Own Goals - An SFA Speciality

AS I have been insisting for years, when it comes to intelligence, good sense and doing the right thing, the sixth-floor corridor at Hampden is a genuine desert. Never mind Flower of Scotland, their anthem appears to be 'My Way', and probably the Sid Vicious rather than the Frank Sinatra version.

Is Sid Vicious an SFA role model - they want to run Hampden his way

Take the latest own goal from our high heid yins. If reports today are to be believed, the sensible deal for the SFA to buy Hampden Park and redevelop it appears to have stalled, because of the governing body's refusal to allow Glasgow City Council a seat at the top table.

FFS, do they not realise – Glasgow has turned SNP, they are the Masters now; the days are past when sweetheart deals could be concluded over a half-time pie in the corporate seats at Celtic Park, by coonsillors who got a Parkhead season ticket along with their seat in the Council Chamber.

Who will have the big shout when it comes to redeveloping the now faded Old Lady? Why, the City Council. The most-spectacular own goal I ever saw was a rocket, past Alan Combe into the postage stamp corner of the St Mirren goal, by Jamie Fullarton, at Tannadice. Jamie's rocket was a tap-in compared to this SFA own goal.

Mind you, being around Hampden too long does strange things to football administrators' limited supply of brain cells. Why, I still remember that great line reported by the late Hughie McIlvanney, as he departed Hampden after the European Cup Final of 1960, to be told by a then service SFA councillor: “Of course, the Scottish football fan would not pay to watch that kind of football every week.”

If only he had given us the chance to prove him wrong.

Hopefully, common sense will win in this latest Hampden stand-off, but, as ever where the SFA is concerned, Ah hae ma doots.

“WEE LUGGIE,” or Paul Whitehead Sturrock, to give him his Sunday name, had a wee rant on the 'Scottish Football of Yesteryear' pages of Facebook this week – about the mind-numbing, boring, lack of invention in today's top football.

Paul Sturrock

The Dundee United and Scotland legend had a point, when he wrote: “I watch football most nights and must admit that I am becoming more disheartened by the style of play and the system which most teams adopt. Square and back passing seems to be the main element of the modern game which I believe is detrimental to the fans enjoyment and dare I say it, I am becoming bored of. I thought i would never see the day I would make comment of the game I love but I have seen many changes over the year so I hope time will again make our game enjoyable to watch.”

Well said Wee Man, and he didn't find any dissenting voices, with several other weel-kent former players weighing-in in support.

Sammy McGivern was quick to say: “Don't hold your breath Paul.”

Simon Stainrod joined in, adding: “All because it is coached by educators not footballers.

“It is criminal how boring some of these people have developed the way of playing.

“Get rid of them and get some fun, character and excitement back.”

Simon then added this helpful nugget: “Actual conversation with top scout at top English Premiership club: 'Simon can you look out for players in France that haven't had the flair and individuality coached out of them, we can't get them in England any more'.”

Austin McCann joined in with: “Used to watch every game going on the TV. Find it a struggle now.”

 Joe Harper doing what Joe Harper did

Joe Montgomery Harper, that man of many clubs and many more goals, mainly for Aberdeen, Hibs and Scotland offered this pearl of wisdom: “The more times you get the ball into the box the more chance you’ve got to score “ SIMPLE“.”

Mind you if you found goal-scoring as easy as wee Joe used to make it appear, everything is simple.

Another former Pittodrie favourite, Ally Shewan, offered this contribution: “I agree with you Paul, the game has been spoiled by the foreign managers , we miss the likes of Jock Stein and Eddie Turnbull and of course Sir Alex Ferguson.”

Yet another contributor offered some criticism of Pep Guardiola, but did not find much support, indeed, David Winnie, a Scottish Cup winner with St Mirren, now a lawyer specialising in sporting matters and one of the small number of Scottish coaches to have coached in Europe, with KR Reykjavik, came up with this telling contribution: “The game evolves and will continue to do that. Blame cannot be attached to Pep Guardiola. He's taken the game to another level frankly.

“The problem as far as I can see in Scotland is that there isn't an identifiable style to the way we play. Frankly, our players don't have the nous or technical ability to match the Spanish, Germans or English for that matter. But yet, we haven't found a system that we're comfortable with.

“Our climate doesn't help and the lack of decent facilities. However, getting the ball forward at the earliest chance is also foolhardy. Do that against a decent Euro team and they outwit you and let you run around for 5 mins trying to get it back again. In short, no easy answer!”

M'learned friend Mr Winnie's contribution brought Luggie, who had kicked the whole debate off, back to the table with this: “David I agree Barcelona is the complete team due to the quality players, for example Neymar leaves, Coutinho takes his place. My problem is with coaches trying to put square pegs into round holes trying to force players who are incapable of a high standard of passing plus trying to play a system that they are uncomfortable attempting.

“We played one player up the park who got early support from four players. When out of possession one player was left up the park - again positive forward passing and running.

“When out of possession Barcelona are the best pressing side in the world, which was the reason our team defeated so-many European sides.”

I commend the Scottish Football of Yesteryear Facebook site to anyone with an interest in our game. To see what legends such as Luggie, Wee Joe and  others think of today's game is an education, and Luggie, one of the official moderators of the site, is hoping to see more, similar debates, kicked-off in the future.

Scottish football needs such sites, and more discussion on fitba above the "personality" guff and Old Firm nonsense which is the staple diet of our mainstream media.

A Legend Has Gone

PARDON the self-indulgence, but, I could not allow his passing to go unremarked, without paying tribute to one of the giants of my craft, and a fellow Ayrshireman.

Hugh McIlvanney OBE – sports writer

Born, Kilmarnock: 2 February, 1934

Died, London: 24 January, 2019, aged 84

IN Ayrshire, 25 January, 2019 is as good a day as any to reflect on the life of a giant of literature – Hugh McIlvanney, who died last night.

McIlvanney was a unique talent, the only sports writer ever to be named Journalist of the Year, a man who, for over half a century was at the peak of his craft in describing sport, that religion of the masses.

Yet, he himself would point-out, he wasn't even the best writer in his family, giving primacy to his late younger brother Willie, one of Scotland's greatest novelists. The McIlvanneys were born in Riccarton, which locals will tell you is the true heart of Kilmarnock. Hughie shone at Kilmarnock Academy, leaving to begin his long career in journalism as a trainee reporter with the local paper, the Kilmarnock Standard.

From there, by now a news reporter, he moved on for a short spell in the Glasgow office of the Daily Express, before heading along the A8 to North Bridge and the impressive offices of The Scotsman.

It was here that he became a sports writer, and a very good one. His report on the legendary real Madrid v Eintracht Frankfort European Cup Final of 1960, a “runner” - that is, a series of short paragraphs, dictated down the telephone to a copy-taker in the office while the game is in progress is often held-up as one of the finest examples of this now lost art.

His final paragraph stands-out as a fitting tribute to one of the greatest matches ever:

“Fittingly, the great Glasgow stadium responded with the loudest and most sustained ovation it has given to non-Scottish athletes. The strange emotionalism that overcame the huge crowd as the triumphant Madrid team circled the field at the end, carrying the trophy they have held since its inception, showed they had not simply been entertained. They had been moved by the experience of seeing sport played to its ultimate standards.”

Almost as good was his follow-up, a report on a short conversation he had as he left the ground, with one of the then movers and shakers in the SFA, who McIlvanney reported as saying:

“Of course, the Scottish football public would not pay to watch that kind of football every week.” Aye right!!

Scotland could not hold that level of talent, so he took Johnson's High Road South, to The Observer, where he quickly became Chief Sports Writer, a post he filled with distinction for over 30-years. He travelled the world, covering World Cups, Heavyweight title fights, major golf tournaments and Olympic Games. Bringing to every report his unique insight and his great gift for having the exact phrase for the occasion.

He was a keen student of the Turf, making significant financial donations, at least to the bookmakers' profits, and revelling in the atmosphere of Aintree on Grand National Day, Derby Day at Epsom, Royal Ascot and, perhaps his favourite occasion – the Cheltenham Festival.

His description of “Himself,” the great Arkle, running-down Mill House is perhaps the best example you can find of descriptive big race reporting:

“As Arkle jockey Pat Taaffe, who had planned it all that way, began to close on the turn at the top of the hill, the incredible Irish support, the farmers and stableboys and priests, roared in unison: ‘Here he comes.’ It was like a beleaguered army greeting the hero who brings relief. He came all right, to run the heart out of Mill House, and that great horse was never the same again.” That takes you right there.

Has anyone ever captured the genius of George Best with the same elan as this McIlvanney piece on the Irish legend:

“Best had come in along the goal line from the corner-flag in a blur of intricate deception. Having briskly embarrassed three or four challengers, he drove the ball high into the net with a fierce simplicity that made spectators wonder if the acuteness of the angle had been an optical illusion.

“What was the time of that goal?” asked a young reporter in the Manchester United press box.

“Never mind the time, son,” said an older voice beside him. “Just write down the date.”

Or there was his take on Muhammad Ali thrashing George Foreman in “The Rumble in the Jungle” in 1974:

“We should have known that Muhammad Ali would not settle for any ordinary old resurrection. His had to have an additional flourish. So, having rolled away the rock, he hit George Foreman on the head with it.”

After that fight McIlvanney demonstrated he had mastered old-fashioned foot in the door news reporting, pounding the streets of Kilmarnock and Glasgow all those years before. He took a taxi out to Ali's villa, blagged his way in, got an exclusive interview and life-time admission to The Greatest's inner circle. Gallus or what.

And, did any of the many Scottish journalists there capture the magic and insanity of Lisbon, 1967 quite as well as this extract from McIlvanney's Observer piece:

"At the airport, the impression is of a Dunkirk with happiness. The discomforts of mass evacuation are tolerable when your team have just won the greatest victory yet achieved by a British football club, and completed a clean sweep of the trophies available to them that has never been equalled anywhere in the world.

“They even cheered Helenio Herrera and his shattered Inter when the Italians left for Milan yesterday evening. "Inter, Inter, Inter." The chant resounded convincingly through the departure lounge, but no one was misled. In that mood, overflowing with conquerors' magnanimity they might have given Scot Symon a round of applause.

"Typically, within a minute the same happily dishevelled groups were singing: "Ee Aye Addio, Herrera's on the Buroo." The suggestion that the most highly paid manager in Europe is likely to be queueing at the Labour Exchange is rather wild but the comment emphasised that even the least analytical fan had seen through the hectic excitement of a unique performance to the essential meaning of the event.”

Even his one-liners were special: Joe Bugner – the physique of a Greek statue, but fewer moves.” Or his take on Carlos Teves' departure from Manchester City: “Whatever it costs Manchester City to get rid of him is a tolerable outlay on disinfectant.”

He had a volcanic temper, he could be a handful in drink, and the denizens of Irvine, who witnessed the dispute still speak in awe of a full-out argument/scrap with brother Willie, when they fell-out at a Burns Night dinner.

But when, cigar clamped between his teeth, he sat down at his typewriter or lap top to write his match reports – and at his best he was a match reporter – he immediately went into the “zone”, from which he did not emerge until he was happy with every word, comma or full stop. He was a perfectionist.

But, he wasn't perfect. His Scotsman character assassination of poor Frank Haffey after Wembley 1961 was verging on the cruel – we Scottish goalkeepers have never forgotten.

He was showered with honours: made OBE in 1996, the Scottish Press Awards gave him a special Lifetime Achieve Award in 2004; a year later came that Journalist of the Year Award; in 2008 he was inducted into the International Boxing Hall of Fame. And a record seven Sports Writer of the Year awards.

Somewhat embarrassingly, in 2011 the Scottish Football Hall of Fame secretly inducted him into membership. It had to be done secretly, since he was Chairman of the Induction Committee, who acted without telling him. He is also in the Press Gazette and English Football Museum's Halls of Fame.

After 30-years, he left The Observer in 1993, for a short spell as a Correspondent at Large for the Daily Express, before settling down to 23 years with the Sunday Times, only finally logging off in 2016. Along the way, be wrote with insight and feeling about the great Scottish football men: the great players: Baxter, Johnstone, Law and Dalglish, but more clearly the great managers – Busby, Shankly, Stein and Ferguson.

His books: 'McIlvanney on Boxing,' (1982), 'McIlvanney on Football,' (1994) and 'McIlvanney on Horse Racing' (co-written with another master, the late Sir Peter O'Sullivan in 1995) are “must haves” for every serious collector of writings on sport.

That said, he was, at his best a reporter – the most information and colour in the fewest words – while other great Scottish sports writers: Norman Mair, Bob Crampsey or Ian Archer, were more essayists.

Hugh McIlvanney was married three times. He is survived by third wife Caroline, and Conn and Elizabeth, the children of his first marriage. The McIlvanney literary legacy is in the safe hands of his nephew, Willie's son, the New Zealand-based novelist and crime writer Liam McIlvanney.

Young Managers Recruiting Their Contemporaries Is A Slippery Slope

STRANGELY, considering his “day job” was as an accountant – allegedly the most-boring and predictable of the professions - “Enclosure George” Reid, veteran Ayr United supporter and scourge of managers, was one of the wittiest terracing critics going.

From his place behind the home dug out, he frequently goaded Ally MacLeod into wanting to wade into the crowd to sort him out. Davie Wells, Ally's former assistant reckons he lost count of the number of times he had to hold Ally back from going after George – and Ally was generally successful as United boss.

George Burley - his "youth policy" at Ayr was questioned by super fan"Enclosure George"

One of George's best verbal sallies was directed at then United Chairman retired Chief Constable Andrew Charters, during George Burley's spell as boss of the Honest Men. United had been awarded a free-kick, just in front of George's place and Burley, then 35, Arthur Albiston (36) and Gordon Mair (37) were grouped round the ball deciding what to do next.

Manna from Heaven to George, who piped-up: “Haw Mr Chairman, is that your new youth development programme working.” It brought the house down, in the press box, above George's head, we were in hysterics.

Now, this might be a leap of unparalleled imagination, but, imagine if Rangers had a fan with that degree of wit. I can see the same scenario, towards the end of this month, with Jermain Defoe, Charlie Adam and Steven Davis discussing what to do with a free-kick.

Naw, couldn't happen, Rangers fans are not that sharp.

I do worry about Steven Gerrard's transfer policy. OK, he's a young manager, in his first post, he has grown-up in the age of success being bought; of fans demanding success – yesterday. Not for Gerrard and his contemporaries the sense of it perhaps being better to breed talent from within – that's the job of lesser clubs, whose talent is to be picked-up by Rangers and similar “big clubs” once their promise can be measured.

Also, Rangers' fans and directors are not really interested in building something, they want success – now; or by the latest within two years, in time to prevent Celtic winning ten Scottish League titles in a row. Longer term planning can wait. Instant, or near-instant success to stymie Celtic, and deliver Title 55 is the name of the game.

Defoe, Davis and maybe even Adam are not the future – they are a short-term fix, which may, or may not work. They might tip the balance Rangers' way in the race for the title this season, but, they will not help them in Europe – which is where Rangers have to start making an impression.

“We Are The People” is an idle boast – more so when the fans making that claim are supporting the team officially ranked 205^th in Europe, according to UEFA; or the 185^th best team in the world, according to the American 538 sports statistic website.

STILL ON the subject of Rangers, was anyone surprised - well maybe the clearly apoplectic Chris Sutton - when the SFA decided to take no action over some of Alfredo Morelos' antics during their 1-0 win over Celtic. Some of the alleged fouls certainly, on looking at the photographs, seemed like bad ones.

One or two, it should be said, would have been forgiven by fans of every Scottish club except Celtic, on the grounds they were committed against Scott Brown – the Number Two pantomime villain in Scottish football – behind Neil Lennon.

Certainly, there is also a picture of Brown committing what looks like a clear red card, over the ball challenge on Morelos, so, a reasonable person with any knowledge of Scottish football might well decide – the pair were at it, and therefore, anything went.

I would reckon, any half-way competent rugby Television Match Official would have been advising the referee: “red card” for both the incident, when Morelos appears to boot Brown in the “haw maws”, and the Brown over the ball challenge.

The alleged Morelos stamp on Anthony Ralston was also, I would suggest, a red card offence. Any way, Morelos seems to have got away with it – which speaks volumes on the SFA's attitude to bringing the Bigot Brothers' players to heel. Clearly, in 21^st century Scottish football, all clubs are equal, but, two are more-equal than all the rest.

Of course, it could have been, John Beaton was following the sage advice often given to young referees, before their first Auchinleck Talbot v Cumnock game. This was: "Stop the game as little as possible." Senior referees always reckoned, when play stop the nonsense began, so, by waving play-on, and keeping things moving, it gave the dafties, on and off the field, on both sides, fewer opportunities for nonsense.

Ouch!!

 

Of course, strikers such as Morelos are always targets for unscrupulous defenders, and the best have to be able to look after themselves. For instance, Denis Law did have something of a reputation for being able to look after himself. He was famously dropped from the Scotland team for kicking Bobby Robson, right in front of the Queen, at Wembley in 1961 – although Denis's defence: “Bobby kicked me first,” was never contradicted by the future Sir Bobby.

Big Ian Ure also reckoned, he got his big-money transfer from Arsenal to Manchester United, because Sir Matt Busby, worried about the soft centre of his defence, decided to sign Ure, after the big Ayrshireman whacked the same Denis Law in a game at Old Trafford. Again Ure still insists: “Denis started it.” He is also adamant, the fracas which saw him break his jaw, while captaining the Scotland XI against Israel, in 1967, was sparked off by another future knight of the real,, one Alex Ferguson, sorting out an Israeli defender.

FREDDIE Glidden died on 1 January, aged 91. A sad start to 2019 for every Jambo, Freddie played 270 games for the Edinburgh team during the Golden Years under Tommy Walker in the 1950s and early 190s. He is in the club's Hall of Fame, and rightly so.

Glidden captained Hearts to victory in the 1956 Scottish Cup final, when they beat Celtic 3-1 to land the old trophy for the first time in 50 years. Let's be honest, he was a journeyman player, a part-timer throughout his 17-year senior career with Hearts and Dumbarton. But, for all the glorious talent of team mates such as Dave Mackay, John Cumming, Alex Young, Alfie Conn, Willie Bauld, Jimmy Wardhaugh – all of whom were capped, without the calm assurance and unfussy play of the likes of Glidden, they might not have won as much as they did.

The stand-in skippers, Celtic's Bobby Evans and Hearts' Freddie Glidden at the start of the 1956 Scottish Cup Final

That 1956 final was the Year of the Stand-in Captains. Glidden leading-out Hearts after club captain Bobby Parker was inured, while the more-celebrated Bobby Evans stood-in for the injured Jock Stein as Celtic captain.

Still, it does one good to remember that, just occasionally, the unsung players become heroes. Freddie Glidden was one of the good guys, he won one Scottish League, one Scottish Cup and two League Cup winner's medals with Hearts. He also played in the first Hearts team to play in the European Cup, in 1958. His passing deserves to be recognised beyond Tynecastle.

Ra Peepul Are Happy, But, Should They And We Be?

DOWN HERE, in God's Orange County of Ayrshire, where (allegedly) they still give you a picture of King Billy, on his white horse at the Boyne, to hang above the fireplace in your new cooncil hoose, life is good this morning.

 In East Ayrshire, you allegedly got one of these with the keys to your council house

The sun is shining, the bretheren, brown brogues polished to a mirror finish, are stepping-out briskly to worship at their local watering-hole. And if what the leiges term: “The Natural Order” has not quite been re-established, the "tattie-munchers" were humbled yesterday. They might still lead the SPFL table, but, only on goal difference and the upstanding hordes of Ra Peepul are smiling again. The dark days are behind them, and number 55 can be imagined, just over the horizon.

But, if I was them, or a member of the Celtic Family, I would be very worried as 2018 prepares to cede the stage to 2019. Because, for all their financial muscle and advantage, for all those questionable refereeing divisions, which we are told: “level out over time,” the Bigot Brothers are not running away from the field; season 2018-19 is not yet the usual one or two-horse race.

Kilmarnock, now in the hands of a proper football club manager/coach are but one point off the pace, Aberdeen, for all their inconsistencies, are tucked-in a further two points behind Killie, with the even more-wildly inconsistent Hearts not that far behind.

I have of late become a fan of the American web site fivethirty-eight. Now 538 takes a close statistical look at various sports and political events around the globe. One of their best features is their Global Soccer Club Rankings, a statistics-based system which ranks over 600 clubs in leagues from the SPFL to the Australian, from the Chinese to the Brazilian. It makes sobering reading for the Scottish game.

The data they use goes right back to the birth of league football in the 1880s, it is updated after every game, using their SPI (Soccer Power Index). Right now, for instance, they rank Liverpool as the number one club in the world, with an SPI of 92.9.

The Top Ten in the Global Club Rankings are:

1. Liverpool – 92.9
2. Bayern Munich – 92.3
3. Manchester City – 91.8
4. Barcelona – 91.6
5. PSG – 89.9
6. Juventus – 89.5
7. Ajax – 88.0
8. Real Madrid – 87.6
9. Chelsea – 85.6
10. Atletico Madrid – 85.3

Where you ask are our leading Scottish clubs? Ah! Not such happy reading. The rankings of the 12 SPFL Premiership clubs, of the 628 world clubs ranked are:

82. Celtic – 65.0

185. Rangers - 52.2

292. Aberdeen – 42.8

358. Kilmarnock – 38.8

401. Hibernian – 36.0

445. Livingston – 32.6

455. St Johnstone – 31.3

497. Hearts – 26.8

559. Motherwell – 21.6

600. St Mirren – 14.8

609. Dundee – 12.1

614. Hamilton Academical – 10.7.

These are 538's figures, if we look at the UEFA Club Rankings, which take into account European form, the story is not quite as-dismal. The UEFA Club Rankings and Co-Efficients take into account each club's performances in Europe over the past five seasons. At the moment their top ten reads:

1. Real Madrid – 144.0
2. Bayern Munich – 127.0
3. Barcelona - 127.0
4. Atletico Madrid – 125.0
5. Juventus – 120.0
6. PSG – 101.0
7. Manchester City – 99.0
8. Seville – 99.0
9. FC Porto – 90.0
10. Arsenal – 86.0

The UEFA rankings list no fewer than 450 clubs from the leagues in all 54 UEFA member associations, and the Scottish clubs' rankings are:

  44. Celtic – 31.0

185. Aberdeen – 5.5

205. Rangers – 5.25

221. Hibernian – 4.425

222. St Johnstone – 4.425

223. Hearts – 4.425

224. Inverness CT – 4.425

225. Motherwell – 4.425

These are the only Scottish clubs mentioned in the rankings, since they are the only ones to have tasted European competition in the past five seasons.

What can we learn from these figures? Not a lot to be honest, other than – regardless of whether you try to assess Scottish football in global or merely in European terms – we are shite. This may not be news to the average punter in the stands, but, this information has yet to breach the force field which exists around the sixth-floor corridor of power inside Hampden, where they still have not realised how poor we are, far less sought some new way of changing things to bring about improvement.

Once upon a time, when I was a young man – we actually fancied our chances against the top European clubs. We could go toe-to-toe with them and win. Today, while we are not yet at the stage of being a guaranteed win against such clubs, where once, Scotland expected against them, now: furrit tho' we cannae see, we guess and fear.

Back then, our determination to win could offset our failings in the technical department. The fact the average Scottish defender could not trap a falling bag of cement was not such a handicap. He could offset this by putting the fear of God into these mamby-pamby sand-dancing furriners.

Today, the continental player is every bit as tough as the home-bred Scots while, since the Souness Revolution, we have tended to import third-rate foreign players, rather than trusting our fate to second-rate Scots.

I live in hope, that, perhaps beginning in 2019, we will change tack, start once again favouring ball skills and technical prowess over the ability to run all day, trusting in home-grown youngsters, and, maybe, just maybe – in world football terms, the lion rampant will roar again.

And, if we can clean up our spectating act, from some of the rubbish we saw and heard yesterday at our two big city derby games – so-much the better.

Hae a Guid Ne'erday, when it comes. See you across in 2019.

It Looks As If The Real Manchester United Are Back For Christmas

CONFESSION TIME – I have, as 2018 has unfolded before us in all its awfulness, rather fallen out of love with fitba. Maybe it has been a hangover from Brexit; how can you get involved in football when, out in the real world, there is a genuine crisis going on.

 If yesterday is any guide, he will not be missed

Any way, just in time for Christmas, I saw possible salvation. This came when I watched the Manchester United v Cardiff City game last night. It fairly restored my faith in the beautiful game, to watch United take Cardiff apart. OK, it was only Cardiff, but, over those 90 minutes, the United squad rediscovered the swagger which had been squeezed out of their game by the Chosen One, over his three-year reign of terror.

I never saw Mourinho and United as a good fit. He has never encouraged or espoused the vibrant attacking football which is demanded of the repertory company inside the Theatre of Dreams. The Portuguese's mantra has always seemed to me to be: “We win 1-0,” whereas the United dictum has been: “OK, you score three, we will score four.”

That said, it cannot be easy being a United player. Even Paul Pogba, for all it cost United £89.3 million to bring him back from Juventus; will never be considered the best player to wear the number 6 United shirt – so long as there is someone alive who saw Duncan Edwards play.

 Paul Pogba

He's a good player, but, I still reckon this guy would be most people's first pick for the number 6 shirt in any Manchester United dream team.

 Duncan Edwards

 

Alexis Sanchez isn't a bad player, but, he just happens to have inherited the number 7 shirt once worn by George Best, (who also of course wore 11), Eric Cantona and Cristiano Ronaldo, to name but three. David De Gea is touted as possibly the best goalkeeper in the world – but, so too were Harry Gregg and Peter Schmeichel before him.

Some day, they might erect a statue of Marcus Rashford, Anthony Martial and Romelu Lukaku – but, will they ever match the legend of the original golden trio of Best, Charlton and Law?

They are standing on the shoulders of giants, yes, but, today's United players still have an awful lot of history – from the 1948 cup-winning team of Carey, Delaney and Co, via the Busby Babes, to the side with the “Holy Trinity” on-board, and on to the “Boys of '92” - bearing down on them.

And yes, it was: “only Cardiff,” but, to those of us who have a soft spot for watching an attacking Manchester United team going full pelt for goals – yesterday was a welcome ray of sunshine in what has been a mainly dark season.

HUGHIE McILVANNEY once reckoned Ali v Frasier, both in wheel-chairs, in an old people's home, would still be one hell of a fight. There would not be the athleticism of the Fight of the Century, or the Thrilla in Manila, but, there sheer competitiveness would still have made it interesting.

Hugh McIlvanney

So, bearing that in mind – the Scottish Premiership, quality-wise, might currently be shite, but, by God, this season is the most-interesting in a long time. I know the Lap Top Loyal and the Celtic-Minded sects within the Scottish Football Writers Association are duty-bound to try to con us into believing the quality of the Bigot Brothers' squads, but, the reality is, as is shown by the league table, they are no better than the “Diddy Teams” they are forced to play against.

I have long felt, if a provincial club manager in Scotland is ever able to persuade his players: “It doesn't matter how we get on against the Old Firm – but, if we can beat everyone else, the chances are, we will win the league;” then that manager could well succeed.

In accumulating seven straight league titles, Celtic's average accrual of available points has averaged 79.8% of those available. In 2016-17, they won 106 points out of an available 114 (38x3). That has been their best show of the seven, their worst was season 2012-13, when they took the title, with 79 points – 69.3% of those available.

The eight games against the Old Firm account for 21.05% of the available points; so, had any of the other ten clubs concentrated on beating every team, other than the Old Firm, and succeeded, then they would have won the league in three of the last seven seasons. The percentage of points available in games not involving the Old Firm, almost exactly equates to the average number of league-winning points accrued by Celtic during their current run of seven in a row.

It could also be argued that a team used to beating everyone else, would surely be capable of taking points, at least at home, against the Old Firm. Something there for managers to perhaps try to get their heads round.

Of course, so used are we to the big two winning, I sometimes think they are already 1-0 up when they kick-off against provincial opponents. A similar degree of expectation comes into play with the other sides. They might approach a game against one or other of the Old Firm with hope rather than expectation of victory, whereas, against any other of the provincial sides, it is expectation rather than hope which is uppermost in the players' minds.

I feel things are levelling-off in the Premiership this season. It is certainly the most-competitive it has been in years, with, almost at the half-way stage, four points separating first and fourth. I sense, Aberdeen and Kilmarnock can maintain the pressure on the OF up until and hopefully after the split. That would be marvellous.

We now have a three tier top flight, with the top four split by those four points. Tier two also contains four teams: Hearts, Hibs, Livingston and St Johnstone – split by just two points, while at the bottom Motherwell, Hamilton, St Mirren and Dundee are involved in a dog fight for survival.

The football might not be top drawer, but, the excitement and uncertainty surely is, and long may it continue like this.