Who'd Be A Scottish Goalkeeper

IN MY YOUTH, I'd have given anything for just one game in-goals for Scotland. However, for several reasons, in particular as distinct lack of talent, it wasn't to be. So, on the basis of:

• Those who can do

• Those who no longer can – coach

• Those who never could – go into the press box and pontificate

So, here I am.

However, I care deeply about Scottish Fitba and in particular about our goalkeepers, a group of people who have been getting a bad press for years. What really upset me was, on Sunday morning, I read on the BBC Sport Scotland website, that Celtic were seeking to recruit Manchester City's German goalkeeper Stefan Ortega. He will be out of contract in Manchester at the end of this season, so City might be keen to cash-in by selling him in January.

Now, this story might be sheer pish – in the same paragraph they have Andy Robertson perhaps returning to Celtic Park as well. Let's look at the Ortega story for instance.

Celtic currently have:

1. Kasper Schmeichel, first-choice, 39 years old; 118 Danish caps; some 800 first-team games across his career.

2. Viljami Sinisalo, back-up, 24-year-old Finnish international, 4 caps.

3. Ross Doohan, third-choice, 27-year-old Scottish international, 1 cap.

So, given they have these three in-situ, ok, I accept, Schmeichel may have reached the stage in his career where it is time to let him go, but, to have two already-capped goalkeepers in thir mid to late twenties on the staff, what is the benefit of recruiting an uncapped 33-year-old – othr than, because we can possibly buy him?

They had another capped goalkeeper in Scott Bain, who played most of his 75 first-team games for Celtic during the early part of his time there. Then he was side-lined, before being allowed, age 33, to join Falkirk, where his form has seen him recalled to the Scotland squad.

Celtic used to give young goalkeepers their chance. The legend that is John Thomson was in the first-team while still effectively a boy. Willie Miller, another Celtic and Scotland back-stop, was – albeit in war-time – given his first-team chance at 17. Dick Beattie was another teen-aged debutant who made the position his own, winning Under-23 caps and being in-goals for the legendary 7-1 League Cup Final. He was succeeded by another teenager, Frank Haffey.

Ignore Wembley 1961 and “nearly ten past Haffey” - big Frank was still a very-good goalkeeper, capable of stunning saves. Jimmy Armfield, England's right-back that day and later one of the most-respected football writers in the country said of that day: “it is unfair to blame Frank, his defenders that day made far-more mistakes than he did.” But that day meant, aged only 22, Frank Haffey was history.

Packie Bonner was another who was thrown-in as a boy, just 18 when he made the first of his record 641 appearances for the first team. OK, Bonner was there for ever, Ronnie Simpson was referred to as “Faither” by the rest of the Lisbon Lions, while more recently, Joe Hart and Schmeichel have helped raise the average age of the first-team squad.

Now, the Ortega to Celtic story may well be nothing more than the product of a football writer's vivid imagination, but, given how stupid the world of football recruitment now is, he may well be recruited in January.

However, the Celtic B squad, a squad currently languishing in ninth place in the 18-club Scottish Lowland League has, this season, listed seven goalkeepers, all under-20, some out on-loan to one of the Diddy Teams. That is taking bulk buying to extremes, it also, to my mind, poses questions of Celtic's recruitment policies.

I am not having a go at Celtic here, I have long thought the way our clubs recruit, educate and develop footballers has been lacking in the extreme. The fall-out rate of wannabe footballers from Scotland is a national embarrassment, and one which sadly, shows no sign of improvement in either the short or longer term.

But, should the Ortega story develop, it would be typical of the cack-handed way we run our game up here.

I have already had my say on the desperate state Stevie Clarke finds himself in because we have so-few front-line Scottish goalkeepers these days. This latest Celtic rumour merely underlines how badly Scottish Football's High Heid Yins have mismanaged our player development and progress over the years – particularly when it comes to goalkeepers.

 

Tell Me Why - We Don't Like Thursdays

SIR BOB GELDOF famously didn't like Mondays. It could well be, given recent results, that Scottish Fitba Fans don't like Thursdays – since they have taken to watching games in the Europa and Conference Leagues, on Thursday nights, from behind the sofa or through fingers held over eyes.

When we are welcoming Aberdeen getting a draw in Cyprus as the highlight of the week, while Celtic are given a Football lesson from a middling Danish team – we're in a bad way. The current Rangers team losing to AS Roma, no, I'm not going to cry at that; truth is, they got off lightly.

Scotland currently lies 18^th in UEFA's National Co-efficient listing. However, in commentary during the Rangers game, it was suggested on the basis of this season's performances, we are actually as low as 34^th, below some European nations which the Tartan Army have long considered “Diddy Nations”.

Can we get any worse? The traditional Scottish response to such a question is usually: “here, haud ma beer”. I am not confident of us getting out of our current pickle.

I can't see it getting better before it gets worse. I just don't see the desire, far-less the intelligence within the High Heid Yins along Hampden's sixth floor corridor to get us out of the current malaise.

A SFA “blazer” from the 1960s famously told the late Hugh McIlvanney, after the legendary Real Madrid v Eintracht Frankfort 1960 European Cup Final, as the pair walked away from Hampden: “of course, the Scottish Football public will never pay to watch that kind of football on a weekly basis”.

That official is long dead, but, the mind-set which produced that statement is still alive, well and flourishing within our Football's upper echelons.

However, in his defence – although I am certain he never saw this day coming, watching the current vogue for European-style building from the back, multi-passes, possession football has turned me off. Watching the likes of Manchester City taking 25 or 30 passes to get out of their own half is boring in the extreme.

Rangers, at the moment, play three of every five passes they make either sideways or backwards – how I long for a Jim Baxter 50-yard cross-field ball, which reminds me of one of my favourite stories of the Slim One.

In his second season at Ibrox, Baxter had, through their appearances for Scotland, become very-friendly with Celtic's Paddy Crerand. The pair were regularly seen about Glasgow and often photographed together at social events. Unfortunately, Baxter's form had dipped slightly and he was even left out of a Scotland squad – against Wales from memory.

There was also a rumour that Baxter was romantically entangled with Crerand's sister and on the day of the Wales v Scotland game, Baxter was struggling to impose himself on the Rangers' game; (internationals did not mean all club games cancelled back then).

By the second half the out of sorts Baxter was being instructed to: “away and fuck Bridie” - the atmosphere was toxic, until, a throw-in was directed towards Baxter, standing, facing the old “Hayshed” across from the main stand; he let the ball bounce then hooked it with his wand of a left foot, over his right shoulder and some 50-yards across the park to the young Willie Henderson, whose cross was calmly fired home by Ralphie Brand.

No more booing of Baxter, poor form over – all was well in the Rangers' world. Could I see a similar single cameo today – with this Rangers' squad, don't be silly. And, by the way, I still reckon, aged 88 as he now is, Ralph Brand would be more of a danger to the opposition in their own box than any of the current Ibrox strikers.

SIR GARETH SOUTHGATE KB, OBE, was always heading for The Establishment, since, from a missed penalty in the 1996 Euros to near-misses during his tenure in the English version of Mission Impossible (win something for English Football) has been a lesson in how to be almost good at something, the pre-requisite for advancement in England.

He was never the footballing public's choice to be England Manager, they didn't want him to get it, they were never behind him when he had the job and there was a lack of wailing and gnashing of teeth when he departed – but, aside from Sir Alf Ramsey – who did win them the big prize, and was ultimately sacked – Southgate probably made as good a fist of matching results to English Expectations as anyone.

Southgate has now written a book on his time as England boss: Dear England – Lessons In Leadership. It is his third foray into print. I haven't bought the first two, I don't think I will buy the third, although, that said – it was ripped to shreds in The Guardian – which is generally the sign of a book worth reading. I may wait until it turns up in my favoured charity shop for book purchases, because at £25 it's a wee bit pricey to buy new on the pittance HM Government thinks we Pensioners of the iconic Baby Boomers generation can survive on.

One thing I will say for Sir Gareth, he strikes me as not being the sort of former England Manager who seeks to remain relevant by giving his opinions ad nauseum on Television – yes you Sir Clive Woodward; so, when he does appear, he may well be worth listening to.

 

A Club Called (Nae) Dignity

RANGERS' DUMMY-SPITTING, toys-out-of-the-pram-chucking reaction to Auston Trusty's yellow card on Sunday was not a good look. So much for “We welcome the chase” and Dignity. Scottish Football's institutionalised bastion of Unionism is methinks taking their desire to be “British” a bit far, embracing English Exceptionalism and Entitlement.

Of course, when your club has enjoyed the decades of “honest mistakes” up to downright cheating from supporters, wearing black and carrying whistles and flags onto the park, it's bound to hurt when you begin to suspect the same support is being given to another club.

My own view on Sunday was, Nick Walsh didn't have his best day at the office, but, there were players on both sides who probably made more mistakes than the referee and his assistants. Now, the Laws of the Game state quite clearly: “The Referee is the sole judge of fact”; it's not as if Walsh ignored Trusty's kick to Jack Butland's head – he did yellow card the Celtic defender. In Rugby Union, a far-harder game than Football, a kick to the head, even if the Referee deems it only worthy of a yellow card, does carry a mandatory ten minute seat on the naughty step. I have been saying for years, Football's yellow cards should also require the recipient to go to the naughty step for a time.

Rangers' distress at the events of Sunday and the game's authorities to them and to their complaints may play well with their fan base – who will be fed a distinctly pro-Rangers slant on things by the gentlemen of The Lap-Top Loyal. But shouting “We wuz robbed” has never worked in the real world.

The bibliography of Football is choc-a-bloc with brazen examples of hagiography, those books about the two main Glasgow football teams and their Club Legends particularly so. For instance, James Handley's 1960 tome – The Celtic Story is often referenced as a story so-far removed from factual, it would have been rejected as absurd in Hollywood.

As Handley tells it, Celtic were being, as some of their fans insist to today: Always cheated, never defeated” - Scottish Football was institutionaly anti-Celtic, yet, for much of the post-war period Handley was dealing with – the most-influential club administrator in Scotland was Celtic Chairman (Sir) Robert Kelly, who held high office in both the SFA and The Scottish League.

History has not been particularly kind to Sir Bob, but, for all the rival claims of such giants as Willie Maley, Jock Stein, Billy McNeill, Fergus McCann and anyone you care to name from the club's more-recent past, it could be argued, Sir Bob has been THE most-influential single individual in the club's 137 year history.

I dare say, as he went about his business in Scottish Football's corridors of power, there would be times when Sir Bob felt the rest of the clubs were out to hurt Celtic, but, he fought his battles where it mattered, around the committee table and I sense, he won more than he lost.

Sir Bob was not the only Celtic figure to hold high office in the national governing bodies, Jack McGinn – John's Grandfather – also made a huge contribution to the club and to the game at national level.

It might be fair to say, Celtic have taken more-interest in Football governance – beyond the affairs of their own club – than their rivals across the city, so, it could well be: a bit more noblesse oblige and a bit less Droit de Seigneur (leave that behaviour to Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor) might serve the Ibrox club better.

When I first got interested in Football, in the mid-1950s, this was a decade of great change in Scotland. Rangers Legend George Brown – a former Scotland Captain and at the time Rector of Bellahouston Academy, was then Chairman of the SFA Selection Committee, trying to introduce some new ideas at the highest level – but, at that time, probably the most-influential Rangers man around the SFA was George Young, who, as National Team Captain was, in effect, Player-Manager at a time when we didn't have a Team Manager. As far as I can remember, Brown was the last Ibrox High Heid Yin to have a meaningful role in the corridors of power.

Certainly, David Murray for instance, had no interest in being involved in overall football governance and, to be brutally frank – you wouldn't want the Muppets who have been in-charge at Ibrox since his departure anywhere near decision-making.

Might may be right for the likes of Donald J Trump and Vladimir Putin, but, in Football Governance, there is a lot to be said for soft diplomacy. Perhaps, instead of looking down on the 40 “Diddy Teams” if the Big Two showed a wee bit more grace and favour, they might well have even more power than they have to shape things.

Their recent method of shaping things has seen them, albeit in different economic times, kick-out their age-old position as the peak of a Scottish player's ambition. He might start at the local Junior club, or a lowly Senior club, but, if he could get a berth in the dressing room at Ibrox or Celtic Park – he was made.

Look at these legendary teams:

Rangers 1949 “The Iron Curtain Team”: Brown; Young and Shaw; McColl, Woodburn, Cox; Waddell, Paton, Thornton, Duncanson, Rutherford.

These players were respectively recruited from: Queen's Park; Kirkintilloch Rob Roy, Airdrieonians; Queen's Park, Musselburgh Athletic, Dundee; Strathclyde, Kirkintilloch Rob Roy, Schools Football, Dunoon Athletic, Mossvale YMCA.

Celtic 1967 “The Lisbon Lions”: Simpson; Craig, Gemmell; Murdoch, McNeill, Clark; Johnstone, Wallace, Chalmers, Auld, Lennox.

These Legends arrived at Celtic Park from: Hibernian; Glasgow University, Coltness United; Our Lady's HS/Cambuslang Rangers, Our Lady's HS/Blantyre Victoria, Larkhall Thistle; Blantyre Celtic, Heart of Midlothian, Ashfield, Birmingham City (originally signed from Maryhill Harp), Ardeer Rec.

OK, I get the different times argument, but, as The Celtic Song says: “if you know their history” - well, I believe the numpties at the top of both clubs today, and in particular the numpties down Edmiston Drive, have forgotten their club's history – both clubs are Scottish institutions – maybe, if they were a bit more Scottish and a bit less British, Irish, European – and went back to the management systems which worked and which brought European trophies to both clubs, they would get on better.

On Sunday's evidence, both clubs, more-so Rangers, are an awful long way away from where they see themselves, far less where they aspire to be. And an awful long way away from being able to influence the Beautiful Game.

My Monday Moan And A Plea

IN FINE WINES, here are good years, bad years and great years. The current crop of Celtic players are perhaps closer to the vintages offered alongside Tesco's week-end meal deals than the Premier Cru vintage of 1967, while the current Rangers lot are barely Buckfast class – and that's why Celtic will be facing St Mirren in this season's League Cup Final.

But, if the players on the park are but a tribute act to the clubs' stories pasts, the refereeing team on and off the park on Sunday were but a shadow of the standards set by Scotland's great whistlers of legend.

If a Rugby Union player had kicked an opponent on the head, as carelessly as Celtic's Auston Trusty kicked Jack Butland – he'd certainly have received a ten-minute seat on the naughty stool, more-likely a yellow card with the mitigation that the offence would have gone to the FPRO (Fair Play Review Officer) in “The Bunker” who would have had the final word on whether the punishment remained at yellow, or was upgraded to a 20-minute red card, which would mean his team playing that long a man short before he was replaced by another player.

I have long said, given how Football collisions tend to be more dynamic, if perhaps less of a thump than collisions in Rugby Union, The Beautiful Game ought to be bringing in five and ten minute yellows and 20-minute red cards; I think such action would go a long way towards cleaning-up the game's on-field antics.

However, I digress; yes, Trusty was yellow-carded for his stray boot, but, he dodged a bullet. In Rugby, the kick might well have brought the intervention of the Citing Commissioner post-game, to decide if, in not red-carding him, Nick Walsh, who had a very uneven performance, had boobed.

But, not dismissing Trusty wasn't the reason Rangers lost. For all their energy, they simply don't have as many players of even competent journeymen class as Celtic – their recruiters are going to be busy both in January and in the Summer. The club needs to find a lot of better players, while they have the additional problem of unloading the dross the current management team has inherited.

NO REST for either team, however, with Celtic off to Denmark in midweek, to face FC Midtjylland while Rangers entertain FC Roma in their respective Europa League games.

Of the two, Rangers have the tougher task, they will need 90 minutes of the sort of football they produced in flashes on Sunday, if they are to vanquish the Italian giants.

Aberdeen are also in Europe this week, off to Cyprus to face AEK Larnaca in the Conference League. Once upon a time, a team going through as desperate a run as the Dons currently are would be looking forward to a few days in Cyprus, confident of a comfortable win and some late Autumn sun. Not so these days, I can see some more pain for the currently not so dandy Dons.

OLD JIMMY GREAVES, wonderful man, fantastic striker and great TV personality though he was, did Scottish goalkeepers no favours by almost single-handedly persuading the world our back stops: couldnae keep hens oot o' a close – to use that old Glasgow put down. We have had some world-class shot-stoppers, while, if I could be bothered slagging-off my fellow members of Football's glove-wearing class, I could name one or two England number ones who came nowhere close to the status accorded them by their sycophantic press.

My wonderful dear old mate Roughie came in for some ignorant abuse from English hacks during his career. Well, the shots which left him flat-footed at World level tended to come from South American maestroes, he never let one through his legs at Hampden, or was out-jumped by a five foot nothing coke-head, as happened to two of England's most-celebrated keepers.

But, as witnessed by Stevie Clarke's latest Scotland squad – we have a problem at the back. For the crucial upcoming World Cup qualifiers, he has named three goalkeepers: Scott Bain of Falkirk, the seemingly-eternal Craig Gordon of Hearts and Liam Kelly of Rangers.

Of that trio, only Bain is currently first-choice for his club, and playing well I should add. Gordon will be most Tartan Army foot soldier's choice to fill the gap caused by Angus Gunn's absence from the squad through injury, but, while big Craig will always be in the conversation around who is our best-ever goalkeeper, he is now closer to his pension than his first contract, and no longer first-choice at his club.

Kelly is also the back-up at club level, and given both he and Bain lack international experience, going into a game which we dare not lose, and ideally want to win – playing Kelly or Bain could be a gamble too-far – not that Sir Stevie is much of a gambler.

What has happened to the supply chain of home-grown goalkeepers? Of the 12 first-choice goalkeepers in the top flight of the Scottish Professional Football League, only two – Bain at Falkirk and Dundee's Jon McCracken are Scottish. Of the other ten, four are English, the others are from Austria, Bulgaria, Denmark, France, Germany and Ukraine.

The shortage of Scottish goalkeepers is perhaps the worst example of the fact, our professional clubs have stopped believing in home-grown talent and until somebody inside Hampden grows a pair and forces the stumble-bums who run our game to believe in Scottish players, we are going nowhere but down the stank.

Bring-in an “eight diddies rule” - NOW.

 

And It's Good Night From Him

THAT OLD CHESTNUT - “they never come back” is mostly, in a sporting context, quoted in respect of Heavyweight Boxing. OK, there will always be an Ali who can shatter convention at will, but, in the 150 years or so history of boxing as a sport with recognised rules – thank you Marquis of Queensbury - the man who had possession of the Heavyweight Title – was the monarch of all he surveyed, and like an absolute monarch, when he was beaten, it was a case of: the King is dead – long live the King.

Today, we've got unpteen different Pretenders to the several versions of the throne, even if, as I write, we do have one guy – Oleksandr Usyk - seen as being worthy of Tina Turner's anthem. As Tyson Fury has shown of late, they keep trying, but only the very-best can defy convention.

In Football terms, in oor ain wee, backward kailyard, whichever one of the Bigot Brothers currently has bragging rights, well, that club has the aura of a Heavyweight Champion – even if, in the wider world of European Football, both are more-likely at present to be contenders for a place on a 21^st century version of old Joe Louis's “Bum of the Month” money-making scheme.

That's the problem oor kailyard bullies have; being simply the best in Scotland is no longer enough for their entitled fan base – they now crave respect and success in Europe and the problem is – whilst, domestically they might be Tesco and Asda, dominating a landscape where their competition comprises 40 slightly-different versions of Albert Arkwright's corner shop – in European competition one is Arkwright, the other Navid Harrid – and Arkwright had more chance with Nurse Gladys Emmanuel than the Bigot Brothers have in The Champions League.

Brendan Rodgers should never have come back. Following the haste with which he departed Celtic first time around, seduced by the promise of another crack at the riches in Englandshire, I always felt the Celtic Family should have listened to the wiser members of the group, who suggested recalling him would be a bad move. Although I have no affiliations towards the club, I felt at the time, it would all end in tears, but, as someone who cares deeply about Scottish Football, I take no pleasure in being proven correct.

Rodgers belongs to that modern breed of Manager, who are good at spending their bosses' money, but less good at building teams. Sadly, in Football right now, there are too-many such men and far too few capable of building a winning team over a number of years.

Maybe we are all at fault, share-holders, directors, fans – especially fans; demanding instant success. I often wonder, would a 21^st century Alex Ferguson, who had enjoyed the success in Scotland that Fergie enjoyed in the early 1980s, be picked-up and dropped into the 2020s English Premiership and be allowed the time the 1980s Fergie was given to mould a consistently-winning side? I think not.

Brendan Rodgers had few worries on that score. Second time around he inherited a winning team, circumstances conspired in his favour in as much as the noisy neighbours were in turmoil, so domestic success was almost assured, but, the truth is, he failed where it mattered to his bosses – in Europe, and whether he was pushed or he jumped, that failure cost him what seemed as secure job as there is in the wacky world of present-day Football.

What might have happened to Celtic if the economic conditions of 2025 Football had been in existence in the second half of the 1960s – when Jock Stein was building his Lisbon Lions.

The big English clubs, plus one or two of the European giants would have been queued-up outside the front door at Celtic Park. Tommy Gemmell, Bobby Murdoch, Billy McNeill, Joe McBride and Bobby Lennox would certainly have been headed for Liverpool, London or Manchester. Jimmy Johnstone would be playing in Madrid while one or two Italian sides would have been looking at Bertie Auld. John Clark and Stevie Chalmers might well have gone elsewhere in England, while Stein would probably not have found it as easy to buy-in Willie Wallace.

Old Romantics like me might yearn for the days when Scottish clubs recruited and bred young Scottish players, but the truth is, today, it's such a short career and the money to be made, even as an uncapped tyro down South, makes that High Road to England – plus the good airline links to Europe - even more enticing that it was when old Dr Johnson came up with the line.

Kenny Dalglish was 26 when Celtic sold him. Bobby Collins was 27 when he went to Everton. Pat Crerand was 24 when he went to Manchester United, Lou Macari was the same age when he went to Old Trafford. I would suggst, 21^st century versions of these players would have been enticed south at least five years sooner.

Legend tells us, the presence at what was then The Cliffe of the kids who would be immortalised as The Class of '92 was what kept Fergie going through the difficult early years. But, he is on record as saying, the plan was always to have a core group of home-grown players, to which he added class players in the positions where he felt he was short. Hence, with no top-flight goalkeeper in the Co92, Peter Schmeichel was recruited. Lack of quality in central defence brought in Jaap Stam, then Rio Ferdinand. Roy Keane and Eric Cantona brought star-dust – the trophies followed.

Stein was never shy of recruiting if he felt there was insufficient quality in the likes of The Quality Street Gang, but – the core group was always home-grown and members of the wider Celtic Family. Rodgers has never been that kind of Celtic Manager and it shows.

It has also been shown, by his post-parting broadside at Rodgers' back, Dermot Desmond fits the time-honoured Celtic habit of having a near all-powerful man at the top, running the club.

Celtic have shown, by their actions in recent months, they can be every bit as small-minded and petty as their pals across the city – banning any media outlet, even BBCShortbread, from a press conference, is never a good look.

Martin O'Neill will certainly stabilise the ship in the short term, but, he's now in his eighth decade and has been out of the battle zone for a number of years now. Celtic really need to get the right man in this time, or, who knows, the pendulum of primacy in Scottish club fitba could well swing back to the other side of Glasgow sooner than the Family would wish – and, swing back it will.

Still, as events move forward, this is a good time to be a Football Writer in Glasgow.

 

Did That Raally Happen

GOD HAS TO BE a woman – and a Scotswoman at that. For only a Scotswoman: “getherin' her broos like getherin' storm and nursing her wrath tae keep it warm” could have inflicted that Thursday night game on the Tartan Army. It was a Scottish performance which we have seen too often over the years.

After an hour or so, Scotland, having failed to disturb the Greek goalkeeper's spectating in the game and trailing by a goal which had been coming long before it was scored, looked to be heading out of World Cup contention. Then, suddenly, we woke up, grabbed an equaliser we had hardly deserved and hope was re-kindled. The TA found their voice and, wonder of wonders, we equalised.

Next, Angus Gunn demonstrated, maybe he is better than third-choice 'keeper at Nottingham Forest, before, wonder of wonders, Lyndon Dykes took advantage of a Greek bearing a gift goal and, bloody Hell, we had won 3-1. Should we go on and claim that spot in the World Cup Finals, you can bet, for the 25^th year anniversary celebrations, there will be over 250,000 Scots claiming - “I was there, the night we beat Greece at Hampden”.

Mind you, this is a Scotland World Cup Campaign, history tells us, we have a few more twists and turns and at least two further heart attacks to endure before we get on that aircraft to North America.

And let's be honest, supposedly better Scotland teams have played better and lost; however, there is something about this group of players and this manager which defies all logic and history – dare we keep dreaming?

I feel we should. Celebrated Scottish victories in the past have also been immediately followed by pratt falls of embarrassing quality. We also have a history of following up bad nights at the office by some very good displays – so, which Scotland will we see on Sunday?

IN THE TOXIC waste lands of BBC Shortbread's pitiful efforts at sports coverage, one gem of a programme stands out. It's one I don't always see, since it comes on at around or just after my bed time, but, after watching Friday night's episode, I felt I just had to give a boost to the always interesting 'A View From The Terrace'.

Now, quite how this series got to be made is a mystery to me. The dead hand of the usual suspects from The Lap Top Loyal or the Celtic Family are nowhere near it; these guys are genuine fitba fans, who all follow so-called “Diddy Teams”. Their enthusiasm for the game has not been hammered out of them by having to toe the corporate party line, and they don't take themselves too seriously. Also, as yet, they haven't fallen into the Tam Cowan/Stuart Cosgrove trap of believing their own publicity – I hope they can avoid this.

One of the highlight of Friday's programme was a wee item on this new SPFL initiative of associate clubs, which allows promising youngsters from the bigger clubs to go out and get regular game time with lesser lights. They covered the pros and cons of this and I must say, while I am broadly supportive – I wish we could go back to the good old days of full-scale Reserve Leagues, whereby, while say Kilmarnock's first team was up at East End Park, facing Dunfermline, the respective Reserve teams were clashing at Rugby Park.

But, then the Managers decided, they had to be there to see why they were ignoring certain players and Reserve Games became midweek, floodlit affairs. This brought about comments such as former Partick Thistle centre half, later Glenafton Athletic legend Alex Kennedy being known as “The Vampire” - because he only came out to play at night.

A friend of my Dad's, a long-time Kilmarnock supporter and share-holder, because of his business commitments in the town, could seldom travel to watch the first team; but, he always made time on a Saturday to go to the home reserve games to keep an eye on the emerging talent. It was not unusual for him to telephone Willie Waddell on a Friday, to find out if the teenaged Tommy McLean would be playing for the reserves the next day – in which case, he would certainy be there.

Not every fan can travel to every game, so, maybe we should go back to those good old days, so the fans unable to fork-out to traipse the length and breadth of Scotland to watch shite, could simply nip along to their local ground and see a cheaper form of shite than usual.

 

Heart in Sanb Francisco - Major Headache In Glasgow

YOU ARE cruising south on the M6, when suddenly, south of Penrith, you grind to a halt – obviously, up ahead there has been a crash. But, as you sit in the queue, fuming quietly at the delay, you suddenly realise, the steady flow of north-bound traffic has also slowed somewhat. It's still moving, but more slowly than normal, and with the line of vehicles more-bunched than is usual.

Finally, you reach the scene of the accident and you understand why the north-bound flow has changed: it's because, human nature being what it is, even though their side of the motorway is unimpeded, the north-bound drivers have slowed to gape at the carnage.

Well, maybe now the most-obvious car crash of 2025 has happened, and Russell Martin's ambition has hit the buffers of The Rangers support's unachievable expectations, the rest of us can get back on our journey to whatever destination.

I cannot recall the full gag, but, one of the best efforts from early Billy Connolly, was his suggestion that getting World War II started was great work by Vera Lynn's agent – it has got me thinking: getting Martin appointed was great work by the British betting industry's pr arm. William Hill, Paddy Power, Betfred etc can look forward to a bumper time until the next sap is inducted into what is, at the moment, an impossible job.

My old mentor – Ian “Dan” Archer, some 40 years ago now, famously described the Ibrox clus as: “a constant embarrassment and occasional disgrace.” The erudite Old Rugbeian aimed that particular arrow at the club's following. This century the slur could be better aimed at the High Heid Yins within that football fortress on Edmiston Drive.

They may have had personal failings, but the Rangers board of my young days represented the club's status as one of the most-dignified institutions in the city of Glasgow. Chairman John Lawrence built most of the new private houses on the peripheray of the city. Vice-Chairman John F Wilson was a Bailie – if you like a Cardinal on Glasgow City Council. George Brown and Alan Morton were club legends as former players, while Brown was Head Teacher at Bellahouston Academy, one of Glasgow's better state schools: Morton was a qualified mining engineer. These men had a status in the city which has been beyond the reach of their 21^st century successors. They had a way of doing things which helped give the club it's aura, through traditions such as the annual Loving Cup Toast.

It may be a small thing, if you wish, dismiss it as irrelevant, but, is there nobody left at Ibrox able to enforce traditional Rangers' standards? You look at the way the current squad takes the field and in particular at their stockings.

James Tavernier – Captain of Rangers lest we forget: takes the field as the poster boy for this ludicrous modern fashion for having his stockings above his knees. At least five of the other ten have their stockings down round their ankles, or at the highest, mid-calf.

Bill Struth insisted on one inch of black showing above the red band on the club's stockings. We maybe don't need to go back to those days, but just look at this picture of Greig, taken on the occasion of his Testimonial Game; doesn't he look a lot better than Tavernier does? Maybe getting Greig and Alex Ferguson, complete with high-powered hair dryers, into the dressing room to enforce Rangers; standards, might lift the on-field performances.

The problem for whoever picks up the poisoned chalice of being Manager is, he can only pee with the pricks he's got (pardon the crudity, but, it has to be said). Some of the guys whose under-performances got Russell Martin his jotters, are not Kilwinning Rangers or Cambuslang Rangers' standard, far-less good enough for The Rangers.

I remember sitting in the old Ibrox press box, perched on the roof of the main stand, alongside the late Doug Baillie, as he threw away his pen in disgust as “the next big thing for Rangers” tripped over his own feet and missed a sitter. “That yin will still be a promising boy when he's 30” Big Doug observed.

Said player was gone by the following season, back to the Juniors, where, to be fair, he did score a few goals. I don't think several of the obviously NRC – that's “Not Rangers Class” - stumble-bums taking a good living out of the club today, would get a regular game in the West of Scotland League, into which the West of Scotland Juniors have morphed.

But, let's get back to basics – who's next for the skylark? The man who started it all is probably deid, but, Glasgow audiences have a long history of being hard to please – a history best summed-up by the legendary tale of Bernie Winters sauntering on-stage at the old Glasgow Empire on Sauchiehall Street, one Friday night in the 1950s, to join brother Mike, to be greeted by a cry of: “Fuckin' Hell, there's twa o' them” by a punter in the stalls. Now the critic's religion has never been verified, I sense perhaps his usual place of worship was Firhill, but, mindful of Craig Brown's great story, he might have been a regular worshipper at Shawfield.

The story: as Craig told it, he had just been appointed to the Clyde FC board, and as he made his way to the dug out for the game, he was halted by two long-standing Clyde fans – Craig could even name them; these guys were constant critics of his managerial style and the message was: “Haw Broon – noo yer oan the board, can ye no sack that useless manager o' oors”?

Maybe if whoever is making the big calls inside Ibrox was to enter a few Rangers' watering holes in the city they would get similar treatment.

Another of my inspirations and mentors along the meandering path I have taken to sports-writing immortality was Hughie Taylor. One of Hughie's best pieces was his description of Willie Telfer's first act as a Rangers' player, in his debut, against Clyde, at Ibrox, on 16 November, 1957.

As Hughie wrote it: “The cross could have been headed clear by one of the club's Victorian founders, still wearing a top hat, but, the roar from the Rangers' fans indicated their relief at having a centre half who could do the basics spoke volumes.”

The background to the arrival of life-long Rangers' fan and Larkhall man Telfer was, poor John Valentine had been cast adrift after Celtic's 7-1 League Cup Final triumph: “Hampden in the sun” four weeks previously. Valentine had been signed from Queen's Park to succeed the now-retired George Young, but he had struggled to rise to the challenge and after that cup final, he was history and quickly off-loaded to St Johnstone.

The untried, 20 year-old Willie Moles was the next cab off the rank, but a head injury did for him and, almost in desperation, Rangers turned to the now 32 year-old Telfer to hold their creaking defence together. This he did as he went on to play over 90 games for the club before serving them off the park as a club scout. This month marks the centenary of Telfer's birth.

So, to today's question: who's going to be the 2025 version of Willie Telfer? Supplementary question – will it work as well?

I don't have the answer, but, one thing I do know is, the new High Heid Yins at the club are only now perhaps realising, Glasgow is a lot different from San Francisco.