Читать книгу Craig Brown - The Game of My Life - Craig Brown - Страница 7

MY FATHER HAD this strict policy that we should always support our local club. That was no problem to me because I never needed any encouragement at all to be an Accies supporter – I really liked the club and its ground. Of course, if everyone’s father had taken the same view as mine, then clubs like Manchester United, Liverpool, Celtic and Rangers would never have had the widespread following that they all enjoy today. However, it was my father’s policy and both my brothers and I stuck to it.

Throughout my life I had supposed that it was quite a well-known fact that we were Hamilton supporters and so, years later, it came as quite a surprise to receive a sharp letter as a result of a favourable comment I made in support of another club. It came in 1994, when Clyde moved to their new ground in Cumbernauld. I had previously been manager of Clyde for over nine years – although my good friend Alex Smith was currently in charge at this momentous time in the club’s history. I was interviewed about the exciting new era in the story of Clyde and was asked what I thought would be the outcome of their first game in their new stadium. I replied that I hoped there would be a good crowd for such a gala occasion and that Clyde would win their match.

The chairman of Hamilton at that time was George Fulston – later the chairman of Falkirk. Apparently his wife had heard, or was told about, the radio interview, and she wrote to me – and I do believe that it was without George’s knowledge. She stated that, in her opinion, what I had said was deplorable, and how could I expect the support of the Scottish people for the national team if I was showing favouritism to one team or another.

Needless to say, I quickly wrote back to Mrs Fulston – who, incidentally, is a very charming lady – and explained to her that I had been a Hamilton supporter for a long time and had remained so. Having worked at Clyde for so long, as both manager and a director, and with the club moving to a lovely new ground, it should be perfectly understandable to anyone that I would want them to win their opening match. I do hope that she thought my letter was a pleasant one – it was meant to be!

That incident demonstrated to me just how important it is to be careful about your comments to the press – especially when you are in charge of something as important as a national team. I always tried to make my comments constructive, unbiased and objective – but there is rarely any response when people are in agreement with you. It is only when you say something that strays beyond your own confines that people seem to take umbrage if your comments don’t support their own particular viewpoint.

I must point out that I have remained on good terms with both Mr and Mrs Fulston – and I certainly have nothing but respect and admiration for George Fulston’s tireless efforts for Hamilton and Falkirk.

I see that I have digressed yet again, but it seems that the present is always tied up with attitudes and events from the past.

As my years advanced into double figures, the two big loves of my life, namely football and golf, had grown even closer to my heart. When I was eleven years of age I was finally unleashed into the world of golf – and I really took to the game. I played at Hamilton Golf Club and steadily improved until I had a handicap of four – while I was still at school. I was runner-up in the Lanarkshire Boys’ Championship and reached the last eight in the Scottish Boys’ Championship, as well as playing for the West of Scotland boys’ team.

There never seemed to be any question that I would pursue a career in golf, but I have to say that even though I was very enthusiastic, I was not quite good enough. However, my love of golf continued to develop and has endured to this day. In fact, golf proved to be a very useful tool to me on a number of occasions during my playing days. Although successive knee operations have taken their toll on the number of times I can play without the discomfort of fluid in my knees.

At around the same time, I played my earliest competitive games with St John’s primary school, where one of my teachers was Curly Thompson. Naturally enough, he was called ‘Curly’ because he was completely bald. Another of my teachers was Bob Roan, who was in charge of the football team at St John’s.

It was Bob Roan who also had the unenviable job of taking us for swimming. He had developed his own technique for teaching youngsters how to swim. Once you had learned how to ‘sprachle’ – a Scottish term for getting about in the water at the shallow end without drowning yourself or anyone near you – Bob would take you to the deep end and order you in, sometimes with the assistance of a discreet push. Naturally you didn’t argue, and the primitive urge to live took over. Your innate sense of survival helped you to sprachle your way from one side to the other – or even back to the shallow end. Either way, when you finally clung breathlessly to the side of the pool – after what seemed like a battle across the Bay of Biscay – Bob would be there, smiling down at you. ‘There you are, son, I told you that you could swim!’ He was absolutely right, of course – you were still alive to prove his point! To be fair, I never heard of any fatalities as a result of his ‘scientific’ approach to the art of swimming, and we were all able to swim shortly after becoming his pupils.

Swimming was very popular in Hamilton because we had such good facilities. The town was also very proud of Eleanor Gordon, who had won countless national and international breaststroke championships. She was a very famous swimmer, and her exploits inspired many youngsters throughout Scotland, especially in her home town of Hamilton, where the baths were one of the most popular venues for young and old alike.

So you see I enjoyed my golf and I enjoyed my swimming, but it was football that was the most important to me. If ever I had to choose from among the sports, football would always be the winner.

As I grew up, I played in all the Hamilton Academy school football teams. We had a variety of coaches, who were also teachers. I recall Cliff Bruce, science teacher; Alf McCracken, our English teacher; Eddie Young, also an English teacher who was keener on rugby but was, nevertheless, a good football coach; and the principal teacher of PE, Willie Liddell. Mr Liddell encouraged all sports at the school and, certainly, football was no exception.

I played constantly throughout my school years and took part in trials for the Scottish Under-15 team, which was a great experience even though it was unsuccessful. Joe Baker was also around at the time and was centre-forward in the Under-15 team. It would have been great for me if I could have joined him, but it was not to be. I was disappointed, but I have always considered that disappointments only put you down for as long as you let them. If you use them as a springboard to better times ahead, then they become much more bearable.

A couple of years later I was offered a trial for the Scotland Schools Under-18 team. There were some excellent players in the squad. The goalkeeper was Fred Renucci, who went to Partick Thistle. We had Phil Lynch, who went to Celtic, and Davie Hilley, who went to Third Lanark and then on to Newcastle. He still writes a column for the Sunday Post. We also had Sandy Turpie, who played for Queen’s Park, Brian McIlroy, who went to Rangers and then Kilmarnock, and Hugh Brown, who also went to Kilmarnock. But probably the most famous of that particular squad was Billy McNeill, who went on to become the first British captain to hold aloft the European Cup when he led Celtic to their historic triumph in 1967.

To my immense delight I found myself selected to be among these guys, and I played for my country at the age of seventeen. We scored a memorable 3–0 victory over England at Celtic Park. It was a tremendous experience for me – quite awesome to be walking out at Celtic Park, and very emotional too to be wearing the shirt of my country. I think I must have had a reasonable game because I kept my place in the squad. As you might imagine, my family were nearly as thrilled as I was about the whole thing.

While I was at school I was also playing for one of the very best amateur teams in the country. Willie Waddell, the former Rangers player, was manager of Kilmarnock at the time, and he had a firm belief in youth development for football clubs. To this end Kilmarnock Amateurs were formed, and this was the team that I played for – one of the strongest sides in Scotland at that time. There was probably only one team to rival us at the time – and that was Drumchapel Amateurs. There were certainly some epic matches between us.

I used to go down to Kilmarnock for training. It was about an hour’s journey from Hamilton and, of course, it was an invaluable experience to be training there. I was also invited to train at Celtic Park, and I went along with Billy McNeill. The coach of the Celtic youth players at that time was the late, great, legendary Jock Stein – who was then in the early stages of his management and coaching career. He was something of a father-figure even then, as he took a personal interest in each one of his charges and coached them as individuals. Jock also had an amazing memory and, from our very first meeting, he remembered everything about me. Even when I hadn’t seen him for ages he still remembered that our first encounter had been when I was a young hopeful visiting Celtic Park for the first time.

The manager at Celtic Park in those days was Jimmy McGrory, but he didn’t offer terms to either Billy or me – which turned out to be quite ironic, really, when you consider how great a name Billy was to become at Celtic. As it happened, they later had a change of heart and did offer to sign him. As for me – well, I was pretty confident in my ability and I lived in the expectation of some club offering me a career in the game. I was hopeful, and I was informed repeatedly that this or that club had phoned my father to establish my availability. However, my father liked to keep my feet on the ground and didn’t tell me of the enquiries.

Not long after running into the Celtic cul-de-sac I was back in the Scotland Schools Under-18 side. One of my teammates was to go on and make himself very famous indeed. He was Alex Ferguson, who was then playing for Govan High School and was an extremely good attacking player. We were to play against England again, this time at Dulwich Hamlet, the home of one of England’s most famous amateur clubs. Jim Cruikshank was our goalkeeper and he went on to play for Hearts and Scotland as a senior. We lost the game 4–3 as it happened, but it could have gone either way, and there was the special memory for me of scoring from the penalty spot.

To be really honest I was playing far too much football, what with school matches, Kilmarnock Amateurs, training with the big clubs and the internationals too. It was a lesson to me that you can have too much of a good thing. I don’t think it was good for me to have so many physical demands placed on my body. I believe that the same thing applies today. A boy who is still developing physically should not have his body overtaxed by the rigours of too much competitive football. No, I’m not one of those people who say that the competition should be taken out of youth football – I think that competition is very necessary – but you should keep a balance. Sadly, I feel that little has changed over the years, and that many of today’s youngsters are often overworked with competitive games.

I eventually joined Rangers at the age of seventeen. The newspaper headline at the time read ‘Rangers sign the boy they all wanted’. It was a fact that there were quite a few clubs in the frame for me.

Rangers did not have a youth team as such, but would farm out youngsters to clubs in the Scottish junior leagues where they could gain some experience against semi-professionals. I was sent to Coltness United and was at the same level as Billy McNeill, who was playing for Blantyre Victoria. Our careers seemed to be moving in parallel – if anything I had the edge because I was also later picked for the Scottish Junior squad.

At this time, in 1958, I was concentrating on playing football and golf, and I didn’t really know much about what else was going on. My father did all my talking for me, and he often neglected to tell me everything because he didn’t want me distracted from developing my game. Had I known that there were clubs on both sides of the border chasing after me, it could well have gone to my head.

In the Daily Mirror of 15 July 1958, Jimmy Stevenson wrote:

‘The future of a teenage Scot who has been the rage of soccer scouts for a year was settled yesterday. Craig Brown signed for Rangers.’ He also quoted Bob Jackson, a top scout and former Portsmouth manager, as saying: ‘Whoever gets the lad gets the best proposition I’ve seen in years.’

My father was well respected in the sports world because of his rise through the academic world and because he talked a lot of sense. He had helped and guided me since childhood, and I had no reason to think that he would not be the best person to act as my personal guide through the rest of my career. I listened to what everyone had to say, but it was my father’s words that really counted. As he told the Evening Citizen a month after I had joined Rangers, ‘Craig has been brought up in an atmosphere of football. He has played in the garden with a ball at his feet since he could toddle.’

I continued to play in the garden with a ball at my feet – and on my head as well. I knew that there was always room for improvement and, even though I was training and playing matches all the time, I still wanted to put in extra work at home. One of my exercises was to take the dining-room chairs out into the garden and line them up as obstacles, then I would slalom my way through them with the ball at my feet and repeat the exercise whilst heading the ball.

I continued my studies at Hamilton Academy and quite fancied my chances of gaining a BSc degree in engineering when I left school. At 5 feet 7½ inches and 10 stone 2 pounds, I also wanted to build myself up a bit, and so I began to do some labouring work as a steel bender’s labourer at Costain Concrete works in Newmains. I was probably burning the candle at both ends, but not in the same way that many youngsters do today. All my activities were to do with my career. My efforts finally gained me a ticking-off! The Rangers manager, Scot Symon, called me to one side and cautioned me against doing too much. I was playing three times a week and training at least once every day.

‘You need to take it a little easier. There’s such a thing as overdoing it – even in football,’ said Mr Symon. He did have a twinkle in his eye as he said it and so I knew that I wasn’t really being told off but was being offered some genuine advice. It was a valuable lesson – and it is one that I pass on to youngsters today if I feel that it is appropriate. When the newspapers heard of my ‘ticking-off’ they immediately began drawing parallels with Pelé, who had been told exactly the same thing by his national coach. Pelé was big news at the time because of the 1958 World Cup, and I was honoured to be considered worthy of being mentioned in the same breath. I didn’t take the comparison too seriously, though – I was already learning that you should have a pinch of salt with your newspaper, even without the fish and chips inside!

As things progressed I was selected for the Scottish Junior squad to play against the Irish Junior side – which was quite an achievement for a youngster of my age. One of my proudest possessions is the cap I earned for that match. I keep it at my house and always get a thrill when I look at it.

When I went to Ibrox I found myself amongst players I had only ever heard of. They were big stars and I was quite overawed to be mixing with them – players like Eric Caldow, the late Alex Scott, Bobby Shearer, Ralph Brand, Jimmy Millar, Billy Stevenson, and the other heroes of Glasgow Rangers. These men were like gods to the fans, and to me. They were people whom I had read about and talked about – but never, ever contemplated as becoming my teammates.

After a year with Coltness I was called up to Ibrox as a full-timer. My studies for my BSc were shelved and I was ready to see what the journey on the magic carpet of football was going to be like. I was put into the reserve squad – and even there I was playing alongside great players like Sammy Baird, Johnny Hubbard, Ian McColl, Billy Ritchie, John Queen, John Currie, Max Murray and others. Most were in the twilight of their careers, but they were still great players and big stars nevertheless. The reserves had their own manager, Bob McPhail, who was legendary throughout Scotland as a pre-war international. Assisting Bob was Joe Craven and, between them, they kept a happy and successful squad going strong. It was a very happy time for me because I was wearing the shirt of one of the greatest clubs in the history of the game and learning something from my coaches every day. With all those great players around me I felt that everything was going brilliantly for me. I was playing football all the time and I couldn’t have wished for life to be any better.

At a reserve game between Rangers and Celtic in 1997 there was a crowd of 33,000. In the back end of the 1950s we could expect crowds of 20,000-plus for reserves Old Firm clashes, and almost the same for all the other fixtures. As a result, there was never any disgrace in being listed among the reserves every week.

I was quick to learn that star footballers are only human after all. Sometimes the stars of stage, screen and sport can seem to be a race apart and nothing like the rest of us. However, as I became friendly with the internationals at Ibrox, I found them all easy to get on with. We talked about all the normal things of life – what sort of pet dog this one had, which horse to back at Newmarket, and so on. I was included in all these conversations about everyday matters and soon settled in.

There were, of course, little cliques at Ibrox – as there have always been at every club. Because I lived in Hamilton I fell into the clique of players who lived near me, among them Eric Caldow, Willie Telfer, Doug Baillie, Stan Anderson and Bobby Shearer, the captain. We also used to pick up Davy Wilson on the way in – he stayed in Cambuslang. We all travelled in from Hamilton to train at Ibrox, which brought us together in all sorts of ways.

These were happy days for me at Ibrox with the company I was keeping, my playing progress and my golf. I was also making progress on another front. I’ve already mentioned giving up on my engineering course, but I did switch to taking a PE course at Jordanhill, because it was more in keeping with my footballing career.

There was an odd atmosphere at Jordanhill in those days. There were strict doctrines like never showing that you were injured, never allowing an opponent to know that you were hurt. Trainers were never allowed on to the football pitch to attend the injured. There were no substitutes so you were expected to play on regardless. I’m sure that only broken legs, broken necks or death were regarded as acceptable reasons for not completing the full 90 minutes. That wasn’t the end of the discipline – everything from your boots to the rest of your kit had to be kept scrupulously clean, and it was your responsibility. Everything took place with military precision.

Quite a few professional players were taking courses at Jordanhill at that time. Graham Leggat was one, and he was a fair influence on me. He played for Aberdeen and then Fulham. When I was in my final year at the Hamilton Academy he had arrived there as a student and, of all people, he influenced me the most and made me take a serious look at the possibilities of a PE teaching course. I suppose it was because he was such a wonderful sportsman, a great all-rounder and an excellent gymnast. He excelled at every sport he took part in. He was also in the spotlight because of playing for Aberdeen and Scotland at the time.

There were other professional players at Jordanhill, too. Bobby Clark, a top goalkeeper with Aberdeen and Scotland, Ian Riddell of St Mirren, Roger Hynd, a nephew of the Shanklys who played for Rangers, Doug Houston, who played for Dundee, Dave Hilley of Third Lanark, Frank Coulston and Dick Staite of Partick Thistle, Joe Gilroy of Dundee, Derek Whiteford of Airdrie, and many others, who I hope will forgive me for failing in my struggle to bring their names to mind.

We often had games between the professionals and the top amateur players and these were usually held on a Wednesday on one of those red-ash pitches that were prevalent in Scotland at the time. They were tough matches, and very often my direct opponent was a young man by the name of Archie MacPherson, who later became a top commentator with the BBC. I found him a difficult opponent. He was a very fast winger who was very clever with the ball and, quite unashamedly, I used to have a kick at him to try to slow him down a bit. I saved some of my hardest tackles for Archie.

My PE course was to last three years. It was very thorough and rigorous. For instance, three times a week we went to Cranstonhill baths and started our day with swimming instruction in cold water – and I do mean cold water! We went up and down that pool until we were too exhausted to notice just how cold it was. In those days my Ibrox training happened during the evenings and, even though I was working so hard at my PE course, I was still able to drag one leg after the other. When I think back, I must have been pretty fit in those days! The Ibrox training was hard enough in itself. Our fitness trainer was Davie Kinnear, a military-type gentleman who was very strict and had us running round the track wearing spikes to maximise our ability. He was quite a taskmaster but he did have a sense of humour. I remember once when Johnny Hubbard broke away and ran up into the terraces. ‘What are you doing up there?’ asked Davie Kinnear.

‘I’ve come to collect some of Sammy Baird’s long passes,’ replied Johnny.

We all held our breath, waiting for the explosion we were sure would follow. It didn’t come. The trainer just burst into laughter. So, we had some fun as well as our hard work. Ibrox then was a really happy environment.

Johnny Hubbard, or ‘Hubby’ as he was predictably called, still does a wonderful job coaching youngsters in Prestwick and Ayr and his acute sense of humour prevails. I recall when, yet again, he was accusing his inside forward, Sammy Baird, of being a selfish player. After a match against Aberdeen he said to Sammy in his distinctive South African accent: ‘Sam, there were 58,742 spectators out there today!’

Sammy replied, ‘How the hell do you know that, wee man?’

‘Because I was counting them when you were on the ball, you greedy b…!’

However, I did have one problem at Ibrox. My best position was that of left half – or left midfield as it is now called. It was a position in which there were some very good players, and I always make a joke and say that I was third choice. The first choice was an amputee and the second one was a Catholic!

On that subject I have to say that I always found the religious differences that surrounded Rangers and Celtic to be despicable. It isn’t so bad these days with both clubs playing down that factor in their Glasgow coexistence. In the past it was a different story, with the religious divide being quite a serious problem. Yet it never seemed to be a problem in the dressing room. The players of both clubs have always mixed well socially and, when called up for their country, the subject never seemed to be on the agenda. It appears to be something that has been carried through the generations by the supporters. I never heard anything about religious differences in the Rangers dressing room, and I’m sure it was the same in the Celtic camp.

The Old Firm games were a cauldron of hate – much more than I realised in the innocence of my teenage years. I used to have an umbrella that could have been mistaken for a white-and-blue design – although it wasn’t. In fact it was a Bank of Scotland umbrella. I was a young player at Ibrox at the time and was using the umbrella in the rain when I was accosted by a couple of Celtic fans who told me what to do with my umbrella … ‘or else!’ It came as quite a shock to me. I had always looked at the rivalry as a natural condition between two clubs in the same city. I had never realised that there were greater undercurrents than just seeing who was top dog in Glasgow football. I soon learned that it was better not to identify yourself with one club or the other when you were out and about in Glasgow – it was safer that way. As I’ve said, there was no such animosity between players and my friendship with Billy McNeill continued even though we were in opposing clubs. Our friendship prevailed and still does to this day.

As Scotland manager I was sometimes accused of favouritism towards one or other of the two Glasgow giants. It was a ridiculous charge, of course. In the summer of 1997, my brother Jock became general manager of Celtic, and that caused more than a little consternation because it was suggested that he was a Rangers fan. He has never been a Rangers fan. I can assure you that he, and the rest of the family, have always been Hamilton fans. There is hardly a day that goes by without some rumour or other getting started in the football world. Most of them are very wide of the mark.

Both my brothers are smashing guys, really decent chaps, and although both are well qualified academically this is never apparent in their attitude or speech in their dealings with other people.

My middle brother, Bob, is a Church of Scotland minister in Queen’s Cross Church in Aberdeen. He has an MA degree from St Andrew’s University which involved four years of study, a Bachelor of Divinity from Glasgow University which required three years of study, and a Master of Theology degree from Duke University in North Carolina. Bob was, in fact, a student for eight years, during which time he took various jobs to supplement his income. He was always committed to joining the ministry.

People who know that my brother is a minister often say to me that I must be a devout person also. However, if my brother were in Barlinnie Prison, that wouldn’t make me a criminal. That is probably a very flippant remark because, while I don’t consider myself to be a devout person in the extreme sense, I like to think that I have a degree of faith, although I can never aspire to the tremendously strong Christian beliefs that my brother Bob has.

My other brother, Jock, also has great academic qualifications, and he must be a really clever guy because I never ever saw him study. He left school in Hamilton and went straight to Cambridge University where he gained his MA degree in law. That, of course, was English law and, when he returned to Scotland, he had to sit the Law Society of Scotland exams to be qualified to practise law in Scotland. After gaining dual qualification he went on to embark on a very successful legal career. While at Cambridge he captained the university soccer team and, unlike me, he has played at Wembley three times in the annual varsity fixture against Oxford. He acquitted himself very well as a rugged, dirty centre-half playing in a high standard of game for Cambridge.

While he was general manager of Celtic, I hardly ever saw or heard from him. He spent much of his first period there travelling abroad to meet players and set up transfer arrangements recommended by the Celtic coach, Wim Jansen. So, although Jock and I get on very well, our contact was greatly reduced because of his all-embracing club commitments.

When the job was first mooted he asked for my opinion. I, rather selfishly, said: ‘I don’t think you should take that job because I get enough abuse when I go to Rangers as it is, and if my brother is at Celtic it is only going to get worse. No doubt the abuse I get at Celtic will increase as well if the team is not doing too well. Please stay out of it. Stick with your legal world and your role as BBC football commentator.’ He was the top man for BBC Scotland, after all.

The next day I phoned him again and changed my tune.

‘I’ve phoned because my reply to you yesterday was very selfish. I was thinking of how it would affect me, but I never gave a thought to how you felt about it. I should be strong enough to take whatever comes and I’m sure I can handle any comments that come my way. So, if the job appeals to you, go for it, don’t worry about me.’

Jock admitted that I had put him off but then told me that he felt that at this stage in his career a new challenge would be rejuvenating for him. Not long after our phone conversation he contacted Celtic and accepted their offer. Although Jock is no longer in that post his regard for Celtic FC remains undiminished and he will not hear a word against his former employers.

I think the press and the public have grown to realise that there was no reciprocal influence whatsoever, any more than there was when he had to interview me for the BBC once in his capacity as a football commentator.

Those are my brothers and, of course, I’m very proud of both of them.

All this was still a long way off for a young Rangers player and third choice for the left half position at Ibrox. Billy Stevenson was first choice for my position and Stan Anderson, my old friend, was second. Then, after I had been at Ibrox for about eighteen months, Rangers signed another player with whom I had to compete for the No. 6 shirt. He was to become the most famous of them all, but he certainly didn’t look like the part when he and I first shook hands. Anyone who remembers his first day at Ibrox will tell you that he was a very nervous young man. When he and I said hello, little did I know that I was meeting a legend in the making – the one and only Jim Baxter.