God's Job Just Got Harder - Managing The Heavenly Scottish Team

IT IS a sad fact of life, every winter there is a cull of our elderly and sick. Certainly last year, and again this year, Covid has increased this toll, but, in the past week – although as far as I know the pandemic was not an issue in either case – Scottish football lost two of its most-distinguished senior citizens, with the death of Bertie Auld and Doug Cowie.

DOUG COWIE, at the time of his death, aged 95, was Scotland's oldest living football internationalist. He was also a Dundee legend; he spent 16 seasons at Dens Park, playing 446 first-team games and scoring 24 goals. Some rate him as the Dee's Gretest Player; that, of course, is an opinion that will be debated. Certainly, however, he's on the short leet with his team mates from different Dundee sides, Billy Steel and Alan Gilzean.

Doug was an Aberdonian. Dee manager George Anderson spotted him playing for junior side Aberdeen St Clement's, while working as an apprentice riveter in the John Lewis shipyard in the Granite City and took the 19 year old to Dens in 1945, beating Aberdeen to his signing.

Back then he was a centre-half, making his Dundee debut against Stirling Albion, in the club's first League Cup tie, in February, 1946. It actually took him a couple of seasons to become a first-team regular, but, his timing in this respect was good, as the Dundee side he broke into would become one of the best in the club's history.

Steel was, of course, a superstar. A Scotland regular, who would command many millions in today's transfer market. Cowie was part of a stellar half-back line with Tommy Gallagher and Alfie Boyd, while later-on the likes of Bill Brown would come in to strengthen the team.

He helped Dundee win the League Cup in 1951, beating Rangers in the final, before defending it successfully against Kilmarnock in 1952. There were near-misses too, such as in the 1948-49 season, when, had Dundee not “frozen” on the final day at Falkirk, and drawn rather than lost, they would have denied Rangers that first Scottish treble.

There was further disappointment in the 1952 Scottish Cup Final, when in the first half, Dundee did everything but score, before Motherwell roared back to beat them in the second.

By this time, Cowie had switched to playing left-half, but, it was at centre-half that he won his only Scotland B cap, in a 2-2 Easter Road draw with England, in March, 1953. The Scotland B team that day was a star-studded one: Ronnie Simpson; Jock Aird, John Hewie (in his first trip to Scotland), Tommy Docherty, Doug Cowie, Hug Kelly, Jackie Henderson, Willie Moir, Jimmy Bonthrone, Ian McMillan and Albert Morrison. Every player, except Bonthrone and West Brom's Morrison, would win a full cap for Scotland.

Less than a month later, Doug won the first of an eventual 20 Scotland caps, when he lined-up at left-half in the bi-annual visit to Wembley. The match finished 2-2, courtesy of “Last-Minute Lawrie Reilly's famous late goal.

The Scotland team of the time was chosen by the SFA's Selection Committee. This meant a lot of horse-trading and occasionally change for change's sake. But, Cowie's 20 caps came in 39 internationals, which given the competition at the time, speaks volumes for his consistency of play.

Twenty caps was a lot for those days. Of his contemporaries in the Scotland shirt only the true greats: Tommy Younger, George Young, Sammy Cox, Tommy Docherty, Bobby Evans, Lawrie Reilly, Steel, Billy Liddell and later Eric Caldow and Bobby Collins, earned more caps. Cowie is right up there with some legends.

He is also in a club of two, with Celtic's Willie Fernie, in that he played for Scotland in two World Cup final tournaments, in Switzerland in 1954 and Sweden four years later. His final Scotland cap came in the 2-3 loss to Paraguay in Sweden, after which, he was replaced by another legend – Dave Mackay.

With Dundee he played under three managers, Anderson, who signed him, ex-Ragners' centre forward Willie Thornton and the great Bob Shankly. He was club captain under all three.

Steel had a reputation for having little time for less-talented team mates and a sharp tongue. He did however admit: “Big Doug can play a bit.”

Football is a cyclical business and in 1961, Shankly, feeling the 34-year-old Cowie was too old, released him, then annoyed Doug by almost immediately signing the 37-year-old Gordon Smith, a move which paved the way for Dundee's League win at the end of the 1961-62 season.

He moved on to play out his career with Morton, before having a short spell as Raith Rovers manager, before completing his time in football with spells coaching back at Morton and, down the road at Tannadice, from where he finally got out of football to live quietly in his adopted Dundee, in a house a long free-kick away from Dens Park.

But, Dundee remembered Doug Cowie. The club named one of their first hospitality lounges after him, it is now the Players' Lounge; and when the club inaugurated its Hall of Fame, he was inducted, as a legend, in 2009.

His death, in Ninewells Hospital, was announced shortly before Dundee met Motherwell on Saturday at Dens, and fittingly, The Scotsman's Alan Pattullo – a life-long Dee fan, was in the press box to wrap his match report around memories of Doug Cowie.

DOUGLAS COWIE – 5 May, 1926 – 26 November, 2021

BERTIE AULD's release from final years blighted by Dementia was a blessing to his family and friends. It also meant a further clearing of the ranks of the surviving Lisbon Lions. Only Jim Craig, John Clark, Willie Wallace and Bobby Lennox of the XI in Lisbon in 1967 now survive.

Auld was the creative heart of that illustrious team. What a central midfield core: Bobby Murdoch and Bertie Auld. Bertie described himself in his autobiography, which benefitted from the ghost-writing flair of big Alex Gordon, as: “A Bhoy from Maryhill.” Maybe so, but, as a boy he admitted to being a Jags' fan, before finding his way to Celtic Park, via Maryhill Harp, in 1955. He was loaned-out to Dumbarton to gain some experience, before making his first-team debut for Celtic in a Glasgow Merchants' Charity Cup loss to Rangers, in May, 1957.

The following season, he was in the team at the start of the season, but, he missed the 7-1 “Hampden in the sun” League Cup Final win over Rangers that autumn – he was not happy about this.

In those days he was a winger, and often the target for Scottish football's “hammer throwers.” The likes of Jimmy Johnstone would get up after being fouled and set about his revenge by embarrassing his assailant, not Bertie, if kicked, he kicked back, thus becoming familiar with the disciplinary committee room at the SFA's Park Gardens HQ.

But, there was no doubt, the bhoy could play and when Scotland embarked on an end-of-season mini-tour of Europe in May, 1959, Bertie was capped against The Netherlands, in Amsterdam, in a game which Scotland won 2-1. A second cap followed, against Portugal, in Lisbon, five days later. A third cap followed, against Wales, that November, but, as far as Scotland recognition was concerned, that was that for Bertie.

In 1961, unhappy by Celtic's failure to win things, and with Sir Robert Kelly increasingly upset by Bertie's disciplinary issues, when Birmingham City happened along and offered £15,000 for his services, Bertie was allowed to decamp to the Second City.

This was a mini-Golden Age for the Blues, who won the League Cup, qualified for the Inter-Cities Fairs Cup, where, for the second successive they reached the final, but lost to Roma in a bad-tempered, two-legged final.

Disciplinary problems continued to haunt Bertie in Birmingham. He was sent off against Fulham for thumping England captain Johnny Haynes, then decking another Fulham player who ran to confront him. But, he was evolving from an out-and-out winger to a midfield playmaker and when, in January, 1965, Sean Fallon persuaded Kelly to give Bertie a second chance, he returned to Celtic Park, just in time to be back in the team when Jock Stein arrived.

He had matured, but, one suspects he knew what Stein might do if he stepped out of line too-often. The Scottish Cup win over Dunfermline in 1965 got the Stein era properly under way. Billy McNeill's headed winner is perhaps THE defining moment of that victory, but, his two goals were crucial in a Man-of-the-match performance which has had that final ever since, regarded as: “Bertie Auld's Match.”

The rest is history. The Murdoch-Auld midfield alliance was born, as was the legend of the Lisbon Lions. More than one of the team has said Bertie initiating a chorus of “The Celtic Song” in the tunnel pre-game, did much to upset the hitherto all-conquering Inter side, as did his control and range of passing from midfield during the actual 90 minutes.

Mind you, success did not entirely wash over Bertie's disciplinary issues. He was sent off during the famour Alfredo di Stefano Testimonial in Madrid and, famously, when a referee who hadn't so-much lost the plot as never had it in the first place, sent him off during the “Kicking Match” against Racing Club, in Montevideo in 1968, Bertie simply refused to leave the field.

Perhaps his last true hurrah was in the “Battle of Britain”European Cup semi-final against Leeds United in 1970. Celtic shocked the English champions by winning the first leg at Elland Road 1-0, Leeds squared the game early on in the second leg, in front of what is still a European record crowd of 136,000 at Hampden, before the Murdoch/Auld midfield axis got the better of the much-vaunted Leeds pairing of Billy Bremner and Johnny Giles, and Celtic won 2-1.

Sadly, there would be no second European Cup win as the under-rated Feyenoord side won 2-1.

A sixth straight league title win in 1971 saw the end of Auld's second term at Celtic. He moved to Hibs to play out his career, before turning to managership, with Partick Thistle and Hibs.

After football he was for a time a barman, along with old team mate Willie O'Neill in that well-known Celtic fans' howf, Baird's Bar. There was a spell as a taxi driver, both occupations which gave plenty of chances for Bertie's wise-cracking one-liners.

He was always welcome in the corporate seats at Celtic Park, or commenting on Celtic TV. The Celtic Family saw him as one of their own, who had had the talent and luck to play for the jersey.

His Dementia diagnosis was revealed in June, 2021 and just last week, his passing also. His funeral cortege paid a final visit to Celtic Park to allow the Celtic Family to say farewell to one of their legends.

ROBERT AULD – 23 March, 1938 – 14 November, 2021.

WE'RE KEEPING THE DREAM ALIVE

FAMOUSLY, John Gordon Sinclair, Gregory himself, Had A Dream. Thirty-nine years on, I feel it was John Souttar who thought he was dreaming. After all the injuries he has had to suffer, to score against Denmark, in his first international for three years, well, could it get any better for a Scotsman?

As the Tartan Army boogied its way out of Hampden last night, they were dreaming of better things to come, as were those of us who had watched the game live on Sky, listened to the BBC Shortbread broadcast, of avoided the game like the plague, ready to watch the highlights on Sportscene.

It could have been a damp squib. We had already secured our place in the European play-offs, other Scotland squads would have gone out with the notion: “Job done, we go through the motions here,” decided to avoid injury or yellow cards and allowed the Danes to complete a clean sweep of the qualifying group.

But, not this Stevie Clarke-led group. They wanted that play-off seeding and the relative security of a home semi-final. Let's not kid ourselves, that will be a hard game, which, if we win it, will get us to an even harder play-off final.

However, having seen the quality of the football the team produced last night, we all now have a dream – suddenly we are all Derek and Rodney McTrotter: “This time next year, we will be in Qatar for the World Cup.”

Those Tartan Army foot soldiers confident enough in taking the time to do a pre-tournament recce, will have noted, you can get a drink in Qatar, but on-street drunkenness is frowned upon. Yes, I reckon the TA's all for one and one for all mentality will see them manage to stay out of trouble, should we get there. However, I cannot say the same about England's Barmy Army.

Steady the Buffs Socrates old boy. Don't get ahead of yourself, we've still got two games to navigate before we can go into full-on dream mode.

Let's simply enjoy the moment. Last night's victory will sustain us through a long hard winter, we can start to get fired-up again come March.

I WAS never a big Bertie Auld fan. In the few fleeting moments I had to deal with him in his later years in management – well, I wasn't impressed. Several former journalist friends, who knew him better, speak highly of him, however.

As a player he certainly earned his place in the hearts of the Celtic family, through his midfield partnership with Bobby Murdoch for the Lisbon Lions. Bertie was from that generation of tricky Scottish wingers who had to transition from being out-and-out wingers to becoming midfield providers, and he managed that better than most.

Off the field, he was a character, up there with Tommy Docherty with his one-liners and quips. On it, he had, however, a dark side, a side which one or two players he later managed have spoken off.

He was one of that number of Celtic-daft fans who got to wear the hoops, but, discovered life at Celtic Park was not all roses, so, he was sold to Birmingham City, where he played in a European club final and is still fondly remembered by the club's older fans.

His second spell at Celtic, capped by that day in Lisbon, was markedly more successful than his first. He is remembered too, for starting-off the rendition of the Celtic Song in the Lisbon tunnel, which somewhat disconcerted the Inter Milan team; while in the notorious World Club Championship kicking match in “The Battle of Montevideo,” he earned the football equivalent of a Military Cross by fighting back furiously in the face of Argentinian provocation. A few of the Racing players learned that day; you don't mess with a Maryhill Man.

He later had a middling managerial career, with Partick Thistle, Hibernian, Hamilton Academical and Dumbarton.

In later years, he was a familiar and much-loved figure with the Celtic Family, through his hosting work at the club, but, unlike team mates such as skipper McNeill or Bobby Lennox, he was, while rightly respected for what he achieved in his career, perhaps too much of a Celtic man to be loved elsewhere.

He had a good innings, 83 years, and my condolences go to his family and friends. With his passing, only four Lions remain: Jim Craig, John Clark, Willie Wallace and Lennox.

OVER THE TOP Tartan Army celebrations last night appear as nothing to the triumphalism of our southern neighbours, going absolutely ape shit following their Lions' 10-0 hammering of San Marino.

San Marino, I reckon Auchinleck Talbot could put three or four goals on them, perhaps the question for Gareth Southgate should be: “Why only ten?” If England are as good as their media cheerleaders would have us believe.

Harry Kane's four goals have suddenly elevated him to the status of “England's greatest striker.” I kid you not. Trouble is, he's behind two other Tottenham and England strikers when it comes to the true measure of a finisher – his goals per game average.

Topping the list is the wonderful Jimmy Greaves – who scored goals at a rate of 0.67 per game over his long career. Greaves' strike partner in the great double-winning Tottenham team of the early 1960s, Bobby Smith, a very-under-rated striker, tucked chances away at the rate of 0.61 gpg, which also puts him ahead of Kane, who scores at a rate of 0.6 gpg.

Kane is maybe England's too gun today, but, he wouldn't get into my England team, if I ever had to pick one. And, if you wanted to pick an English player to score for you, how about a certain Brian Clough, who, during his tragically short, injury-afflicted career, knocked-in goals at the rate of 0.9 per game?

His managerial exploits have made us forget – Cloughie the player was, like Cloughie the manager, something else entirely.

Running Rangers - A Licence To Squander Cash

IT IS SAID: “Madness is doing the same thing over and over again, in the hope of a different outcome;” or something like that. Whatever, last week's news of a £20million-plus loss for Rangers – well, was anyone surprised?

OK, the effects of the Covid pandemic is a big factor in that loss, but, Rangers have been wedded to Viv Nicholson economics since 1986 – if not before. The Lawrence Family, who had effectively ran the club for two decades, they bailed-out because they could no longer afford to run the club. Sir David Murray came and went, spending other people's millions along the way, then it all went tits-up – and there's a great book to be written by the independent-minded investigative journalist who can plough through all the myths, lies, disinformation and rumour of the past decade or so and discover the truth. Good luck to him or her.

Since Murray accepted Craig Whyte's £1 coin, a procession of hooks, crooks and comic singers have come and gone from the hallowed marble halls of Ibrox, notably perhaps Dave King, the man who took spending OPM (that's Other People's Money) to a whole new level. The old club was liquidated, only to be replaced by a new entity, with the same DNA and modus operandi.

And what have we learned from the whole debacle? I would suggest, that The Murphyia are better at running a football club than The Scotia Nostra.

Back in the 1960s, while Willie Waddell, having left Kilmarnock for the then near-omnipotent Scottish Daily Express was running his character assassination campaign on The Boy David, as he insisted on calling then Rangers manager David White, I was told by an Ibrox insider that Waddell would soon be installed as boss.

A friend's father, a local bank manager and Kilmarnock season ticket holder poo-pooed the suggestion, then had a think. He said: Mr Waddell told me personally, when he left our club, his next job would be outside football management. Mind you Rangers has very-little to do with football.”

Plus ca change, etc.

STILL ON Rangers, the best fiction writers in Scotland – the Chief football Writers of our 'Red Tops,' have been positively wetting themselves both before and after Steven Gerrard got the Aston Villa gig. I suppose, being an England legend, who has actually won something – albeit a “Diddy League” like the SPL Gerrard was on Villa's radar. He has now gone to Birmingham, good luck to him. But, Villa, I'm not so sure.

OK, the job will be well-paid; he knows the league, he knows Villa's Chief Executive from their time together at Liverpool. But, does Villa have the budget to compete at the top end of the over-heated EPL? I think not. Also, given the way things seem to operate down there, lose three games and you're out, Gerrard might in time have cause to reflect on the more-peaceful life, even allowing for the pressure to win, he enjoyed at Ibrox.

You never know in football, however. He has taken the job, he will give it a go, and if he turns Villa into contenders for the English title, he will be well-placed to succeed Jurgen Klopp in the job SG really wants – fail, and he gets a nice big pay-off towards financial security. Deciding to leave Glasgow was probably a no-brainer.

The big plus for the “red top rotweillers” is, they can now speculate to their heart's desire as to who gets the Ibrox gig. Be prepared for some of the usual extreme left-field nonsense.

BACK IN the black and white days of long-sleeved, buttoned shirts, knee-length shorts, ankle-high brown leather Manfield Hotspur boots and light tan, Tomlinson T lether balls, thanks to judicious decisions to largely ignore Johnny Foreigner in favour of the Home Internationals – barring the end-of-season continental tour, which was more a jolly for the blazers than serious football – the SFA could convince Terracing Tam and Standite Stuart that Scottish fitba mattered.

Then they decided to rejoin FIFA and immediately fell flat on their faces, by refusing a wild card entry to the 1950 World Cup, before making an absolute dog's breakfast of the 1954 finals and being slaughtered 7-0 by Uruguay.

Hibs won back a wee bit of prestige by reaching the semi-finals of the first European Cup, but, since then, Lisbon Lions, Barcelona Bears and Gothenburg Giants apart, it's been a long, slow descent to the depths.

Scottish football hasn't worked for years. Internationally, in the 20^th century, we reached 69% of the World Cup finals for which we tried to qualify; we reached 25% of the European Championship finals for which we attempted to qualify – giving us an overall qualification record of 52% - 11 finals appearances from 21 campaigns.

In the 21^st century, we have tried and failed to qualify for four World Cups and qualified once from six attempts at the European Championships – giving us an overall 9% qualification success rate from 11 tournaments entered.

That's just to QUALIFY. Once we get there and the real games begin, we fall away badly. We have played in 11 finals tournaments, playing in all 32 games, of which we have won precisely six, that's 18.75% over 67 years. Yet, over all these years of not winning, the SFA has somehow managed to keep the Tartan Army on-board and believing that better days are just around the corner.

Mind you, our international record is stellar when compared to that of our clubs in the various European club competitions – just three trophy wins from over 200 different campaigns. Yes, 21^st century European football competition is loaded in favour of the big clubs from the big leagues, but, if we are as good as football as we like to think we are, we should be doing better than we currently are. But, the fact is, Scottish clubs are decidedly League One, far less Championship class in Europe.

The game's high heid yins up here may occasionally shuffle the deckchairs, but, otherwise, the Sinking Ship Scotland just sails on,bouncing off icebergs left, right and centre. And, until we really grasp the nettle and make the needed changes, we will continue to be also-rans in the race for football success.

Soccer And Rugby Union - Very-Different Forms Of Football

I WATCHED Rugby's FOSROC Super6 final, from the new DAM Health Edinburgh Stadium on Sunday afternoon. Ayrshire Bulls (that's Ayr in old money), beat Southern Knights (Melrose) 26-16 in a very-good game.

One of the major talking points in the rugby community was that the Bulls finished with 13 men. Jordan Lenac, their Australian scrum-half was sent to the sin bin with eight minutes left, for an off-the-ball tackle. Then, two minutes later, English second row Tom Everard copped a straight red card for a high tackle, which saw Knights' Jacob Henry removed from the field on a stretcher.

Referee Keith Allen consulted his assistant, David Sutherland, then summoned Everard AND Bulls' captain Blair Macpherson. He outlined his decision to both, showed Everard the red card and the big lock immediately accepted his dismissal and left the field without rancour.

Now, imagine if that had been a football match of similar status. The yellow card would not have meant the loss of a player, while the showing of the red card would immediately have seen the referee surrounded by the culprit's team mates and subjected to dog's abuse. The fans would have been going ape shit on the sidelines and social media would go into melt down with the fall-out.

Football has a great deal of growing-up to do.

I have long felt, football, as the purest form of football, really should be working with standards of behaviour and respect for opponents and officials even above that shown in both forms of Rugby – Union and League. We should be hammering not just foul play, but the cynicism of the modern game.

Referees, I feel, should also be giving the team captain's their place. In rugby, if a player is being carded, particularly red-carded, the referee always summons the player and the captain, and tells them why the card is being shown. Occasionally – yes you Owen Farrell and Alun Wyn Jones – a captain will occasionally talk back, but, most skippers accept the referee's decision and the game moves on.

Players respect the referee's authority and the referees acknowledge the position of the team captain – football should maybe adopt these protocols.

I'VE TOLD this story before, but, it's worth the re-telling. Some 30 years ago, when it was Scotland's turn to host the annual International Football Associations Board meeting – the game's version of a super government get-together – they put-up the IFAB delegates at Turnberry. On the Saturday afternoon, the non-golfers got a real treat, a Kilmarnock home game at Rugby Park.

Back then, the press seats at the ground were in the back row of the Directors' Box and some of the IFAB high heid yins, in particular then Football Association CEO Graham Kelly were not best pleased at having to sit right infront of the hack pack.

However, by half time, a dialogue had been established by those of us behind him and Mr Kelly, to the extent he didn't go downstairs for his half-time Killie Pie and Bovril, but, remained in his seat, speaking to the boys.

At the end of the game, he shook hands with us all, apologised for his initial frostiness. “I thought you guys were going to be like English football writers, but, you care about the game,” he said, before wishing us well and departing.

As it happens, I agreed with his view of the English hacks – they really had some disagreeable wee cnuts in their ranks back then, probably still do for all I know. But, I have long felt causing a stir and making waves comes before honestly covering the game for many English hacks.

There is a good example of this just now. There is an under-current building-up, the start of what could be a determined crusade to get Ole Gunnar Solskjaer sacked from his role as Manchester United manager.

OK, I accept both Manchester teams probably have more Glory Hunters in their support than even our own Bigot Brothers, but, a bit of a reality check – as of today, MU lie sixth in the English Premiership, five points off first place. If what the English hacks tell us and they are playing in: The Best League in the World, then, I would suggest sixth isn't a bad place to be.

English football really needs to take a long hard look at itself. Much as they love quoting English clubs' wins in European competitions, the facts are:

• No English club has won a European trophy with an all-English squad

• England's record in international competitions is abysmal

• World Cup – 1 HOME win in 18 attempts – 5.5% success rate

• European Championships – 0 wins in 16 attempts – 0% success rate

But still, every four years, their football media convinces their fans: Football's coming home.

Delusional, or what?

And yes I know – we cannot talk.

I HAVE NOT been blogging as much as I should have, of late, so this is the first chance I have had to mark the passing of former Liverpool and England striker Roger Hunt.

Hunt is immortalised as one of the Boys of '66, the team who beat West Germany to win the 1966 World Cup Final. He was perhaps the least-lauded of that 11; he wasn't, like Gordon Banks, Ray Wilson, Bobby Moore or Bobby Charlton, arguably the best player in the world in his position. He didn't, like Alan Ball or Geoff Hurst have a career-defining game that day. He wasn't, like Martin Peters “the future” in his position. No, like George Cohen, Nobby Stiles and Jack Charlton, he was a football journeyman who got lucky on one day and in one tournament.

Yes, he has a good strike record, certainly he was worthy of his place in a good Liverpool side, but, he was lucky to be picked ahead of Jimmy Greaves for that final. Greaves was a far-superior finisher.

The first time I saw Hunt was for England, against Scotland, at Hampden in 1964. Early-on in the game he was sent clear, one-on-one with goalkeeper Campbell Forsyth, who made a confidence building, excellent save, to keep the scoreline blank. I am willing to bet, had that chance fallen to Greaves, it would have been 1-0 to England and the whole game could have been different.

Certainly, Wullie Shankly picked Hunt frequently for Liverpool, so, he was a good player and a good finisher. My belated condolences to his family.

Today We're At The Top Of Our Roller Coaster - What Happens Next Worries Me

THE SFA paraded Sir Alex Ferguson at Hampden on Saturday evening, at half-time during the Scotland v Israel World Cup Qualifier. They presented him with a cap to mark his contribution to the 1967 World Tour, during which he played in non-cap internationals against Israel, Hong Kong and in three games against Australia. During this tour he scored six international goals, but, was never awarded a cap.

Ferguson was the second member of that tour party – who never won an official full cap – to be awarded a souvenir cap, former Hearts defender Alan Anderson, who played in the same internationals as Fergie, plus the final game, against Canada, in Winnipeg, was awarded a similar cap earlier this year. Anderson is suffering from Dementia and is in an Edinburgh care home. Harry Hood's son was also there to accept a cap on behalf of his late father.

Now, I don't have much respect for the journalistic qualities of the SFA's Media Department. OK, they're better than the SRU's lot at Murrayfield, but, that's damning with faint praise. The official citation for the caps, on the SFA website suggests two of the Australian internationals, plus the Canadian game in Winnipeg have now been upgraded to A international status. Fair enough, but, which two of the three Australian games? And what about the game against Israel? OK, I can understand not making th Hong Kong game an official international, but, surely, given subsequent events and not least the timing of the presentation, how can the Israel game not be upgraded?

I welcome these gestures by the governing body, but, what of the other members of the tour party who fall into the played for Scotland but never capped club? These men are: former Burnley goalkeeper, the late Harry Thomson, former Partick Thistle and Bury full-back Hugh Tinney and another who has now sadly passed: Anderson's old Hearts' team mate Jim Townsend. Should they, and in the case of the trio who are no longer with us, their families, not also be presented with a cap? And, while we are at it, what of the final member of the touring squad, ex-Arsenal man John Woodward, who flew out to New Zealand as a replacement, played in the two games there and in Vancouver. Should he not also have his contribution to the Tour recognised?

Back in the early days of this century, I was proud to write a piece for The Scotsman, in which I identified the then 92 players who had played in full internationals for Scotland, but, because of the rules in place at the time, were denied a cap. Donald Walker, the then Sports Editor, who championed the initiative, led with the disgraceful fact, Eddie Turnbull, had played nine games for Scotland, but didn't get a cap. The SFA immediately capitulated and Eddie got his cap, on the park at Hampden.

The Welsh Rugby Union has in place a system whereby players who play in “non-cap internationals” receive what is called A President's Cap, to mark the occasion. Why doesn't the SFA copy this? I can think of a few players who would be honoured if they did this, men such as Partick Thistle's Davie Baird, the late St Mirren centre-half Jackie McGuigan and former Rangers and Liverpool left-half Billy Stevenson, who all played in the non-cap match against Jutland, during an end-of-season European Tour in 1959. And what of former Hearts, Kilmarnock and St Mirren goalkeeper, the late Jimmy Brown, who featured in the non-cap internationals agains the USA and Canada, during the 1949 North American Tour.

The late Danny Malloy, of Dundee and Cardiff City, was in double figures for appearances for “Scotland Xis” and the like. He was seen as the natural replacement for Willie Woodburn and George Young, but, he never got a cap. Surely all these representative honours are worthy of a Scottish edition of the President's Cap.

WRU President's Caps were also awarded to previously unrecognised War-time internationalists. Might it perhaps be time to recognise the handful of unfortunate players, such as Brentford goalkeeper Ted Crozier and Blackpool centre forward Jock Dodds, whose peak years and Scotland recognition came during war-time?

NEWCASTLE UNITED being taken over by Saudi Arabian interests was this week's big story darn sarf.

Back in the 1970s, while I was working in England, on a Saturday, deiving back up the M1 or the A1 to my then Yorkshire home, I would pass convoys of Newcastle coaches, taking the Toon Army south to wherever the Magpies were playing that day. I used to think: “These guys must be the most-loyal and unfulfilled fans in the country.”

United last won the English League in 1927, when Hughie Gallacher was their captain. They last won the FA Cup in 1955, when Jimmy Scoular was their captain, and the team included Ronnie Simpson in goals and Bobby Mitchell at outside left, while they were managed by Scot Doug Livingstone.

Their last major trophy was the Inter-Cities Fairs Cup, in 1969, when the team, led by Bobby Moncur and including fellow Scots Tommy Gibb, Jim Scott and Jackie Sinclair beat Rangers in the semi-final. So, yes, the Toon Army has maybe become used to under-achievement and disappointment.

The famous black and white stripes have been worn by many famous Scots – how's this for an all-time team of Newcastle Scots, in 3-4-3 formation: Ronnie Simpson; Gary Caldwell, Bobby Moncur, Stephen Caldwell; John Brownlie, Roy Aitken, Jimmy Smith, Tony Green; Kevin Gallacher, Hughie Gallacher, Bobby Mitchell.

Ignore the distinguished number of Scots to have played there, it used to be said the North-East produced more professional footballers than any other area of England, but, for every Paul Gascoigne, Alan Shearer or Jackie Milburn who was a hero to the Gallowgate End, there would be a Bobby or Brian Robson or a Jack or Bobby Charlton that they allowed to slip away.

Since the new owners have designs on challenging at the top of the English Premiership I dare say, in the short term they will try to buy their way there. I just wonder if they might be better, in the long run, mining the still rich seam of local talent around the Toon.

But, building from the ground up isn't the style in that league, which is a pity. After all, following 94 years without a league title, what's the hurry?

I AM NOW into my eighth decade as a Tartan Army foot soldier. I saw George Young, Tommy Docherty and Bobby Evans play for Scotland; the Glory Years of Denis Law and Jim Baxter, I rocked through the World Cup campaigns of the 1970s, 1980s and 1990s, but, even back then, we blew games we should have won easily. We had bad days almost as often as we had great days, an unbeaten season would be followed by one when we barely won a game.

Since the end of World War II, we have only won around 40% of the 600-plus internationals we have played. Supporting Scotland has always been a roller coaster ride. That said, I don't think many of these games have been a white-knuckle ride to compare with Saturday night at Hampden.

At least we won, but, we are now convincing ourselves we only need to turn up to win in the Faroe Islands and Moldova, and we will qualify for the World Cup Qualifying Play-Offs.

I am worried now.