Socrates MacSporran

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

Tuesday 11 June 2024

A Milestone Passed

YOU WILL NOT often see these words written in this blog, but: Well done BBC Shortbread. They at least, on Monday night, acknowledged Andy Robertson's feat, in surpassing George Young's achievements, by becoming the Scottish footballer who has won the most full international caps, as Captain of the Men's A team.

 

 When he led us out against Finland at Hampden on Friday night, Robertson was wearing the armband for the 49th time, eclipsing Big Corky's 67 year old record. It's an incredible achievement, when you consider that iconic Scottish captains such as Billy Bremner, Graeme Souness, Richard Gough, Roy Aitken, Paul Lambert, Colin Hendrie and Gary McAllister never remotely-challenged Young's mark.

Young's Scotland record is remarkable. He played 54 times for his country, between 1946 and 1957, a time when the side was selected by the SFA Selection Committee, a body of men who could give today's Hampden High Heid yins schooling in how to keep your noses in the trough, put self and club first and wheel and deal like Del Boy Trotter to take advantage of the SFA credit card.

It took nearly two decades for Denis Law to beat Young's appearance record, since we played far fewer international than we do today. But Young, a somewhat forgotten figure nowadays, was more than just the Captain. Back then, with the selectors choosing the side, it was down to the Captain and the Trainer, men like Celtic's Alex Dowdalls and Clyde's Dawson Walker to organise things around the actual games.

Other nations, notably England, with Walter Winterbottom, were appointing Managers to organise the team for internationals – although, during Winterbottom's 16-year tenure with the England side, their selectors still picked the team.

The gentlemen of the Scottish Football Writers Association regularly demanded that Scotland too appoint a team manager, but, Sir George Graham, trhe autocratic Secretary of the SFA always insisted: “We don't need a manager, George Young does that job”.

 

 It is significant that when they did appoint a Manager – Andy Beattie getting the job for the catostrophic !954 World Cup Finals in Switzerland, Young was missing – on-tour in North America with Rangers. Beattie, lest we forget, found the Selectors of the time so easy to deal with, he bailed-out before the end of the tournament.

Since 1872 – over 1200 players have represented Scotland in a full international, yet only 37 – a mere 3% - have won 50 caps and been admitted to the SFA's Roll of Honour' Grant Hanley becoming the latest member of that elite group, also in the Finland match.

For Robertson to have achieved that number of appearances as Captain, is a remarkable testimony to his consitency and to the aura he brings to the national side. You can never say never, but, it may well be another 60-plus years before his new record is broken.




THIS BEING my personal blog, I can say what I like and be as outrageous as I want to be. So, if you feel I am being unnecessarily political here – just scroll-on past. But here goes.

Those of us – Independence Fundamentalists - as we are known, had further proof in the last week of the fact – Scotland is a colonised nation. In a televised debate, in which little or nothing was debated and which was only slightly less-boring that watching paint dry, Rishi Sunak for the Blue Tories, and Sir Keir Starmer for the Red Tories, both took the opportunity to wish England well in Germany. No mention of the other United Kingdom constituent nation which is also taking part in the Euros.

If that wasn't sufficient proof of how lowly the Sassenachs regard us, further proof followed when HRH The Prince of Wales high-tailed it up to St George's Park to wave England off. The future King of England is of course, Honorary President of The Football Association, so I suppose that wee jolly was part of his job description.

But, he is also Duke of Rothesay, Prince of Scotland, and in-line to become, unless by some miracle we get our Independence back before his dear old Dad pops his clogs – King of Scots. Mind you, we Independence Fundamentalists believe, his Dad is not yet fit to bear that title, since he has failed to take the Scottish Coronation Oath, far-less come up here to be crowned.

At least his Aunt, The Princess Royal, has taken her responsibilities as Patron of the Scottish Rugby Union seriously enough to turn-up at almost every Scotland international, and to learn and sing Flower of Scotland.

Anne, unlike her nephew, didn't go to Eton and be brought up to believe the Jocks are only useful as gamekeepers, ghillies and as cannon fodder for England's wars. Rant over.




FINALLY – to rehash one of my favourite sporting stories. The great Jim Telfer, after an absolutely stand-out performance for Scotland, in putting England to the sword at Murrayfield, remarked that his two-tries performance that day was maybe a good time to retire.

He didn't of course, soldiering on for another five or six years in the nation's cause, before switching seamlessly to become a sort of Rugby Unikon version of Wullie Shankly.

But, as that great fictional sportsman – Rupert Campbell-Black – observed, timing one's retirement is the toughest decision any sportsman or woman has to make.

So, I felt this week for David Winters, who has stepped away from being interim manager of Darvel Juniors, to seek opportunities elsewhere. David, hitherto, better known as: “Robbie's wee brother” was only in charge at Recreation Park, during his brief spell in the hot seat he managed to deliver both the West of Scotland and Scottish Junior Cups into the club's possession – the two most-prestigious trophies in the Junior game.

I fear David, after that double – anything else is downhill. But, I wish him well wherever he goes. I would, however, caution him – their present committee is a good bit more-intelligent than the mob I had to deal with when writing locally, but, if you want to retain your sanity – never, ever, take the Scumnock job.




 

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