Please Sir, Show Us How To Do Our Jobs

THE GREAT MAN is 82 now, so, it would be asking too-much for him to put on his boots and venture onto the Auchenhowie training pitch to show them how to do it, but, on the evidence of that opening half hour at the Theatre of Pies on Wednesday night, when they invited the boy band, brilliantly dubbed 'Hun Direction', to reform and save the jerseys, the Rangers Board didn't go far enough back. They should have invited John Greig back too, since, on the evidence of that opening half hour, the cry around Ibrox is still “No Defenders.”

There is a big difference in ther basic DNA of our two dominant clubs. A Best Celtic XI – of the first 100 years of that club – one player from each decade - would, after you handed the goalkeeper's jersey to John Thomson, be top-heavy with attackers: Patsy Gallacher, Jimmy McGrory, Jimmy Delaney, Charlie Tully, Jinky, Kenny – to name but five. The rival Rangers XI would, after Jerry Dawson grabbed the yellow jersey, be mostly defenders: Tom Vallance, Davie Meiklejohn, Jimmy Simpson, Jock Shaw, Willie Woodburn etc.

Up in that great Ludge in the sky, the ghosts of the Iron Curtain Defence must be cringing in embarrassment as some of the inept defending we saw on Wednesday night, and for much of this season. Rangers' power was built on defensive solidarity and if I was Barry Ferguson I would be getting one or two of my old mates – Richard Gough, Terry Butcher etc. up to give the current lot lessons in basic defending.

On the basis of the last hour of that game: are we finding out that James Tavernier is actually the new George Young? “Big Corky” spent the bulk of his Rangers' career at right back, before, in the wake of Woodburn's “sine die” suspension, he switched to centre-half. Now, Tavernier has always looked better going forward than defending, but, he did bring a bit more solidarity on Wednesday. A central pairing of Tavernier and John Souttar just might work for the rest of the season.

I might be being unfair to him here, but, if Barry Ferguson is to stabilise the ship, get the gap to Celtic down to single digits and somehow – against all current expectations - engineer a run deep into the knock-out phase of the Europa League, then I see his role as being in Man Management – getting across to a basically non-Scottish squad, what it means to wear that kit – while Neil McCann and Billy Dodds do the more-technical stuff on ther training park. There is the makings of a team in there, but little time left this season to bring it out.

Watching that game live, on Sky, then reviewing the other Wednesday night games later of Sportscene further convinced me, while watching two good teams – Manchester City v Real Madrid say, can be boring in the extreme: pass, pass, pass, on repeat; for true entertainment you need the SPFL – bad teams, giving the ball away, making wrong choices, missing sitters, ye cannae whack it for entertainment – with the added bonus of somewhat bizarre, not to say embarrassing, VAR interventions.

Speaking of embarrassment – what about that choral performance from the Rangers' support at Rugby Park? I know, we in the media have characterised the appointment of “Hun Direction” (sorry, I just love that description and admit, I am using it in part to wind-up a staunch member of 'The Lap-top Loyal', who gets most-upset when I use “Hun” in any piece about Rangers, since he considers it sectartian and cautioned me that I am better than that. - News Flash, I'm not), as a replanting of old Rangers standards.

Well, the travelling fans on Wednesday certainly dug into their back catgalogue of Rangers standards for their choral performance. I know, I joke about my native Ayrshire being “Orange County” and that my old school's song is 'The Sash My Father Wore' – there was a lot of evidence of many of my fellow Academicals supporting Rangers on Wednesday night; there perhaps to cheer-on old boy Doddsie.

As regular readers of these slavverings know, I have little time for badge-kissing foreign imports to Scottish fitba, we have enough of our own second and third-raters to go round, but, there is nothing wrong with small portions of exotic spicing in our game.

But, I would like to see our top clubs giving home-grown talent a stage to perform on, and, on Wednesday night I thought the 17-year-old Hearts prodigy James Wilson took his goal against St Mirren well. He is one to watch for the future. I just hope, however, he and whoever is advising him heed the (and there follows a phrase you will not often hear in this context) wise words of Kris Boyd, who, in the preamble to the Rugby Park game, called for exciting young Scottish talent to show patience, spend longer learning ther game in Scotland, before taking the big money on-offer in England.

Since the playing field was skewed too-far in the direction of England, because of the money even their “diddy teams” have to splash, there have been too-many promising boys who took the high road South before they were ready for it, only to crash and burn and fail to deliver on their promise.

Speaking of the Hearts v St Mirren game, Michael Stewart again showed why he is one of the top on-screen analysts, with his take on that flashed then rescinded Red Card.

“In Rugby Union, that is a straight red card, it is time for Football to take head knocks seriously,” he opined. Well said Michael.

 

Intreresting Times Right Enough

THESE ARE the days which the A Team of Old Firm apologists on the Sports Desks of Scotland's ever-more irrelevant “Red Top” tabloid newspapers live for. Ever since the shout rang round the halls on Sunday: “The King is dead, who is going to be the new King” they have been in overdrive – this is living.

• Will Stevie G, having lived up to that “Slippy” nickname in the rarified atmosphere of Saudi football, return to save the jerseys with title 56 (or Title Two for those readers from the Celtic Family)?

• Is now the time for Barry Ferguson to be installed?

• Has Derek McInnes served a lengthy enough apprenticeship among the “Diddy Teams” to be trusted with the big job?

• Might it be time to bring another English failure north?

• Is the club's situation desperate enough to even mention Sam Allardyce?

They will consult the runes, Rangers “Legends” - some only legends in their own minds, will offer their considered opinions; names will be plucked from left field as the rumour mill goes into overdrive. The A Team get to make up tripe – they love it.

I cannot help thinking, it is a pity Everton were in, if anything a wore pickle than Rangers, and turned to Davie Moyes. He may have worn the Hoops, but, he is from a “Rangers Family” and, as he proved at West Ham he can get decent performances out of second-rate foreigners – he might have been a good fit.

If he has not already found out, meeting unreasonable expectations at Manchester United is an easy gig, compared to keeping “Ra Peepul” in Glasgow happy, Patrick Stewart is now finding-out what an unforgiving lot a bunch of unhappy Jocks can be.

One of my favourite Scottish football legends concerns Kevin Keegan, when in-charge at Newcastle United, travelling north to assess a striker who was going to be “The next big thing” in football, as he scored goals for fun for one of the “Diddy Teams”. Keegan took his seat in the stand, signed the obligatory autographs then turned to watch the youngster warming-up. Allegedly, five minutes into the warm-up, Keegan and his entourage left the ground, he had already assesed that the boy would never make it, since he could not run.

Said next big thing was last heard of doing his “white van man” gig around Scotland.

I must admit, I had similar sentiments early-on in Mr Clement's tenure in the Ibrox hot seat. OK, his cause was not helped by the fact, the bulk of his squad are clearly “NRC – Not Rangers Class”. There have been the odd moments when you thought: there might be the makings of a team in there, but, the reality was and is, they can barely lay a glove on a far from vintage Celtic team, far less a well-organised European one.

Perhaps Philippe Clement was too-nice for a job which seemed to demand a top of the range hair dryer-wielding Alex Ferguson to get something out of the squad. Or, was it, the job was too big for him. I dare say the A Team will tell us over the next few days.

Then, the club will appoint a new patsy, re-set to the current default mode and watch Celtic post another Treble.

Mind you, the seeds of the club's current travails were sown lang syne – when Graeme Souness decided to jettison over a century of tradition – and yes, I accept, some such as the “Nae Kaffliks” rule had to be chucked out; when David Murray indulged the habit which Souness and his successors got into, of not trusting Scottish talent and buying-in, often at inflated prices, non-Scots, who subsequently found the jersey too-heavy to carry.

The then High Heid Yins were given a perhaps undeserved lifeline when exiled to the lower leagues. As I said at the time, if they had kept one or two “Real Rangers Men” in the dressing room, and gone with the good young Scots they had at the time, by the time they got back, they would have had the basis of a competitive team.

But no, they had to prove that old chestnut about madness being a state of making the same mistakes in the hope of a different outcome, which has got them to where they are today.

We supporters of the “Diddy Teams” tend, courtesy of generations of having to thole their bad behaviour, to say: “A pox on both their houses” when we see the Bigot Brothers and their toxic baggage approaching. There is much to despise about both families, but, you have to respect the older Celtic fans, who tolerated the poor management of the Four Families, to be rewarded with that May evening in Lisbon.

Then their sons and grandsons had their low points, while Murray used Other People's Money to grind them down, but, they kept the faith and are getting their reward today.

The Celtic Family know hardship, and have absorbed it. I wonder if their cousins on the other side of the city would be as resilient in the face of failure. Having g during John Greig's tenure as Manager, gazed from the old press box on the stand roof, at rows of empty serats, I don't think so, Rangers Exceptionalism is as bad as English Exceptionalism and that is a failing which will weigh heavily on whoever picks up the poisoned chalice of turning things around at the club.

And, I wonder if these would-be American saviours know what they might be getting into. The National Football League, wherein the San Francisco 49ers play is a very-different league from the SPFL. Whereas second place to The Other Lot equates to failure for either one of the Bigot Brothers, fans of the 49ers and the other Gridiron teams are happier with less.

There have been 59 Superbowls, the 49ers have played in eight, winning five and losing three. They have lost the three 21^st century games they have appeared in, in 2013, 2020 and 2024, after wins in 1981, 1984, 1989, 1990 and 1995.

At least, the 49ers fans – who include a cousin of mine born and raised in the Bay Area – can point to dominance in their rivalry with the Los Angeles Rams. The 49ers lead the Rams by 78 wins to 72, with 3 tied games over their 153 meetings; against that, the Rams have won the last three meetings between the teams.

If the would-be American owners think the Los Angeles v San Francisco rivaly is keen, boy are they in for a shock if they turn up at an Old Firm clash. I fear the American investors might not also be ready for the football politics of Scotland.

Aye, right enough, these are interesting times.

 

A Reason To Right A Wrong

I HAVE A bit of a bee in my bonnet at the moment, so, I thought I would get it out there with the following post. Be prepared, it is a long read, but, I think what I am saying here needs to be said.

OLD AUNTIE BBC is hitching up her crinolines and about to embark on one of its periodic bouts of partiotic drum beating, as the countdown gets under way to the 80^th anniversary of VE-Day and the end of World War II in Europe.

I don't know about you, but I have a more than slight fear that this May date might be over-shadowed by something else, since Donald Trump might well be thinking: “We were late to the party for World Wars I and II, so we should maybe get in first and start WWIII.”

But, enough of these morbid thoughts, since this here United Kingdom only has a mainly inglorious past to celebrate, The Establishment, which includes of course the BBC, has decided to celebrate one of those rare occasions when they were The Good Guys and is going Full Monty on VE-Day 80.

Well, we Scots paid a heavier price for getting rid of the Austrian House Painter and his cronies, so, how ought we to celebrate our part in the victory?

One of the lesser campaigns of WWII was winning on the Home Front, keeping those not in uniform on-message and on-side and one of the ways this was done was by promoting war-time international sport.

After a slow start, with normal league play adandoned for the duration, the football authorities got their act together and took the general populace's mind off the rigours of being bombed, or getting the dreaded telegram informing them of the death in action of a loved one, or simply worrying about brothers, sisters and other relatives, away fighting, by providing organised sport.

Between the outbreak of the War in Autumn 1939, to the resumption of normal football in 1946, teams branded 'Scotland' took part in 35 matches, usually in aid of war-time charities. These teams faced various Armed Forces selections, however, some 21 of the games were branded as “Internationals”.

Of these, 17 were against England and I can well see why the Scottish Football Association has been reluctant to acknowledge these games, since we only posted 3 wins, 3 draws and suffered 11 defeats – some of them heavy.

Of the other four games, we beat Ireland, Wales and Belgium. The other “international” is something of a disputed match. In late April, 1940, a Scotland team apparently went to Dublin's Dalymount Park and beat a Republic of Ireland team. However, there are suggerstions that the Scotland team was in fact organised and selected by the Glasgow FA, while the Irish side was branded as a League of Ireland XI.

In 2023, to celebrate their 150^th anniversary, the Scottish Rugby Union retrospectively capped a number of players who had appeared in “non-cap matches”; these included those players who had participated in the war-time internationals between 1939 and the Victory Internationals of 1946.

I believe, the upcoming VE-Day 80 celebrations would offer the Scottish Football Association an opportunity to likewise retrospectively cap those players who appeared in one or the 21 war-time internationals, mainly against England, which, although we didn't win many of them, kept spirits up in the darkest hours.

Of course, a lot of the playrers who wore navy blue in these games had been capped pre-war: the likes of Tommy Walker, Willie Shankly, Matt Busby, Jimmy Delaney, to name but a few. Others, the likes of George Young, Willie Waddell, Billy Liddell and Bobby Brown had their first taste of playing for Scotland in war-time, before going on to be officially capped following the end of hostilities and the resumption of “normal” football.

However, a quick browse through the record books enabled me to find 37 players, some of them well-known in the game, who represented Scotland in war-time games, but never got an official “full” cap. These players, listed alphabetically, are:

Tommy Bogan (Hibs), whose only appearance was in a heavy defeat to Englandf, at Hampden in April, 1945 served a few clubs during his more than a decade in the game. Having made his name at Easter Road, he fulfilled a boyhood ambition by joining Celtic, before moving south, with Preston North End, then Manchester United. He then had a short spell with Aberdeen, before returning to England to play out his career with Southampton, Blackburn Rovers and finally Macclesfield Town. He settled in the Manchester area, where he died.

Bobby Bolt (Rangers), whose solitary game was in that game against The Republic of Ireland, at Dalymount Park, Dublin, on 28 April, 1942; a game the Scots won 3-2.

Arsenal's Gordon Bremner, whose brother Hutton won Scottish League caps during a long career with the likes of Queen's Park, Aberdeen, Motherwell and Hamilton Accies, made a couple of appearances for Scotland in war-time games during 1942.

Tommy Brown (Heart of Midlothian) won three war-time caps, between 1940 and 1943.

Willie Buchan, while with Blackpool, joined that long list of Scottish “one-cao wonders” by his participation in a heavy loss to England, at Hampden in 1943.

Jimmy Caskie is perhaps best-remembered for being at the centre of a diplomatic incident, when Moscow Dynamo took excception to him being named in the Rangers team to face them in 1945. Jimmy is one of those players who was at the top for years, but never won a full cap. During the War, he was with St Mirren, Everton and Rangers as he picked-up no fewer that eight war-time unofficial caps.

 

Ken Chisholm (pictured above in his Sunderland days) is probably worthy of a special place in Scottish football history, because when he turned out at inside left for Scotland, in a Victory International against Northern Ireland, in Belfast in February, 1946, he became the last Queen's Park player to play in an otherwise proessional international. It was his solitary cap as his other commitments as an RAF fighter pilot got in the way somewhat After the war he played for Partick Thistle, a number of English clubs and finished with football as Manager of Glentoran.

Celtic centre-half Willie Corbett is sometimes referred to as one of Scotland's unluckiest players. He was serving in the Royal Navy when called up for his only war-time cap, against England, at Wembley in October 1942. In that game the 21-year old did what few Scottish pivots had managed, he out-played his immediate opponent, the great Tommy Lawton, preventing him from scoring in a 0-0 draw. However, between naval service and a series of injuries after the war, Corbett, playing in a struggling Celtic team, never became the player he was expected to be after such an auspicious debut.

Joe Crozier, is up there in the ranks of Scottish goalkeepers who suffered at the hands of free-scoring English teams. His three war-time internationals in 1943 and 1944 saw him concede: eight, six and three goals to an English team at the top of their form. He was the goalkeeper in the “interregnum between Jerry Dawson's last cap and Bobby Brown's first. In spite of his horrific time as Scottish back-stop Crozier is still widely considered to have been Brentford's best-ever goalkeeper.

Blackpool Centre forward Jock Dodds (pictured below) is, for me, the unluckiest player ever to pull on a Scotland shirt. He did this ten times between 1939 and 1946, scoring ten goals. What we would give today for a man able to average a goal a game at international level. His goals included a hat-trick in a 5-4 Hampden win over the Auld Enemy in 1942, when our other goal-scorers were Billy Liddell and Willie Shankly. Ten games, ten goals – no caps, “Shurely shome mishtake.”

 

St Mirren legend Johnny Deakin won three war-time caps; research by brilliant Scottish Sports Historian Andy Mitchell indicates, the third of these games, against Belgium in 1946 should be re-classified as a full international and caps awarded. However, Deakin's name is absent from the list of full Scotland caps in the “bible” of football reference books – The Utitlita Football Yearbook. However, for the purposes of this article, there are still his other two matches, in 1943 and 1945 to consider.

When you see the name Fagan and the Liverpool club paired together, you immediately think of Joe, a member of Shankly's Boot Room Team and a future club manager, however Scot Willie Fagan served the Reds well and won one war-time cap, against England, at Villa Park, in February, 1945.

I am told the RAF did a lot of training around the Blackpool area during the war and this was a factor in the local football team enjoying a successful spell at this time, as they had the use of a lot of top-flight guest players.

Bobby Finan, however, was a club regular, having signed from Yoker Athletic in 1937, eventually playing over 200 games for the Seasiders. His only international appearance, however, came in the very first War-time match, a 1-2 loss to England, at Newcastle on Tyne, in December, 1939.

Jim Harley is not a name which is mentioned when a roll-call of Liverpool's Scottish Greats is made. But, the Fifer spent 15 years at Anfield and played alongside the likes of Billy Liddell and Bob Paisley in their English League Championship-winning team of 1946-47, and behind Matt Busby in pre-war years.

He was behind Busby in his two war-time internationals, at Villa Park and Hampden in 1945. Sadly for him, Scotland lost both games.

The second of Harley's two caps was a hefty 1-6 loss to England, at Hampden, on 14 April, 1945, a match which was notable for the appearance of two players identified as J Harris, in the Scotland ranks. The first was centre-half John Harris of Wolverhampton Wanderers – although he may when capped have been playin g as a guest for Chelsea. He later signed full-time at Stamford Bridge, became Club Captain and was a member of their English League-winning team in 1955. His final football connection was as manager of Sheffield United. The Hampden defeat was this John Harris's only cap.

The other J Harris on-duty that day was JR “Tony” Harris, a Queen's Park player at the time. A dental student, he volunteered to serve in WWII, but, with a shortage of dentists, he was sent back to university to complete his degree. From Queen's Park he went to Aberdeen, playing in their Cup-winning team of 1947 and in the side which lost the 1953 final to Rangers, before ending his playing career with Airdrie. The Hampden match, in which from 1-1 at half-time, England scored five unanswered second half goals, was his only cap.

The next name on my uncapped list is a famous one. Alec Herd was a well-known member of the successful and Scots-loaded Manchester City teams of the 1930s. In 15 seasons with City, he played over 300 games and was in their team which famously lost the 1933 FA Cup Final to Everton, before returning to beat Portsmouth the following season.

His solitary war-time international was the famous 5-4 win over England, at Hampden, on 18 April, 1942. His son David, as an Arsenal player, won five caps for Scotland between 1959 and 1961, before his Dad's old team mate, Matt Busby, signed him for Manchester United, where he played in their 1963 FA Cup-winning team and in two title-winning teams. Although he did not play in the final, David was a member of United's 1968 European Cup-winning squad.

Larkhall is well-known as a Rangers town, with a long list of residents who have played for the club. Charlie Johnston doesn't really feature in those lists, because his 200-plus games for the club came during the Second World War and therefore, don't really count. His only war-time cap came in January, 1943, a 0-3 Wembley defeat. He had previously played for Motherwell, among some other clubs and, after Rangers, he wound-down his career with a succesful spell with Queen of the South.

Sammy Kean is a Hibernian legend, as a player, title-winner (one of the unknown six who back-stopped The Famous Five) and as a trainer. He later assisted Bob Shankly at Dundee and also served
Falkirk and Partick Thistle. His solitary war-time cap came in a 0-4 Hampden loss to England, in April, 1943.

Just as Kean is a Hibs; Legend, then the next uncapped “one-cap wonder” is a legend at his club. That man is Willie Kilmarnock, in many Motherwell supporters' eyes their greatest-ever captain and one-third of the legendary Paton, Kilmarnock and Shaw defensive trio. Full-back Willie received his solitary international call for the 2-6 loss at Wembley in February, 1944.

That same game added the name of Stoke City's Jock Kirton to the long list of one-cap wonders. An Aberdonian, he spent 16 seasons with Stoke and was club captain after Neil Franklin committed career suicide by going off to South America. One of the many Scottish journeymen who were so-influential in English football.

Jimmy Kirk was a member of Clyde's Scottish Cup-winning side of 1939 and a year later, he received his only war-time international call, for the game against the Republic of Ireland, on 28 April, 1940.

Dr Adam Little was a prime example of Bill Struth's liking for having educated “University Men” in the Rangers' ranks. A Rutherglen boy, Adam was signed by the Ibrox club while still a 17 year-old schoolboy, in 1936. He studied medicine at Glasgow University, however, the war played havoc with his career and, serving in the Royal Army Medical Corps, he guested for Rangers' old friends Arsenal.

His only Scotland call came in the notorious 0-8 loss to England, at Maine Road, Manchester. After the war, he played only six games for Rangers, before running down his career with Morton.

Willie Lyon's name is often quoted when Celtic supporters claim institutional bias against their players. He was an inspirational Captain of the club in the 1930s, leading them to Empire Exhibition glory in 1938, However, two Scottish League caps that same season was as close as he came to international honour. Willie is pictured below:

 

 However, he did get the call, for the Dublin match against the Republic of Ireland, in April, 1940. He served in the Scots Guards, winning the Military Cross for his gallantry in the North African/Sicilian campaign. However, a serious leg wound in the Normandy campaign of 1944 ended his football career.

Duncan McClure of Hearts is the next name on the war-time one-cap wonders list. His appearance coming in a 1-1 Hampden draw, on 11 May, 1940. He spent over 30 years with the Gorgie club; 300 games as a player, then as coach and scout and he is credited with bringing the great Alex Young to the club.

Malky Macdonald is a legend for his long service to Celtic, before going on to have a successful career in managememnt, with the likes of Brentford and Kilmarnock. He also had a short spell in the Scotland hot seat following John Prentice's fall-out with the SFA blazers. However, amazingly, his three war-time caps, between 1941 and 1944 are as close as he came to being a playing internationalist.

Peter “Ma Ba” McKennan is a Partick Thistle legend. However, he is, like another Jags legend, Chic Charnley, an example of how Scottish Football, and particular its High Heid Yins mistrust players who march to a different drum. Mc Kennan may have been the heart beat of his club for years, but, his only recognition from the selectors came in April, 1940, when he played in the game in Dublin against the Republic of Ireland.

As far as I have been able to discover, Jim McPhie (I have also seen his name spelled McPhee) is not in the Falkirk Hall of Fame. I would suggest he ought to be. He joined the Bairns in 1936 and was with them as a player until 1953. He was the club's regular right back until succeeded by the great Alex Parker.

He then joined the club's coaching staff and was Caretaker Manager for a seven-game spell between the departure for Dundee of Bob Shankkly and the appointment of Reg Smith.

During the war, when his military service took him south, he guested for Preston North End and Reading. He made a single appearance for the Scottish League, in a 1-1 draw with the English League, in Newcastle in 1948, but his only appearance for Scotland was in a 2-0 win over Wales in a Victory International, at Hampden, in November, 1945.

Frank Mennie was a Kilmarnock player, but, like the rest of the team, on active servicer, when he won his two war-time caps, in the games against Belgium and Flanders, in January, 1945. These were strange games, taking the players, all of whom were in uniform, quite close to what was then the front line.

A Coatbridge boy, he was probably one Celtic missed. He played for Queen's Park for three seasons, before joining Killie. After the war he joined Clyde, with whom he won a Scottish League cap in 1949 – and was unfairly criticised by members of the Lap-Top Loyal, for getting a hard time from Tom Finney, Stan Mortenson and Wilf Mannion, with occasional help from Jackie Milburn, as England won 3-0.

Brechin “Loon” Arthur Milne perhaps played his best football for Dundee United in the late 1920s, when he was a regular goal scorer. However, it was as a Hibs player that he won his only war-time cap, scoring one of Scotland's goals in a 2-6 Wembley defeat in October, 1944.

He had served Dundee United and Aberdeen as a guest during the hostilities but peace-time found him briefly back at Hibs, before he spent four seasons with St Mirren, prior to winding down his career as player-coach with Coleraine in the Irish League.

In two spells spanning 23 years at Palmerston, Jackie Oakes played over 450 games for Queen of the South, where he is properly a Club Legend. He had gone straight from school to Wolverhampton Wanderers, but he failed to play a first team game and came back up the road to sign for the Doonhamers in 1937.

He was with them, but in the Forces, when he made his solitary war-time international appearance, in the win over Belgium, in Brussels in January, 1945. Post-war he again tried English football, with Blackburn Rovers then Manchester City, before returning to Dumfries and extending his career into the 1960s.

Glaswegian Henry Pinkerton went south as a youngster, but failed to establish himself with Hull City, Port Vale then Burnley. Things improved when he came back home to join Falkirk, and it was as a Bairn that he won his solitary war-time inteernational honour, in the first war-time international, in Newcastle, in December, 1939.

His final football destination in the UK, post-war, was with Bo'ness United, after which he went off to coach in Canada.

Jimmy Stenhouse was a right-half or inside-right – central midfielder today – with St Mirren, when he won his solitary war-time cap, in the 2-6 loss to England, at Wembley in February, 1944.

A Kelty boy, he had joined the Buddies from Lochgelly Violet, helping the Paisley side win the Summer Cup in 1943. After the war, he joined Aberdeen, he then served Kettering Town, Ross County, as player-manager, Ayr United, Corby Town and Stamford.

Bob Thyne is something of a legend around Kilmarnock. He played for the club with distinction and later joined the Board of Directors and was Chairman, also serving on the Scottish League management committee. However, it was as a Darlington player that he won his solitary war-time honour, at centre-half in the team which lost 2-3 to England, at Villa Park, in February, 1945.

 

Edward “Ned” Weir (pictured above) is a definite football oddity. He was born in Ireland but raised and mostly lived in Scotland. In the schism which saw the football clubs in the newly-established Republic set up their own Football Association, Weir, who had already played for the Belfast-based Northern Ireland FA, also played for the new FA of Ireland before, on 28 April, 1940, the Clyde player won his solitary Scotland war-time cap in the game against the Republic of Ireland, in Dublin. This made him one of the few plaeyrs to play internationally for three different nations.

Forget Duhan van der Merwe and the other “Springjocks” of the current Scotland Rugby Union team. Scottish football teams got their first, with most people thinking of big John Hewie in the 1950s.

However, South African-born Dougie Wallace made three appearances for Scotland in war-time internationals. He was then with Clyde, after Manager Pat Travers, having been impressed by his play while on tour in South Africa with Aberdeen, invited him to join Clyde.

He scored in Clyde's Scottish Cup final win in 1939 before going on to win those three war-time internationals. However, after he reacted angrily to being fouled byh England's Stan Cullis, he “did a Vinnie Jones” on the Wolves man and was told by the SFA, he would never be picked again.

After the war he played for Dunfermline Athletic, then Albion Rovers, before joining Llanelly where, as player-manager, he persuaded Jock Stein to sign for the Welsh side.

His son Gordon was also a footballer, with Liverpool and Crewe Alexandria, he scored two goals in the first-ever Match of the Day programme.

Stan Williams holds an honoured place in Aberdeen football folklore, as the man who scored their winning goal in the 1947 Scottish Cup Final. However, it was as a guest player with Clyde that the Cape Town native won his only war-time “cap”, in the 0-2 Wembley loss in October, 1941.

He left Aberdeen in 1949 and ran down his career with Plymouth Argyle, then Dundee, before he returned to South Africa, where he died in Johannesburg.

These then are the men who wore a Scotland strip in war-time, often playing in front of huge Hampden and Wembley crowds, lifting spirits and, for a time, taking the watching fans' minds away from the deprivations they were suffering. However, they never got that precious cap for their efforts.

Surely, this upcoming 80^th anniversary of VE-Day offers the SFA a chance to right that wrong. After all, if they can cap the players on the 1967 World Tour, purely so that Sir Alex Ferguson could get a cap for his 80^th birthday, then surely they can honour the legends denied a cap by the war.

 

Socrates Courts Controversy - Again

I WAS BORN and raised in mining villages in East Ayrshire – or God's Orange County as some call it. Our family was always a wee bit different, since my old man was one of the handful of openly Tory voters locally, he wan't in the Masons or the Orange Lodge. I think it has something to do with the way neuro-divergence appears to run in our family.

We might be “different”, but, it's hard to avoid being to some degree tainted by what goes on locally. For instance, I still maintain, if my old school – Cumnock Academy – did have a school song, it would be: 'The Sash My Father Wore', and when I used to cover the local Community Council for the local paper, I was well-aware of how influential the High Heid Yins of the local LOL were in its running.

Nothing against these gentlemen, who put a lot of time and effort into making things better for the local community and one particular Stout Orange Blade was, for instance, particularly active in the fight to keep a threatened local Roman Catholic school open, but, I lang syne came to the conclusion, the LOL is one of the greatest con tricks ever pulled off by England/Britain's “Deep Establishment”.

When not c elebrating King Billy's campaign in Ireland in 1690, the stout Orange Blades bellow God Save the King loudly at every opportunity. They delight in taking-over our public thoroughfares during each annual “Marching Season”. Ok, they've got a catchy play list, the Walks are the closest some of them come to taking exercise, they're doing their bit in keeping our Roman Catholic population in what they see as their place, but, really, they are still fighting a battle which, even if it has been won, has little or no relevance in 21^st cdentury Scotland.

The thing is – if they looked-up, at say the Egnlish middle and upper classes, as often as they look down on their Roman Catholic neighbours, they would maybe realise, who are the ones being conned. For instance, for all their declarations of support for the Royal Family and their loyalty to the Crown and the Proterstant religion – has HM the King, or indeed any member of his extended family, ever been seen on the platform at the conclusion of one of their many Walks during the marching season? And, how often do we see many Orange Order members inside our increasingly empty churches?

Turning up at Ibrox of a Saturday to go through the Party Songs isn't the same as attending the Kirk on a Sunday, not by a long chalk.

The Hidden Establishment does rather well out of this unequal and dis-United Kingdom, and organisations such as the LOL help them keep it that way.

Of course, if the LOL is Ying, there has to be a balancing Yang and perhaps the most-visible body on the opposite side of the divide is The Celtic Family, and in particular that body's “Shock Troops” - The Green Brigade.

We all know Brother Walfrid started Celtic as a means of aleviating the many disadvantages being undergone by the community in the East End of Glasgow, many of them first and second generation Irish immigrants. Their descendants remain at the heart of The Celtic Family.

It is true that the people who run Celtic have always done their bit for charity, in keeping with the aims of the founding fathers. However, it is also true that over the years, between the derided Four Families and the current Dublin-based High Heid Yins, the early charitable aims of the club have been to a degree by-passed.

OK, they do some things which are not universally popular, but, for all their faults and follies, I believe the Green Brigade is – in its over-riding ethos – closer to Brother Walfrid and the pioneers of the club than the blazers in the board room.

Celtic was formed partly to give a voice to those whose own voice was not being heard, in their support for the likes of the beleagured Pastelinians, the Green Brigade are maintaining that early tradition. Rather than denigrating them, we ought to be praising them.

It goes without saying, tilting at windmills and fighting entrenched interests does not go down well with the powers-that-be in any sport; particularly with such a centrally-corrupt organisation as UEFA. For that reason, that entirely-reasonable banner the lads came up with on Wednesday night will certainly not be well-received by the suits at UEFA HQ in Switzerland.

Indeed, I coula almost hear Dermott Desmond. Pre-match, asking two of his apparatchiks, let's call them Sean and Liam: “OK lads, what sort of bother have the Green Brigade got us into tonight”? - and not being too-happy with the reply.

You might not like some of the stunts the GB pull. For instance, it is suggested that some of them have a liking for pyrotechnics at matches. Others are big on promoting the Celtic versions of some of the songs which fell foul of the flawed and discredited Offensive Behaviour At Football legislation; while chanting about him, his father and his dead grandmother in front of the Prince of Wales, at Villa Park, although I suspect some of the Celtic Family, not in the GB may have helped there – well, that kind of misbehaviour does not win you friends and influence people.

But, they're mainly young and impressionable. Of course, at times they go too far, but, when they support causes such as Palestine – and tell the truth about two-faced Scottish tory leaders – I have a sneaking respect for the Green Brigade.

I love the notion of sticking-up two fingers to th Hidden Establishment and the Unco Guid.

A Wander Through The Windmills Of My Mind

BEING ON THE SPECTRUM and having “a dustbin brain” - ridiculous facts lie there until retrieved at random – I tend to remember seemingly useless nuggest of information. One such nugget, gleaned from a 1970s sporets documentary, has it that Brazilian football tactics are based on the rhythm of the Samba. The men in canary yellow build slowly from the back, but, the closer they get to the opposition goal, the faster becomes the beat and the passing, reaching a crescendo as they shoot.

Ok, that used to be the case, sadly, since that terrible day those Germans took them apart, the Brazilians have been, by their standards, pretty dire; however, like all football romantics, I yearn for a return to greatness from them; and hope they don't have to wait as long as we Scots for the next golden age.

At least, when the Brazilians were very-good, they tended to move forward up the park, today, most of the top sides seem to take three passes forward, two to the side, then two back, before repeating, ad nauseum. Such negativity would get fitba stopped.

In fact, the modern fashion for “Possession Football”, where, rather than winning, the desire appears to be to not lose, it leaves me rather cold. I can barely watch Manchester City or several other of the current major sides play their seemingly interminable spells of Keepball. Although, I still feel the free-flowing Spirit of Shankly is clinging-on at Anfield and up the East Lancs Road in the Theatre of Dreams.

Speaking of the current crop at Old Trafford, I find I get more enjoyment from watching poor teams; you know you are going to see mistakes, and therefore goals. Thus, I was looking forward to Monday night's live Scottish Gas Scottish Cup clash between St Mirren and Hearts. Two bad teams, therefore, the prospect of some goalmouth action and goals.

I spent the best part of an enjoyable decade covering The Buddies for the wonderful Paisley Daily Express – happy Love Street days. That Love Street pitch was a joy for the teams to play on, something which could not be said about the surface at the new stadium, certainly the way the ball bobbled around on Monday.

Mind you, some of the greatest names in Scottish fitba wove magical patterns on surfaces which were Somme-like mudbaths in the depths of winter, and hard Belgian pavė in better weather – the technical competence of the players on view on Monday was way down.

Even old dinosaurs like me have to accept, today's professionals are more athletes than footballers, but, I maintain, the game is poorer for this. We are told: “The likes of Jim Baxter and Jinky Johnstone wouldn't get a game today” - more fool today's coaches etc, we'd get more entertainment in five minutes of Baxter being Baxter and Jinky doing Jinky things than we got in over two hours on Monday night.

Speaking of individual brilliance. I noticed St Mirren Legend Stevie Clarke in the stand at the game and for a while I was wondering if his thoughts had gone to: “Is Angus Gunn match-fit and back playing, because big Craig looks as if he has gone,” Certainly, Mr Gordon looked for a long time, anything but the great goalkeeper we know him to be.

Then came the penalty shoot-out and another demonstration of that old chestnut: “Form is transient - class permanent” as he produced two stunning saves, the first particularly brilliant, to set Hearts on-course for the quarter-finals.

However, my big take-away from this particular Scottish Cup tie was: is it time to either amend Extra Time, or dispense with the additional period and go straight to penalties?

In my sepia-tinted youth extra time and replays were the order of the day in knock-out competitions. My own wee team, Lugar Boswell Thistle's unforgettable run to the 1956 Scottish Junior Cup Final included second replays to get past both Beith and Thorniewood United, with those third games generating crowds which even Championship senior clubs of today would kill for.

Some 70 years on, the calendar is too-crowded for such niceties, far less the legendary story of the West of Scotland Cup final which, having been drawn on the very last day of the season on which play would be allowed – had to be replayed, that evening, after a two-hour interval.

Today, we still allow Extra Time, then, it's straight to penalties. Unfortunately, what we tend to see, and certainly did on Monday night, is, with the sides still level after the first period of Extra Time, both going into their shell, afraid to risk a win other than by the lottery of penalties.

OK, if we have decided, knock-out ties have to be completed in one game, then let's be inventive; try to find a Football equivalent of Tennis's tie break, without the added psychological pressure of the Penalty Shoot-Out.

What I would do is:

• Cut Extra Time from two x 15 minute periods, to two x 10 minute ones

• Make the first period a “Silver Goal” period – if one side gets one goal up in that period, game over, they've won.

• If, however, the sides are still level after the first 10 minutes, we go in the second 10 minute period to a “Golden Goal” - the first team to score wins

• If the sides are still level after the two x 10 minute periods, then go to penalty kicks.

I think this might eliminate the fear of failure retreat into their shell play which we witnessed on Monday night, forcing the teams to go for vicgtory more. For added jeopardy, we could even introduce random factors. How about, in Extra Time, after every goalless minute, numbers are drawn and (goalkeepers excepted) a random player from each side is withdrawn, thereby creating additional space on the park. After all, Football is now part of the Entertainment Business, so, let's entertain.