, in 1975. "The Thrilla in Manila" the Philipenes, capital is now recognised as probably the greatest fight there has ever been. Over 14 pitiless rounds the two arch-protagonists punched themselves to a standstill. In the break between the 14th and the final round, Ali wanted to quit, Dundee was prepared to agree, then, they looked across the ring to see that Frazier, virtually boxing blind due to the damage Ali's precision punching had done to his eyes, was being retired by his cornerman. Both fighters had gone to the edge, but, Ali had won.

In truth, he was never the same boxer again. He lost and regained the title in two fights with Leroy Spinks, he fought on, long after he should have quit. He was ruthlessly demolished by former sparring partner Larry Holmes, then, after an embarrassing final defeat at the hands of the limited Trevor Berbeck, at nearly 40, he retired.

He had quit the Black Muslims for mainstream Islam in1975 and he now became a figure head for true Islam, preaching peace and tolerance. He began to do charity work, he became a global ambassador for the USA, his popularity growing all the while – then game the devastating news.thanks in no small measure to the damage boxing had inflicted on him, he was suffering from Parkinson's Disease.

He shambled, he slurred, his speech became difficult to understand, but, he fought his afflication with the same courage he had shown against Frazier. He could still stop the traffic everywher he went, he was loved. In 1996 he carried the Olympic flame into the stadium and lit the cauldron for the Atlanta Olympic Games, his appearance shocked the watching world, but, he was still Ali and the crowd rose to him, as they did again for the 2012 Games in London.

He went to Cuba on a peace mission, where he went into the ring for a sparring session with Teofilo Stevenson, the triple Olympic champion whom many had wanted to match against him. In those brief seconds, he shrugged aside his Parkinson's, got up on his toes and again danced the Ali Shuffle.

Ali went into near seclusion on his property in Arizona, still doing, albeit it slowly, his daily mileage of road running, devoutly praying and studying the Koran, he had found peace. In his younger days, he had sown his wild oats. Women had thrown themselves at him and he had caught them. He married four times, fathered two sons and seven daughters. He was generous to a fault, to so-called friends who fleeced him, but Lonnie, his fourth wife, who survives him, managed to gain control of his affairs and ensure his final years were financially comfortable, if difficult through the ravages of his illnesses.

A unique, extremely special man has gone – we will not see his likes again. Those of us who saw him box, either live or on TV were fortunate, he was, indeed, The Greatest.

 Ali - Champion of the whole wide world

If you wonder why a small, insignificant Scottish football blog is running this story today, well, it is simple - some people, some events are bigger than sport.

Rest in Peace Big Man - the world just got a whole lot darker

Thursday 2 June 2016

Scottish Football In The Last Chance Saloon

SHOULD he, in whichever part of the hereafter he awaits Judgement Day, ever ponder the current travails of the Scottish Football Association, then no doubt the late David Evans MP has a smile on his face.
 the late David Evans MP
David Who? You might well ask. Mr Evans was an avowed Thatcherite, one of the Iron Lady's most-fervent disciples in the Conservative Party which she led. As well as being a Tory MP, he set-up and ran his own, successful office cleaning company and, for some five years, he was Chairman of Luton Town, back when they were a middling to good Football League club.
This was in the days when pitch invasions and hooligan fans were a recurring theme in the English game. Indeed, a section of the Luton following had definite “form” when it came to bad behaviour, so, the bold Mr Evans came up with what he thought was an answer to the problem.
He proposed a membership scheme, whereby would-be fans had to be club members to get in. This, he reasoned, would give the clubs greater control over them, with, the ability to more-easily ban the bad boys. Mrs Thatcher, apparently, thought this a good idea, but, when confronted with the massed ranks of those likely to be affected – the Football Association(s), the Football League(s) and the Media – it was a step too far, even for her. Mr Evans' plan was quietly abandoned.
Mrs Thatcher - Evans' plan was too-radical even for her 
 
I remember thinking at the time, this is the basis of a good idea, but, it needs developing. Sadly, the will to develop it and take it on didn't exist in football back then.
Let's come right up to date, in the wake of the post-game furore following the Scottish Cup Final, fan (mis)behaviour is back on the agenda. A Sheriff has been appointed to lead the official SFA independent inquiry into events at Hampden, while Scottish Government Justice Secretary Michael Mathieson, when addressing the SFA's annual meeting in Glasgow, used his platform to fire a broadside across the Association's bow, more or less telling them: “Sort yourselves out, or we will do it for you”.
There are (again) calls for the SFA to adopt UEFA's “Strict Liability” rules when it comes to clubs being responsible for their fans' bad behaviour. And, that is where I think we find, perhaps David Evans' plan's time has come.
Back when Mr Evans was putting forward his suggestions, grounds were still mainly standing areas, today, at the top level, they are all-seated. Today, we have all sorts of technological equipment which means, clubs are able to pin-point who is in what seat. Therefore, if, for instance, the gentlemen in row g, seats 150 to 160 in the Copland Road Stand decide it was a good idea to sing about being up to their knees in Fenian blood, or to suggest doing something anatomically impossible to His Holiness the Pope, then, the host club would be able to film the indiscretion, show the miscreants they had them bang to rights and remove their club membership, either temporarily, pending improved behaviour, or, should they fail to take heed – permanently.
Through membership plans, the clubs would have a captive audience, they would know who their fans were, they would be able to interact better with them. The fans would enjoy various membership perks, indeed, they might be able to get into games cheaper – this certainly, I know, happens with our top rugby clubs, where members pay £X per game, with non-members paying a higher sum.
There could be quid-pro-quo membership benefits for the fans of the away team, as happens, for instance, when members of one particular working men's club, for instance, can, on production of their membership card, gain access to another wmc within the umbrella association.
But, what about the football fans who are not fans of a particular club, but want to pick and choose their games? I hear you ask. Simples – the SFA could implement a general Scottish Football Fan Club, similar to a one-club club, but with general benefits for the fans and Scottish football.
Now I admit, setting-up this type of arrangement, might be a step or two too-far. Even Maggie Thatcher baulked at it, but, operating such a system would be a lot simpler today than back then, and, I am confident, it could work.
However, if there is no willingness to implement such a scheme, then, let Scottish football be under no illusions – they have to do something. The status quo is not an option. Justice Secretary Michael Mathieson dropped the heaviest of hints at this when he addressed the agm.
Justice Secretary Michael Mathieson MSP - a shot across the SFA's bows
Scottish Football will have to act, whether it wants to or not – or pay the price. It has been suggested, failure to implement the “Strict Liability” sanctions, already in use in Europe, which would hold clubs responsible if their fans stepped out of line, could cost Scottish Football up to £4 million per year. Now, I appreciate the Hampden “blazers” are not the sharpest knives in the box, but, would they really risk that much money?
The clock is ticking, things MUST change.