Flawed Genius: Scottish Football's Self-Destructive Mavericks by Stephen McGowan (Birlinn Ltd 2009)

'Big Jock couldn't believe it. "Do you really want to go to that elephant's graveyard?" he asked me.

'But Haldane Y Stewart could sell sand to the Arabs and he'd convinced me I was the best player since Pele.'

Stewart may not actually have believed that much. Within two seasons, however, there were plenty around Greenock who did. Initially, the reception and first impressions were underwhelming. A leaking gas fire created the impression of a gas chamber in the old Cappielow main stand when the new signing arrived on the morning of his debut against a Clydebank side featuring the late Davie Cooper. An air of decay hung over Cappielow and circulated the corridors.

'I remember meeting my great boyhood hero, the former Motherwell striker John Goldthorpe, as I walked in.

' "Andy, what you doing down here?" he asked me.

' "I'm playing against Clydebank tonight, John," I replied.

' "You're whit?" he asked me. "What? Are you down on loan?"

' "Naw," I said, "I signed for Morton this afternoon."

' "What the f*** did you sign down here for?" he asked me. That wasn't the best of starts.

'But the real culture shock arrived on the Saturday, when we went to Love Street to play St Mirren, our greatest rivals. We lost 5-1 to a team managed by a certain Alex Ferguson. That Saturday night, I drove home saying to myself, You'd better get your finger out; you don't want to be hanging about here too blinkin' long.'

Yet when the goals started flowing with a double against Montrose the following Wednesday, including a trademark free-kick, Ritchie settled. So well, indeed, that within weeks Celtic - unbeknown to the great man himself - tried to take him back for £170,000.

'Had I known at the time, I would have created merry hell to secure my return to full-time football. It was only many years after I had finished as a football player that I even learned of the bid from Sean Fallon, Jock's old assistant.

'As part of the deal, Morton would be duty bound to clarify that I had only ever been on loan. It's difficult to explain in words how I felt about it years later. I just wish to Christ I had known at the time.

'I quickly realised at Morton that I had never really wanted to leave Celtic. But Brings had gone so far, relations had soured so badly, that I had to. I was putting pressure on myself to succeed and I had to get away, to reinvent myself.'

To a large extent, he succeeded brilliantly. After scoring the goals which took Morton to the Premier League in a season-and-a-half, Ritchie became that rarest of entities: a Player of the Year plying his trade outwith the Old Firm.

When he earned his accolade from the Scottish Football Writers' Association in the Albany Hotel, Glasgow on an April night in 1979, he was just 22. The pride he took from having his father and grandfather in the grand room that evening was palpable. By his own admission, however, the award prompted a downward spiral rather than an unstoppable ascent.

In the days before footballers enjoyed rock star status, the celebrity that followed was difficult for a young working-class man with an attitude and a healthy slice of self-conceit to absorb.

'Things began to change after that,' he recalls. 'I parked my car outside a primary school in Greenock one day and young boys were playing football in the playground. One of the lads scored a screamer past the obligatory fat kid in goals. And as I turned the lock in my car door, I heard the shout, "And Ritchie scores!" I thought he was taking the piss. He wasn't, the kid hadn't even seen me. But at that time my reputation was growing all over the place. I was being recognised everywhere I went, from Laurencekirk to Lochee.'

What had also changed was Ritchie's attitude. The good habits bred at Celtic had flown out of the window to be replaced by heavy drinking, major gambling and a 40-a-day nicotine addiction. By his own admission, he played many of his best - and worst - games nursing a hangover. Friday night sessions in the Windmill Tavern in Lanarkshire would be followed on Saturday morning by a panicked search for the family car, a missing wallet and a phone call to an obliging teammate to get him to Greenock for the prematch meal, where manager Benny Rooney would be pacing around a hotel foyer checking his watch.

'I always remember Johnny Goldthorpe driving me to training at Morton one evening in our promotion season in 1978.

'Johnny was 32, had been a good pro and knew a thing or two. I had always looked up to him until the day he turned to me in the car and said, "You'll not last until you're 27 in this game."

'I was angry, furious in fact. I wasn't having that, not even from Johnny Goldthorpe. I was only in my early twenties at that time and I was flying. I was scoring goals, winning rave write-ups and was the best player in the country. What did this old fella know? Well, one thing he did know was the smell of drink - and I was in that car passenger seat steaming drunk. I'd been drinking all afternoon, and some of the morning as well. And that wasn't especially unusual for me. I'd still be stinking of drink when I played games. And somehow I was still scoring goals.

' "I'll do whatever the f*** I want," summed up my attitude best.

'Big Jock Stein had told me towards the end of my time at Parkhead - because I had begun to develop an opinion - that the best thing I could do was take the cotton wool out of my ears and shove it in my f****** mouth.

'Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed every minute of all that. I didn't do it to blot out any pain or any crap like that. But I saw no need to change. I had been boozing, gambling and doing whatever and we had still gone to the top of the league.'

Morton finished seventh in the Premier League that season, after leading before Christmas. Part-time football remained a constant despite promises from the chairman, Hal Stewart, to go full-time. To the more ambitious members of the playing staff, it was a betrayal.

Desperate to play for Scotland and increase basic earnings of £50 a week bolstered by a new contract and an afternoon job as a Morton Lottery Ticket salesman, however, Ritchie wanted out. With his gambling now out of control, he needed out.

Full Time: The Secret Life Of Tony Cascarino as told to Paul Kimmage (Scribner 2000)

When I close my eyes and think of Glenn Hoddle, two images spring to mind. The first is of Hoddle the player, and that incredible goal for Spurs, when he raced with the ball to the edge of the Watford box and chipped the goalkeeper when everyone expected him to cross. The second is of Hoddle the manager, on the morning Paul Elliott arrived in our dressing room wearing an immaculate leather trenchcoat and stood there, stunned, as Hoddle the manager raced to the 'cover' of a bin in the corner and started shooting him with imaginary bullets — 'Pshhhh', 'Pshhhh' — like a five-year-old with a cowboy pistol set. What Paul didn't realize was that Glenn was trying to be funny, and when Glenn tried to be funny it was time pass around the laughing gas because he was probably the unfunniest man I have ever known, He was also completely besotted with himself.

Late for Maloney

It only took me seven years to get around to viewing discovering this wonderful Celtic goal from Shaun Maloney:



Anyone would think I'm a fair weather fan.

Another 'What Not To Wear' title post

Via the Football Shirts website the image below is of the supposed Celtic jersey for the 2013-2014 season.

Surely it's a wind up? Take away the badge and the sponsor's name and it looks like a sweater Del Boy Trotter would be wearing with a turtle neck in an Only Fools and Horses Christmas Special circa 1986.

Becoming Jimmy

At a push - and a bit of hair dye - the Pat McCourt Story, but Jinky?

James McAvoy is a beautiful man but he could never pull off the portrayal of the beauty that was Jimmy Johnstone.

What next? Jude Law in the Ralph Coates Story?

'I should have saved the 'Melting Mowbray' post title for an occasion like this'

He's gone.

Obviously much sooner than I thought. Looks like after last night's hammering, the board couldn't even bring themselves to trust Mowbray getting past Ross County in the cup.

Now that I think about it, I wonder if their real panic was that, on current patchy form, Mowbray's Celtic were in danger of losing second place - and the potential pot of Champions League gold - to an in-form Dundee Utd or Motherwell?

Who's going to be in the frame for the vacancy? After paying West Brom two million for Mowbray, I'm guessing they're going to go for the cheap option. Everton and Bolton fans will be relieved.

Does Charlie Nicholas have his coaching badges yet?

Mixing Footie and Politics (7) Shankly, Socialism and Glasgow Celtic

Just spotted this.

Ian Bone raises that most important of political questions: 'Is there a socialist way of playing football?'

Ian shows his age (and his dress sense) by mentioning the great Hungarian side of the early fifties.

Arguably the greatest International team never to have won the World Cup, they lost the '54 final against West Germany in disputed circumstances, and one of the great ifs of football pub talk is, but for the Soviet tanks rolling into Budapest in '56, how they would have measured up against the Brazil of Pele and Garrincha in Sweden in '58.

Anyway, back to the matter in hand. I show my good taste and access to YouTube clips by pointing you in the direction of the definitive answer to Ian's question.

Bill Shankly describes the great Celtic side of the Jock Stein era:

That wee nugget should be on a T shirt, not this silly bollocks which is currently doing the rounds on the left blogosphere.

"Socialism without the politics." I like that.

Whatever did happen to World in Common?

Jimmy

They should have cast his statue in gold.

Kenny Dalglish on Jimmy Johnstone:

"The first time he came to prominence in England was against Leeds [in 1970] when he tore Terry Cooper apart in both games. Celtic won both games and qualified for the [European Cup] final. He had superb ball control, could take people on and because he was so quick no one could get near him. As brilliant as he was as a player, he was equally as good as a person. He was just a fantastic wee fella who is a sad loss to everyone. He is one of those type of people, even if they are not here you still think he is here, although he will be sadly missed. He'll never be forgotten.”"

Jimmy Johnstone in his own words:

""I was always aware I was an entertainer. The crowd provided the expectation, the hair on the back of my neck would go up and I loved the applause. The pitch was my stage. The whistle meant it was showtime. That is why I admired Matthews. The way he took people on and beat them, that was entertainment to me and that is all I wanted to do.

"Without the fans, you are nothing and what I am most thankful of is that I got a chance to realise my talent at Celtic, because it is a special club, supported by special people."

Both quotes lifted from here.

Knocking Dame Mirren off the top of the table

Motherwell 2 - 4 Celtic

Samaras with five goals in his last three games, and Motherwell's John Sutton scoring his third league goal in as many games.

R*ngers losing 1-0 to Kilmarnock at Ibrox? Make it last. Not for my sake you understand . . . for Jim TNR

A welcome back for Maloney?

Banner from Saturday's game at Celtic Park.

Hat tip to Matt C from Socialist Courier blog for the pic.

Lubo vs Naka?

Has to be the bloke with a haircut straight out of an episode of Brookside in the eighties, but who played like someone who wouldn't have looked out of place in the Brazil World Cup team in '82.

The 10th August can't come too soon.

Half-Time Humour

. . . and I don't mean the picture of a young Davie Provan auditioning for an MC5's tribute band.

Take it away Peter Grant:

"Peter Grant says the funniest thing he ever heard in football was during an old firm game.

Davie Provan was running rings round Alex McDonald. After one of his runs he walked past wee Doddy and says.

'I could keep a beach ball away from you in a phone box.'"

Hat tip to the internet.

Whatever happened to the Blues Brothers?

No triumphalist parades in SW6 and G51 for another season, and the super-rich and their flunkies can rest easy that Monaco won't be littered this coming August with empty buckfast bottles (made by monks), discarded union jack boxer shorts (Made in China) and renditions of not so popular folk classics (made up on the Shankhill Road).

What with it being Chelski, R*ngers and 21st century professional football - with its gaudy commercialism and fast buck mentality - the marketing peeps in the Blue Zone have went with the short term view that though not every trophy cabinet can have silverware, every cloud should have a silver lining and, with that in mind, have already rush released the 2007/2008 season's commemorative mementos represented below.

Depending on which side of the blue bed you get out of every afternoon, you can go for the Dave Weir figurine represented on the left or the Frank Lampard special that is slouching on the right.

The figurines are made out of the shoddiest materials to properly represent the personalities of your modern day footballer, and they are tastefully dressed in funereal black to mark another season of abject footballing failure. As is fitting for a season that has gone up in flames so spectacularly, the clothing that Mini-Dave and Fat-Frank are sporting is made out of 100% polyester because it was felt that that was the most flammable of man-made materials.

The jackets have been fitted with long sleeves to hide the questionable tattoos and, with summer approaching, both players have specially bolted on sunglasses to both hide their deadened eyes and to help them avoid the blinding glare of a world where the sun is permanently shining.

As an added touch, ugly scowls have been scarred onto both players' faces and you'll be pleased to note the manufacturers, with an acute eye to authenticity, have specially moulded their wee plastic hands into angry balled up fists.

The manufacturers want R*ngers and Chelski collectors to be rest assured that there are plans for other players to be featured in the series but the design department are currently experiencing teething difficulties with the John Terry figurine: they can't get it to remain upright in the box.

Glasgow Celtic SPL Champions 2007/08

Too emotionally drained (and physically drenched) to write anything intelligible at the moment. Aberdeen proved me wrong. Thank you. Thank you. THANK YOU, Aberdeen. Celtic were nervous . . . and I'm thinking of renaming Reidski, 'The Nostradamus of New Cross'.

Nice touch with Strachan going up to the winners' podium with a mug of tea in his hand. Only the third Celtic manager in its history to win three titles on the trot. I hope the boo bhoys will take time out to think over that particular stat.

Just as importanly, that air of superiority that R*ngers had previously had with Walter Smith at the helm is now floating down the River Don. It'll still be difficult next season for Celtic but not as dangerous as I once thought.

I still think Riordan should have played a part.

Tommy Burns 1956 -2008

Shocked to wake up this morning to the news that Tommy Burns has died at the criminally young age of 51.

He was a wonderfully elegant midfielder for Celtic for over 15 years, and was unlucky during his time as Celtic's manager in the mid-nineties.

Think back to the 95-96 season. To lose only one league game during the course of the season - including a 31 unbeaten run - but to still lose the title to R*ngers? That must have been a heartbreaker.

But some things in life are just so much more important than football.

Seven Against Phoebes

Quick reprise of the life ambitions list. Not so much a mid-life crisis, as a mid-morning tea break:

Learn to drive. Only so it can afford me the opportunity to lean out of a car window and shout 'FUCK YOU, YOU HUMP' at the top of my voice. Then, and only then, will I be able to say that I'm a proper New Yorker.

Sarah Silverman throws herself at me. Still not happening. Maybe if she lifted the restraining order on me, that might help.

For someone other than myself to laugh at my Aufheben/Mike Leigh joke before I die. It doesn't help that the bastards have yet to release 'High Hopes' on DVD in the States. You can get a copy of 'Career Girls' in the States but you can't get hold of one of Mike Leigh's best ever films. You fucking kidding me?

Abolition of the Wages System. It might help if St Marks Bookshop stocked the Socialist Standard. I must get back to them on that. If they can stock Direct Action, they can stock the Socialist Standard. Who reads Direct Action in New York? Who reads Direct Action full stop?

Stop being so judgemental about anarchists that I meet on my travels. It can't be helped that 9/10 7/10 of them come across as smug, sanctimonious middle-class wankers. (Yep, I attended the NYC Anarchist Bookfair.) Want to cut off the American anarchist movement at the knees? Cut off funding for PhD programmes. It doesn't do me any favours anyway. I come across as the living personification of the SPGB's hostility clause, and I'll get an ulcer before they get any integrity.

Read another novel before the end of the year is out. No, not re-read Ian Rankin, Denise Mina or Gordon Legge, but to actually pick up a book I haven't read before and to get past the first thirty pages. Suggestions please.

For the blog to be linked to in a Guardian Sportsblog 'Joy of Six' post. Result. (Look under the sub-heading about Celtic snatching the title from Hearts in 85/86. The link is the mention of the Albert Kidd and Billy Connolly anecdote.) My cheeks are moist; my sitemeter is doing a work out and I'm embarrassed that individuals other than my immediate family, Reidski and someone in Mountain View, California has caught sight of my sawdust prose.

Now, when is Sarah Silverman back in New York again?

What would Terry and Bob do? (this time)

Bastards. The horn of a dilemma.

Celtic are scheduled to lose to R*ngers tomorrow morning, thus losing the SPL title in all but name, and I was contemplating making the trip through to Manhattan to experience the misery first hand via a Setanta big screen.

But now I've discovered that the Fox Soccer Channel have plans to replay the game in its entirety on Sunday evening 7pm (ET). Could I really go 30 hours without knowing the result? Do I really want to put myself through that much potential pain, when the real pain with regards to Celtic is watching them fuck it up live via satellite?

On the other hand, do I really want to have the same experience as last time of some Irish bloke screaming in my ear for about hour about what a shower of orange c*nts the Rangers players are? (Trust me, it loses it comedic charm after about 37 minutes.)

I need to think about this one.

Full Time Sour Lemon Slice

Whistle blown on the telly on a game that, in reality, finished a few hours ago.

Fair play to Scotland on a respectable result. The Croats were a class act despite the bad weather conditions and don't let the matter of them turning over the 'Trevors' home and away in the Euro qualifying campaign detract from the fact that they are an excellent team. (Even the Arsenals and Man Utds of this world have to dispense with the Derby Countys if they are to win the championship.)

Scotland acquitted themselves well - though I'm not sure why Gordon's getting the plaudits from the journos reporting on the game in various papers - and I liked the fact that there was a bit of a bite to the game. One minor gripe, though, and its less to do with the performance and more to do with tonight's team selection.

There were four Celtic players - Caldwell, McManus, Hartley and Brown - in Scotland's starting line up as opposed to one R*ngers player, Kris Boyd, who came on as a substitute in the 72nd minute. Of the Celtic players, only Brown got substituted and that was in the 66th minute. What's the big deal with that? Well, only that Celtic are playing R*ngers this Saturday at Ibrox in a must win game in the SPL . If they lose, that's bye bye to the title. Doesn't that seem a bit one-sided?

I don't buy into conspiracy theories, whether it be politics or footie, but it seems a bit off when Derby County and Sunderland provide more players on the night than R*ngers. It's not even as if they can use the old excuse of not having any Scottish players at Ibrox. Throw an Irn Bru bottle into their dressing room - please, do it now as a scientific experiment - and you're guaranteed two things: 1) Allan McGregor won't catch it; & 2) It'll hit someone with a Scottish accent and unsightly tattoos. I bet if Hutton was still at R*ngers, he wouldn't have been playing last night.

Has former Scotland manager Smith has played it cute? Or is Strachan just a straight guy with a patriotic streak? Who knows, but I do know that it's the first time I've thought well of McGeady for being a plastic paddy. Five Celtic players in the starting line up would have been taking the piss.

Sorely tempted to make my way through to Manhattan on Saturday morning to Jack Demseys bar so I can witness first hand via Setanta the misery of witnessing Celtic getting gubbed. At least I'll be able to shout and holler my disapproval of Barry Ferguson, Lee McCulloch, Christian Dailly and Allan McGregor for pulling out of Burley's squad.

The case for "Unscientific Socialism"

I was just about to scribble off a post about how I'm tearing my hair out at the thought that Celtic were going to surrender their title to lowly Gretna (saves me penning a similar line when Celtic surrenders its title to R*ngers next Saturday), when MacDonald goes and restores my faith in the power of whinging prayer by scoring a goal.

It takes 43 minutes to score against Gretna? Christ, they're not even on win bonuses. Get it bastard sorted!

The Two Souls of Glasgow

A quote from Lionel Messi from earlier this season:

“It’s incredible,” Messi told the Spanish newspaper, Sport. “Rangers didn’t want to play football. They practised antifootball from the first minute and it’s a shame we couldn’t take victory because we created a good number of chances. We just didn’t put them away. I think that when they come to the Nou Camp everything is going to be very different.

“We need to find a solution for breaking down a team who close down so much, but I don’t believe we will come across many teams who play this way.”

[From the London Times.]

Celtic go down fighting against Barcelona. Yep, they were dominated and the better team won and all that jazz but at least they gave it a go and they'll do the same at the Nou Camp in the return leg. And I did love Red Robbo's stop-start looping header.

And hit tip to the Scottish Patient for correctly predicting the scoreline . . . sort of.