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.

This Could Be An Epic

ONE OF MY mentors in this daft craft of writing about Football – the late, great and much-missed Ian “Dan” Archer – once quipped that the old Clan Wars never really ended, the feuding clansmen simply took up Junior Football and carried on the age-old tradition of killing and maiming. This view is opposed by Hugh Dan McLennan: he insists they took-up Shinty.

Whatever, I take the view, Shinty is the Scottish equivalent of Kendo, Junior Football is more a free-style Judo. Of course, today's leading scribes, men such as The Sun's Scott Campbell will tell you the Scottish Cup First Round tie between Auchinleck Talbot and Cumnock, which will be broadcast live on Television, will be some way removed from the Western Front style war-fare he had to cover as a young reporter, learning his craft with the Cumnock Chronicle.

Back then, at the end of the last century, the battles between the teams representing the two neighbouring mining villages in East Ayrshire were epic. Fewer than three red and eight yellow cards and a game was voted decidedly dull, while meetings between the sides saw police leave cancelled to keep the warring supporters apart.

The legendary tales are passed down through the years. The young George Morton signed for Talbot as a teenager, scoring a hat-trick on debut, against Cumnock. He returned to his Cumnock home post-match, to find his belongings packed up and on the door-step. The ultimatum was: “leave them, or leave home.” George opted for home comforts and went on to give Cumnock half a century of service, as player, club official and President. He also served as President of The Scottish Junior Football Association.

Geordie's equivalent along the road at Auchinleck is Henry Dumigan, who has been Talbot Secretary for some 40 years. The High Heid Yins of the SJFA, Joe Black, Tom Nelson, Iain McQueen etc have all tried to get Henry involved at national level; he has refused all approaches, preferring to devote his energies to Talbot.

The late Jim “Buller” Reid was Cumnock to the core. His local charity work was legend, he raised thousands for the club and local good causes, but, if Talbot called, Buller and Friends would cross the divide and help out – while he made Talbot and that club's more-prominent fans the butt of his stand-up one-liners.

The late Malcolm Donnachie, Henry Dumigan's predecessor as Talbot Secretary always maintained his most-embarrassing moment was when he had to attend an SJFA disciplinary tribunal: “to defend a goat”. The said animal was the pet of legendary Talbot supporter and Club President Jock Muir. A one-time World Twist Champion, Jock had famously taken the goat, which was clad in a Talbot shirt, onto the park and refused to leave until the referee chalked-off what Jock thought was a wrongly-awarded goal against Talbot. The match had to be abandoned and Malcolm had to represent the club at the tribunal.

The result was a life ban for the goat and a temporary ban on Muir, which the bold Jock circumvented by placing a ladder in an adjoining garden and using it to climb onto the club-house roof, from where he banged his big drum to urge on his favourites.

Drew Cochrane, a long-serving Ayrshire journalist recalls, after being the recipient of the over-whelming Talbot hospitality at one end-of-season soiree, waking up in an armchair in a strange house, with a goat eyeing him up suspiciously. Yes, Jock Muir had taken Drew home and let him sleep-off the excesses in an armchair.

Some of the biggest fans of both clubs were to be found on the park. James Forbes CBE – aka “The Jockweiler” was a titan of the utilities world, as CEO of SSE - Scottish and Southern Energy, then Chairman of Thames Water. When he retired from SSE, the in-house magazine did a retrospective piece, in which one of the questions was: “which of your achievements are you most proud of”?

The Jockweiler Bites 

Jim's reply: “I was never on the losing side against Talbot”. As a born and bred Cumnockian, who proudly wore their black and white stripes, that meant a lot to Forbes. But the ginger-haired Forbes may at best, be said to be only the third-most-committed Cumnockian, behind “The Two Maxies”. Jim McCulloch and his son Bobby, both of whom were known as “Maxie”. Jim captained Cumnock to their first Junior Cup Final, a losing on e to Blantyre Victoria in 1950.

Bobby wore the armband in the victories over Bo'ness in 1979 and Ormiston in 1989. On that latter occasion, whereas Ormiston seemed happy to just be there, Bobby right arm raised aloft, fist clenched, stormed out of the Rugby Park tunnel faster than Usain Bolt – he was there to win. In truth, it was a dull final, but, some of us in the press seats reckoned Bobby won it for Cumnock, simply by that entrance. Legend has it, Joe Black, the long-serving SJFA Secretary, during the pre-game formalities, cautioned Bobby: “Now Bobby, this is a showpiece occasion, on TV, we don't want any red cards.”

The reply was: “Well Joe, just tell them not to score and there will be no bother.”

Cumnock's management team that day was Dennis Gray and Brian Lannon, two men who had forged their reputations with Talbot. Gray tells the story of how, shortly after the cup win, following a works night-out, he fell asleep on the train and missed his stop at Kilmarnock. Getting off at the next stop down the line – Auchinleck, he went into the Railway Hotel to phone home for his wife to come and collect him. (This was in the days before mobile 'phones).

“It was like the scene from a Western when the bad guy enters the saloon – all those goals I had scored for Talbot meant nothing to the locals, I was a now a baddie from Cumnock.”

Even the referees get caught up in the rivaly. The SFA still uses this game as a sort of passing-out challenge for officials looking for promotion to Grade One. The reasoning being, if they can handle the pressures of this one, they can handle anything.

I have long supported Dougie Smith, when the now retired Troon official is castigated for yellow carding Paul Gascoigne in that famous incident after Gazza picked up his card in a game at Ibrox. Dougie was the man in the middle during some of the fiercest battles between the two clubs, a sure means of destroying anyone's sense of humour.

During these wars at the end of last century, there was one game when the referees won. FIFA and UEFA came up with the notion of national teams of match officials for big games, which meant – in the days before specialist assistant referees – some of the guys on the FIFA list had to have a refresher course in running the line. To help them get used to this, the SFA sent their chosen team to cover some strange games, which is how, one midweek evening in May, Referee Jim McCluskey, Linesmen Hugh Dallas and Les Mottram and Fourth Official Willie Young rolled up at Beechwood Park to officiate at a local cup time involving the two clubs.

Out they came to warm-up, to be greeted with quizzical looks from the players. Almost immediately a high-level conference was convened in the centre circle, involving the two Team Captains and their First Lieutenants (the guys most-likely to get red cards).

That season the games between the clubs had been averaging three reds and eight yellows per meeting; this one passed without incident, indeed, narry a foul, as the players got on with playing football. It was, by all reports, a great game.

There is a legendary Rugby Union story of how, when former England Captain Will Carling was thoroughly worked-over in an old-style ruck, requiring the attentions of the Harlequins physiotherapist, a couple of his own team mates attempted to take credit for the damage done to him.

The Football equivalent is probably the tale of the Talbot talisman who was so unpopular, a team-mate – his brother-in-law in fact – did him serious damage during a practice game. The said Talbot man was once hit over the head with a very substantial corner flag post, by a Cumnock committee-man, as he left the field following one game.

This precipitated a full-scale enquiry by the Ayrshire League's Disciplinary Committee. The committee-man claimed it had all been blown-up out of all proportion by the local paper and that he had, in fact, been holding the corner flag horizontally and had been trying to push the player and others into the club -house.

His case fell apart when the refereee – the afore-mentioned Dougie Smith, reported that he had felt the disturbed wind of the flag post a it flashed, vertically, past his nose on its way down to hitting the Talbot player's head.

Out Trumping The Donald 

The committee-man was not asked to resign, indeed, the incident did help his campaign to become Cumnock President, and ignited the rumour that, whereas, every other Ayrshire club elects The Village Idiot to the Junior club's committee – Cumnock makes the VI the Club President. This was long before the rise of Donald J Trump.

Another time Cumnock had to defend poor behaviour was after the above-mentioned Bobby McCulloch was sent off late in an Ayrshire Cup Final, against Talbot. The magnificent Ayrshire Cup was sat on a bar stool at the tunnel mouth, it was too-much of a temptation for the annoyed McCulloch, who kicked over the stool. The damage to the cup cost Cumnock a considerable sum and to this day, the footballer on the top of the lid stands at an angle.

It's good to reminisce about the bad old days, but, you can bet, while no quarter will be asked or given tonight and the game will be fiercely-contested, today's players are less-likely to resort to unarmed combat to win – the Junior game has changed and, in any case, tonight's match is in THE Scottish Cup.

Who will win? As a neutral who follows another local club, I have sympathy with the late Jim Yates. Jim was a local haulage contractor who was a very-generous sponsor to Cumnock. Asked what outcome he favoured in the Junior Cup Final between Talbot and Glenafton Athletic back in the early 1990s, Yatesie replied: “I rather fancy an atomic bomb dropped on Firhill just as they kick-off.”

I can see where my old Cumnock Academy team mate was coming from, but, I am not so-keen on Armageddon. On form, league position and with home advantage, you have to fancy Talbot to take the honours.

After two or three, by his standards, fallow seasons, Talbot boss Tucker Sloan is rebuilding a formidable Talbot team. They should win, but, in this fixture, you can take nothing for granted. Let's just hope they put on a match worthy of the television exposure.

Neutral visitors to tonight's game should, if they can swing it, sample the purvey in the club's hospitality area. The best hospitality I ever encountered in the Juniors was in the Forth Wanderers committee room. Here: “You'll have a half” was an instruction rather than an enquiry. However, the best scram is to be had – and I honestly cannot separate them – at Beechwood, or at Cumnock's Townhead Park. The ladies who cater at both venues are wonderful home bakers and tea makers. If tonight's players play as well as the catering ladies – this game will be epic.

 

I'm Back On My Hobby Horse

SAY WHAT YOU LIKE about the Butchers, Bakers and Candle-Stick Makers who ran Scottish Fitba for so-many years, but, they did ken how to pauchle a cup draw to keep the Bigot Brothers apart up until the final. In recent seasons, with the seeming need for transparency and a televised draw the two balls, whether they were oval and square, or one hot, one cold, which kept them apart, appear to have been lost and you have occasions, such as Sunday evening's League Cup semi-final draw, where the arch-rivals come out together before the final. It never happened in the Golden Years.

Since it's ma baw, so to speak, on this thread, may I again indulge myself with a long-standing personal rant: why don't the High Heid Yins in the SPFL throw a curve ball into their League Cup competition by invoking Chick Young's “eight diddies rule” and insisting that there be a minimum of eight Scottish-qualified players on the field in both teams at all times?

Whichever club wins Scotland's third-most-important cup competition does so only for the temporary glory. Winning doesn't get you into Europe the following season, it carries no benefit other than a transient high, a wee bit of money and temporary bragging rights over your nearest rivals. I mean, the most-memorable legacies of recent wins by clubs other than The Big Two have been the various renditions of Sunshine On Leith by the Hibernian Community Choir and the fact, Dieter van Tornhout, a Belgian journeyman who isn't even a household name in his own household, may some day have a statute in his honour erected in Kilmarnock.

Make the clubs field those eight Scots, it would certainly level the playing field and help take the competition back to being the open event it was in its early days.

The combatants in the first ten League Cup Finals, the team named first winning, were:

1. Rangers v Aberdeen

2. East Fife v Falkirk

3. Rangers v Raith Rovers

4. East Fife v Dunfermline

5. Motherwell v Hibernian

6. Dundee v Rangers

7. Dundee v Kilmarnock

8. East Fife v Partick Thistle

9. Heart of Midlothian v Motherwell

10. Aberdeen v St Mirren

Thirteen different clubs involved, six different winners in a decade. In the last decade, only eight clubs have contested the final, these ten finals producing four different winners. Celtic have been in seven of those finals, winning all of them; Ross County, St Johnstone and Rangers are the other three winners.

Forty players were listed in the team lines for last season's Old Firm Final, only seven of these: Greg Taylor and Callum McGregor (the only two Scottish starters) and substitutes Anthony Ralston and James Forrest of Celtic and Rangers' Liam Kelly, Leon King and Connor Barron were Scottish. That's 17.5% of the total number of players involved in a national cup final were from that nation, while only 9% of those players considered good enough to start the game were from the home nation. This is nothing less than a scandal – you have to ask, why does the national governing body for any sport allow this to happen? Do they not have a duty to pro-actively ensure their clubs encourage home-grown talent?

Of course, neither club is Scottish-controlled. The major decisions around Celtic are made in Dublin, while the men who hold sway across the city these days are based in San Francisco. Is this good for Scottish Football?

Another aspect of Sunday's quarter-final from Firhill was yet another “Sack the Board” demonstration from the Green Brigade and their friends. It is not unusual to see elements in one or other of the two big clubs' support being unhappy and finding something to moan about – when your unreasonable expectations of glory are not being met, it is easy to complain. But, both clubs' hard-core support up in arms at the same time, that is strange.

Mickey Stewart was a better-than-average player - back when he was a boy you had to have a wee bit of talent to get a game for Manchester United – and he did win four Scotland caps. However, he has shown himself an even-better pundit and he came up with an interesting Steve Wright Factoid: Celtic have recruited 13 new players over the last transfer window – and still the GB and their friends are unhappy.

That's an entirely new starting line-up, with a couple more on the bench. What more do they want? OK, the guys the club have brought in may not be Galacticos, but, unless you are paying totally unrealistic wages and granting them ridiculous concessions in terms of contract riders, the few genuine Galacticos playing today are NOT going to come to Scotland.

If you're simply going for the money and wanting to play in a Diddy League – perhaps looking for a last big pay day before hanging-up the boots – you tell your agent to get you a gig in Saudi Arabia, not Scotland.

The two clubs have always been the biggest in the country, at least since the advent of professionalism and league football. There have been prior to this one:

• 118 League Championship campaigns

• 1 – the very first – was shared by Dumbarton and Rangers

• Rangers have since won 54

• Celtic have won 55

• Aberdeen, Heart of Midlothian and Hibernian have each won 4

• Third Lanark, Motherwell, Dundee, Kilmarnock and Dundee United have each won 1 title – Dumbarton has won 1 title outright and shared that first one with Rangers

• The Big Two have, between them, won the last 40 League Championship campaigns.

Over the years the High Heid Yins of our game have shuffled the deck-chairs more than all the crews of all the Cunard ships ever did; but, it doesn't seem to matter what they try – the same two clubs keep on winning the title.

It is often said: the rules are skewed to keep them at the top and ought to be changed, because, as long as they vote together on the big issues, they can frustrate the would-be modernisers. Then, Rangers hit a large financial problem and were relegated to the bottom tier, leaving Celtic isolated in the voting, but, Aberdeen sided with The Hoops and the chance of change was lost.

This didn't work out too well for the Dandy Dons, who have since found winning difficult.

I've said this before, I will doubtless say it again, but, until we have genuine, meaningful change which levels the playing field, the Big Two will continue to dominate and the other 40 will struggle. But, for this change to happen, the rest have to show the unity which has long been missing.

They say: “Turkeys will not vote for Christmas”. Well, the currently 40 “Diddy Teams” have been season-long Christmas Dinners for the Bigot Brothers since 1890, Haven't they thought of really changing the menu – not tinkering with the starters, the veggies or the desserts – really changing things to their advantage?

Invoking the “Eight Diddies Rule” might be a good place to start.

 

VAR Decision - Penalty To Celtic

TRY TO IGNORE the white noise from down Edmiston Drive way, The Breengers' current travails are, if nothing else, spreading good cheer around we followers of the 'Diddy Teams'. The big scandal of the weekend wasn't the visiting team getting a penalty at Ibrox, rather it was the tale of two penalties at Rugby Park.

Both were of the “Iffy” variety, but, needless to say – the one in the Kilmarnock box was given, then converted to give Celtic victory; the one in the Celtic box was waved away – to the surprise of nobody. If you follow a 'Diddy Team' you are not in the least surprised – we've grown accustomed, over the years, to “Honest Mistakes” which favour “The Bigot Brothers”.

On Sunday night I got embroiled in a little Facebook difference of opinion with a fellow journalist. Now this fine exponent of our craft got to run a Glasgow Sports Desk without being a member of that most-exclusive of Ludges – 'Lodge 1690 – The Lap-Top Loyal'. He was also famously described by a colleague as: “The worst kind of Celtic Supporter – a Protestant”. He was adamant that Celtic getting that penalty at Rugby Park was a rare case of VAR doing its job. Aye Right!! Just as they didn't do their job at the other end.

Here's a wee idea to end, once and for all, the arguments about hand-ball in the box. Why doesn't IFAB – The International Football Associations Board – the body who lay down the Laws of the Game, simply announce: “If the ball hits a player's, other than either goalkeeper's, hand or arm, anywhere on the field, it's a foul; if it happens inside either penalty area, it's a penalty”.

Of course, it's massively unfair; there is no context, no nuance – but, we have clarity and one less area of “whitabootery” for fans to argue over.

I actually missed the non penalty, and the Kilmarnock goal as I watched the Sky coverage from “The Theatre of Pies” - the game was so-boring I nodded off in the second half. That's the thing about Fitba in 2025, it's not at all entertaining; there is such a determination among Coaches, to take no risks, to – in away games: “park the bus” to not lose, the mavericks, who have always been such a feature of Scottish Fitba, are now as dead as the Dodo. I cannot name a single current Scottish player who is anywhere near the class of Jimmy Johnstone or Davie Cooper as an entertainer. It's sad.

We really need a total overhaul of the Laws, with the intent to bring back excitement and thrills, plus a touch of jeopardy, to our game, before it becomes so-boring everyone stops watching. I may have to put my great brain to work, coming up with notions of changes we might wish to make.

I HAD TO laugh when I saw Hibernian's 150^th anniversary strip – green and white hoops. Apparently half the team wasn't all Celtic stole from the Edinburgh club back in 1888.

GIVEN HOW some of their staunchest fans give the impression of having an aversion to soap and water, the under-fire Russell Martin was surely taking yet another huge gamble in taking his squad wild swimming in Loch Lomond on Monday – such a move was guaranteed to not go down too well with the wilder elements of an unhappy support.

My late wife always insisted, I would be carried into my funeral to 'My Way'. She won't be around to enforce this, but, 'The Coven' – as one of my girl friends insists on referring to my four daughters, are determined to uphold their mother's wishes – while I have instructed eldest Grandson: “If they go with My Way, make sure it's the Sid Vicious version you play.”

My reason for taking that wee diversion in the last paragraph – I reckon the Jacques Revaus/Gilles Thibaut/Claude François – Paul Anka, Frank Sinatra classic will be the soundtrack to Martin's eventual parting of the ways with The Breengers – whether that be sooner or later.

However, I do recall there were some perplexed faces among the fitba literatti back in the 1970s, when Jock Wallace introduced his squad to the joys of Gullane. Taking them there was seen as a radical move, might Martin too be onto something by being different? Time will tell.

THE BREENGERS' current situation at the wrong end of the Premier League table may be causing an attack of the vapours down at the more-excitable end of the football writers' table – but, maybe it's a case of Early-onset SAD – Seasonal Affected Disorder – that depression which hits some people, usually as the leaves fall and Winter arrives.

OK, maybe they've had a hard Marching Season, but, the Lap-Top Loyal are not their usual chirpy selves. The depression has spread North, not even at his dourest could the late Dick Donnelly, be under the black cloud enveloping parts of Bonnie Dundee, while, further north, in Furryboots City the Samaritans are apparently recruiting to deal with the growing number of not so dandy Dons calling them for help.

However, as always, I fear we stoic Scots are dealing with adversity better than our neighbours south of the Tweed and Solway. Down there, Liverpool may be clear at the top of the table, but the fact that Mo Salah is currently in “couldnae hit a coo oan the erse wi' a banjo” territory is causing misery on Merseyside.

Then, of course, there is that eternal soap opera in the Borough of Trafford, where Manchester United are sitting one point above the Premiership relegation zone and struggling to even win a free-kick or a corner. Just to make things interesting, Scott McTominay – a player virtually hounded out of the club as ”not United class” is back in the city this week, as part of a Napoli squad, taking on Manchester City in the Champions League.

You can guarantee, big Scott will be up for this one.

 

The Rioch Are Different

JOCK STEIN FAMOUSLY had little time for goalkeepers. In fact he totally ignored the intellectuals of fitba players in his famous dictum about how to succeed as a manager. According to Big Jock the secret was: to make sure the five players in the team who liked you were more influential than the five who didn't.”

But that was then, back in the pre-Bosman days, when the clubs held nearly all the cards; the fitba players contracts landscape is a lot different today. Back then, there was no social media whereby players or more-likely their agents could tweet about how unhappy their fragile egos were because the big, bad manager was bullying the poor wee soul.

It seems the unbridled regard The Bears who inhabit the cheaper seats at Ibrox have for Belgian midfielder Nico Raskin is not shared where it matters – in the Manager's office. Russell Martin quite clearly does not rate Raskin – or, from whispers which have been emerging, does not trust him to work within the tactical parameters which the Gaffer has laid down for the team; so he has left the Belgian out of his squad to face Hearts this weekend.

We are in the age of The Head Coach as God: the guy who picks the team has total power, but, when things go pear-shaped, it's up to the Board as to when they pull the plug. It's infintely-easier to sack a Coach and replace him that it is to get rid of the up to half a dozen players who are taking a good wage but not delivering anything like value for money – so, the Coach goes.

Martin inherited Raskin, he isn't his player, so Raskin has a choice to make – he either buckles down and plays the role the Coach asks him to, or he tells his Agent to: “get me out of here in the January transfer window” and takes the hit in his wallet from the lack of appearance moneys and potential match bonuses.

There have always been unhappy players, and players who didn't get on with their Manager/Coach. It is fairly-common knowledge in his Orange County East Ayrshire back yard, where he was treated like a God, that Eric Caldow never got on with Manager Scot Symon. At a time when he was Scotland Captain, Eric lost the Rangers' Captaincy to Bobby Shearer. At the time Rangers had three International full backs on the staff – Shearer, Caldow and Johnny Little, there was a time when Caldow was the odd one out – not getting a game in the first team.

Matt Busby noticed, post-Munich Manchester United needed an international-class full-back and Captain to replace Roger Byrne, who had died in the crash. He enquired and was told he could have Caldow, for £75,000 – which would have been a record fee for a defender back then. The personal terms were good, all Eric had to do was pick-up the pen and sign.

But, he couldn't do it. For all his arguments with the Manager, playing for Rangrs meant more, so he stayed – got back into the team and played his way to legend status. Maybe Raskin needs extra lessons on what wearing that strip is all about.

ACROSS THE CITY, there's a wee family argument going on. The dissenting section of the Celtic Family, led by the Green Brigade, have planned a wee demonstration for tomorrow's match at Rugby Park. Brigade Orders are that the troops assemble outside the ground, but, do not enter until the 12^th minute – to demonstrate their lack of confidence in the board. Not your best idea Chaps, I fear.

For a support which parades their Socialist credentials and support for the down-trodden, over the years the wider Celtic Family have shown themselves only too willing to be ruled over by a small cadre of self-appointed ”aristocrats”. It took them an awfully-long time to divest the club of The Four Families – indeed, it took one of their own (the wider support's own that is) – Wee Fergus – to get the job done. Fergus then put in place a means whereby the ordinary fan would have a real say in how the club was managed, but, too-many opted to sell their shares to the present Politbureau.

I don't know, I'm only a Proddy – but maybe it's a hold over from Catholic Guilt – that the bulk of the fans want their club run for them – so they have somebody of something to moan about.

I fear, the only thing which might bring change at Celtic Park would be an organised boycott – hit the Politbutreau where it hurts, in their pockets. Stop attending games at Celtic Park, ignore the club shop, hit their finances. That may well be the only way to get the changes they want put in place.

SO – BIG ANGE is back in the English Premiership – inheriting Brian Clough's old Kingdom at the City Ground, Nottingham.

The Australian's new club is currently tenth in the table – exactly half-way up. Mind you I can probably guess why his predecessor was let go: if your club is below Manchester Unitedin the table, then clearly the Manager is failing.

 

A Longish Rant

AN OLD 'HOT METAL' MAN HAS YET ANOTHER RANT

ACCUSATIONS OF hypocricy and of being a two-faced bar steward will be ignored, but, yes, former colleagues from my days on the tools, working at the coal face of journalistic liberty are well aware – I have yet to see a rule I never wanted to break; rules is for the little people, not special needs cases like me.

Back in the days when Journalism was, if not an honoured one, certainly a respected craft, when the people of Scotland bought newspapers at a rate elsewhere in the civilised world, each newspaper group had “The Style Book”.

To explain (and this bit is AI-generated): A newspaper stylebook is a comprehensive manual for writers and editors that standardizes grammar, spelling, punctuation, and usage to ensure consistency, clarity, and impartiality across a publication's articles. Widely used guides, like the Associated Press Stylebook, provide rules for journalistic style, which helps maintain a consistent writing style, making stories easier to understand for audiences.

In my own particular world of Sports Writing, while the various titles all had their own wee foibles around style, there were some standards; one of these was how a team line-up was published. For over 100 years, every Fitba team was listed in a 1-2-3-5 formation: one goalkeeper; right-back, left-back; right-half, centre-half, left-half; outside-right, inside-right, centre-forward, inside-left, outside-left.

This particular method of listing teams has survived from the late Victorian age, indeed, it is still widely-used today, when I can guarantee there are few, if any, teams lining-up is this formation. We are in the age of all sorts of formations: 4-4-2, 4-3-3, 3-4-3, 3-5-2, 4-5-1, 3-4-2-1 etc. can I here put in a word for my fellow always over-looked specialists, the goalkeepers. You will note, all these formations add-up to 10, the outfield players, we poor goalies never get a mention.

The 2-3-5 line-up worked back in the days when players were numbered. The numbering pattern was standardised post-World War II, prior to that, there was no general numbering system. For instance, the first FA Cup Final where the players were numbered was the 1933 edition, when Everton's team were numbered 1-11 – from goalkeeper to outside-left, with opponents Manchester City numbered 12-22 – but from outside-left to goalkeeper. This meant, the future Sir Matt Busby, at right-half for City, wore number 19, while legendary Wembley Wizards Captain, Jimmy McMullan, at inside-left, wore 13. The other Wizard on the park, Everton's Tim Dunn, wore what would become the standard number for an inside-right, number 8.

Then we got involved in World Cups, and the earth tilted on its axis. The SFA had to register and number 22 players and came up with. The first time this happened was in Switzerland, when the SFA selectors came up with the following squad and numbers:

1. Fred Martin (Aberdeen), 2. Willie Cunningham (Preston North End) (Captain), 3. Jock Aird (Burnley), 4. Bobby Evans (Celtic), 5 Jimmy Davidson (Partick Thistle), 6. Tommy Docherty (Preston North End), 7. Doug Cowie (Dundee), 8. John-Archie Mackenzie (Partick Thistle), 9. George Hamilton (Aberdeen), 10. Allan Brown (Blackpool), 11. Neil Mochan (Celtic), 12. Willie Fernie (Celtic), 13. Willie Ormond (Hibernian), 14. Jock Anderson (Leicester City), 15. Bobby Johnstone (Hibernian), 16. Jackie Henderson (Portsmouth), 17. Davie Mathers (Partick Thistle), 18. Alex Wilson (Portsmouth), 19. Jimmy Binning (Queen of the South), 20. Bobby Combe (Hibernian), 21. Ernie Copland (Raith Rovers), 22. Ian McMIllan (Airdrieonians).

Aside from Doug Cowie, who usually wore the number 6 jersey as a left-half, the starting 11 were numbered as per the ones they normally wore for their clubs. Scotland only actually took 13 players to Switzerland, those numbered 1-13.

Four years on, in Sweden, the squad and numbering system the SFA came up with was different. This time, they took all 22 registered players to Sweden. Having been criticised for taking too-few players to the tournament four years previously, this time round, they were criticised for taking too many. The numbering this time was:

Goalkeepers Tommy Younger Liverpool), (the squad Captain) and the then uncapped Bill Brown (Dundee), wore respectively, numbers 1 and 2. The four full- backs: Alex Parker (Everton), Eric Caldow (Rangers), John Hewie (Charlton Athletic) and Harry Haddock (Clyde), respectively wore numbers 3 to 6.

The half-backs: Ian McColl (Rangers), Eddie Turnbull (Hibernian), Bobby Evans (Celtic), Tommy Docherty (Preston North End), Dave Mackay (Heart of Midlothian), Doug Cowie (Dundee) and Sammy Baird (Rangers) wore numbers 7 to 13.

The nine forwards: Graham Leggat (Aberdeen), Alex Scott (Rangers), Jimmy Murray (Heart of Midlothian), Jackie Mudie (Blackpool), Johnny Coyle (Clyde), Bobby Collins (Celtic), Archie Robertson (Clyde), Stewart Imlach (Nottingham Forest) and Willie Fernie (Celtic) wore numbers 14 to 22.

Evans, Docherty, Cowie and Fernie, the four survivors from four years previously, all wore different numbers from their first tournament, while Coyle became a pub quiz answer as the only Scottish player to go to a World Cup Finals and never be capped.

Scotland has been to six subsequent World Cup Finals, plus four European Championship Finals, without as yet coming up with a consistent numbering system.

In 1974 they went with a more or less First XI, then the two back-up goalkeepers and numbered the remaining players alphabetically. Four years later in Argentina, there was again a virtual First XI, the back-up goalie wearing 12 and pot luck thereafter.

That was again the system in 1982, but it was tweaked slightly in 1986. Here we went with a First XI, then it was – second goalkeeper, back-up defenders, back-up midfielders, back-up strikers, third goalkeeper.

The numbering in Italy in 1990, other than the goalies wearing 1, 12 and 22, made little sense, while in France, eight years later, your guess as to how they came up with the numbering is as good as mine.

Perhaps the best bit of numbering ever was the system Argentina used in 1978, where their squad was numbered alphabetically.

The official SFA press release of the team for Monday night's game with Belarus listed the team in squad number order: – with a slight deviation around the two back-up goalkeepers: 1. Angus Gunn, 3. Andy Robertson, 4. Scott McTominay, 7. John McGinn, 8. Billy Gilmour, 10, Che Adams, 15, John Souttar, 16. Scott McKenna, 17. Ben Gannon-Doak, 19. Lewis Ferguson, 22. Max Johnston.

OK, I appreciate, with the modern fashion for putting players' names on the back of their shirts, it's a lot easier and more convenient to use them and list players accordingly. But, take away the numbers and list that team in the time-honoured 2-3-5 formation and it makes no sense. Using the numbers rather than names, Scotland lined-up: 1; 22, 15, 16, 3; 8; 7, 4, 19, 17; 10.

Mind you, we are still some distance away from the system in American Football, with their huge 40-plus players squads, there, what number you wear appears to depend on your position, here's the explanation:

Number Ranges by Position:

• Quarterbacks, Kickers, Punters: 0–19

• Defensive Backs: 0–49

• Running Backs, Fullbacks, Tight Ends, H-backs: 0–49 and 80–89

• Wide Receivers: 0–49 and 80–89

• Offensive Linemen: 50–79

• Defensive Linemen: 50–79 and 90–99

• Linebackers: 0–59 and 90–99

In Rugby, it used to be a free-for-all, best demonstrated by Bristol and Leicester, who used letters of the alphabet rather than numbers, except with Bristol, the full back wore A and the number eight wore O, at Leicester, the front row was famously ABC, while the full back wore O.

When I started playing Rugby at school, the full-back wore 1, with the backs going 1-7 and the forwards 8-15, but this system was far from universal. Today it is fairly standard – the full back wears 15, the backs then go out to the scrum half wearing 9, while the forwards wear 1-8.

However, some teams are listed backs first (15-9), then forwards (1-8), while others are listed forwards first (1-8) then backs (9-15), with the replacements listed forwards first then backs (16-23). Even here there are anomalies. Since every team now packs-down in scrums in a 3-4-1 formation, common sense might indicate if the front row is loose-head prop (1), hooker (2), tight-head prop (3), then the second row should be left flanker (4), locks (5 and 6), right flanker (7), but no – the locks wear 4 and 5 and the flankers 6 and 7 – the blind-side flanker wearing 6, the open-side 7 – except in South Africa, where it is the other way round.

Then we come to the replacements; logic might dictate, the back-up loose-head prop wears 16, the reserve hooker 17 and the reserve tight-head 18, but, no, the back-up hooker wears 16, the props 17 and 18 – it makes no sense.

Cricket, until very recently, managed without numbers for over 150 years, while I have a great deal of sympathy with the great James Aikman-Smith, who as player, referee, official, Secretary and ultimately President of the SRU effectively ran that game for over 30 years. Asked by His Majesty King George V why the Scotland team in a Calcutta Cup match were not wearing numbers, JA-S replied: “Because it's a Rugby match Sire, not a cattle market.”

I finish this post with a tale told me by the late, great Bill McMurtrie of the (Glasgow) Herald. Bill was covering the Border Schools Sevens for the paper and the final came down to Langholm Academy A v Langholm Academy B. It was suggested, to allow the spectators to tell which team was which, one would have to change colours – neither squad would budge: “We're Langholm – we play in rid” was the word from both dressing rooms.

“But, the crowd will not know which team is which” was the organisers' final throw of the dice.

“Maybes aye, but, we'll ken oan the park”.

The boys had a point, it's a player's game after all. Do we really need numbers?