Donald C Stewart – FOOTBALL BOOK REVIEWS (FBR)

Book Review – Scotland 42 England 1: An Englishman’s Mazy Dribble Through Scottish Football by Mark Winter

I once went to see a show at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe – where else would you get this quality of entertainment, nobody ever asked ever – where a guy told us the tale of how he got his Guinness World Record back – for managing to visit all of the London Underground stations in the shortest time. He spared us many of the gory details, but I was reminded obliquely of this when I started reading Scotland 42, England 1 by Mark Winter. Doing the 42, is a test which many have undertaken that means you must visit all 42 grounds in the Scottish Professional Football League. Having read this, it requires less gory detail and much patience – and some degree of financial investment. That would be true if you were living in Scotland when attempting it but Mark lives and works in Dover! No wonder it took him eight years – though he did manage to fit a wee pandemic in, in the middle of it. So fair play.

But this was never about setting any kind of record. This was never about trying to write a travelogue which would illuminate and demonstrate the beauty of 11 v 11, the tactics employed between the UEFA finalists and the playoff hopefuls. This was about something else. Sheer joy. Of the game. Of the pursuit of it. And of the people around it.

And here it is an absolute winner.

I will admit when I first got this, I delved into when Mark visited my team, my home ground to find out what I was doing at the time – in the MacDonald’s in Whitletts Road, Ayr, with my youngest daughter, an ardent Rangers fan, whilst my team was being humped by them 6-1! I was also interested to see if we had shared the same grounds on the same day when I had been at the same games reporting for Kicktalk – the Accies and the Morton games, I think. Once satisfied with trivia, I delved into this to spot some more and feel the depth of love Mark has for the subject matter. The whole book is just one long volume of pleasure from one chapter to the next.

Mark’s style of his writing, self-deprecating and never taking himself too seriously which, chimes with ordinary football fans – those who do not turn up at grounds with mortgage level fees for season tickets and where the corporate are treasured more than the individuals who pass a scarf from one generation to another.

So, a guy who supports “the other” DAFC – Dover Athletic – decides to visit all the grounds in Scotland whilst working to make ends meet. The project brings him into contact with many a “character” – from the guy who shows him the greatest view in football, in the centre circle of Dumbarton FC’s ground, to the officious official who would not take cash to let him see a Colts team, to a groundsman in Cliftonhill who advised of much and many. There are also the fans who, like Mark, are there for their love of a game that is both a cruel mistress and a proper harlot.

And so, aside from the people who he met, and the grounds he tried and eventually got to see – Stirling Albion – this reads like more than a travelogue. The games are described but once you realise that the affection for the game comes from the event itself, you get to understand what having visits to Elgin and Stranraer mean and why Cove Bay disappoints as it has nothing of the expected exotic about it.

Mark is able to contextualise the place each ground has in each of the towns, and why that matters. We get much detail of the quality of the fare for eating and drinking which make a difference. There are descriptions of the hostels stayed in, the B&Bs enjoyed as our man who worked in a school manages to get to 42 grounds in 57 chapters – whatever he was working in a school for, it may not have been for maths – and we marvel not just at the dedication, but the number of times someone he knows from Dover turns up at grounds in the middle of Scotland he has visited – has Dover nothing to keep them back? Though it must be said that the story of Tom Donnelly (exported to Dover from Cowdenbeath) is worthy of further investigation.

There are many highlights, notwithstanding how to deal with Jehovah’s Witnesses in Elgin, the closest thing to a vegetarian option in a Falkirk chippy being a white pudding, a pointless answer around a railway station in Coatbridge, the pathos of being, in Pathos (apologies) when finding out that Hibs had been relegated, the affection for them and Hearts, in a city where he loved spending time whilst witnessing the cut and thrust of Scottish football including Conor McGrandles’ double leg break.

Considering that there are times when we get insight into Mark having been to see a friendly between Fiorentina and Chelsea, when he supports neither, this has an air of being appreciative of the game and what is around it. Mark is a great raconteur, with great literary wit, a gregarious sort who can strike up a chat and a friendship over a beer – or several. Now retired, at least by the end of the book, this is a worthy addition to the pantheon of Scottish football books – why – because he sees ourselves as others see us. Scots often need outsiders to point out the bleeding obvious and in this tourists’ guide to going to football grounds, this has a very effective host in the driver’s seat. We should all shout shotgun and strap in for the ride.

Donald C Stewart

(Publisher: Pitch Publishing Ltd. January 2023. Paperback: 320 pages)

Buy the book here: Scotland 42 England 1

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Book Review – Bring Me the Sports Jacket of Arthur Montford: An Adventure Through Scottish Football by Aidan Smith

Over 46 chapters, journalist Aidan Smith, once a fanatic programme collector, then a dangerous obsessive, who is now under control without a restraining order, takes us through the wonderment of Scottish football in an episodic wandering of the mind which enriches the spirit. As a book it can be dipped in and out of so that you find that which attracts you most – any headline mention of MY team – and that which intrigues you more – anecdotes from a time you remember…

But this is far more than just a few wee stories flung together because the author is a seven-times winner in the Scottish Press Awards – though nobody says of what, could have been the raffle – but Smith cannot help himself from doing the research – though Davie Robb and the Princess of Monaco is still a startling mystery.

This is where I got particularly hooked on it. I was captured by the breadth, but Smith has also got the depth. This has anecdotes which include recent catch ups and informal interviews with people whose names I recognise as well as reports and stories of names I probably forgot but of whom I am happy to be reminded. It took me from the obscure like how former Ranger (Johannesburg) and Partick Thistle trialist (just the once, but once…) Bill Martin (who wrote the 1970 England World Cup anthem despite being from Govan – he also penned Puppet on a String for the Eurovision) got to the 1974 World Cup courtesy of Rod Stewart to the well-known like Archie Gemmill and that goal… Equally these have the authenticity of recent discussions Smith has had with both Martin and Gemmill: it makes the stories that bit better.

Smith writes with a distinctive flair – that he has not fallen over as his tongue is so embedded in his cheek, he must be lopsided when he walks is miraculous– and with that he manages to retain a lightness of touch throughout. His approach is to take some of the mysteries or weel kent myths and re-examine it to give us something more and so I am reminded of the wait for the results on a Saturday at five to five, which was never crackerjack, how Rick Wakeman ended up at Meadowbank, why some traffic wardens in the central belt asked Dougie Donnelly to move his terms of reference to Alloa, which Rangers (non-South African) player read War and Peace, why 11 Danes ended up in Greenock, how a nine goal fashionista ended up in the States whilst a nine goal embarrassed international goalie ended up acting in Australia, as well as the infamous Gullane Dunes, though I was unaware of their connection to Hearts!

It is a book filled with characters not least the author himself, who impressed with his chat up line which snared him his wife, as well as characters of the game like Haldane Y. Stewart, Tony Green and that man Montford himself. The title is a nod to the fact that of the two stalwarts of Scottish television, Montford always had the air of a bank manager giving you good news – even when it was a 4-0 drubbing. The other stalwart, Archie MacPherson, always seemed on the lookout for a goalmouth stramash or something to tie his hair down with in a wind; he was less authoritative, but equally distinctive.

As a smorgasbord it adds so much, and this makes the read that much better. If you are looking for a serious tome that delves into the reason why VAR should be challenged or how the offside rule has changed over the years, you are looking at the wrong book. But if you fancy an irreverent dribble through the stories of another time, down the wing of a fact that has been kept secret but is well known, watch cheeky keepie-uppies in front of World Cup holders whilst reliving the dream that turned into your own Argentina or the metaphorical goal through the legs of an English keeper – read on MacScruff….

But what I yearn for now is that book about Hibs … shouldn’t take as long as this one did, should it?

Donald C Stewart

(Publisher: Arena Sport. November 2022. Hardcover: 208 pages)

Buy the book here: Bring Me the Sports Jacket

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Book Review: A Life Well Red – A memoir edged in black – a true story of family, friends & football, of joy and tragedy by Les Jackson

I confess that I dived straight into this without reading any of the back page. I began to read about a time forgotten but well remembered, a written biography of an ordinary fan, in an ordinary life. It’s all about the value of family, growing up and the attraction that football holds for its community. It felt comfortable and comforting, but after a while I had to ask myself why someone would write this, and a publishing house would publish it, so I consulted the chapter headings.

A single chapter with a single date.

As sense of fear and foreboding dwelled. But it was a Liverpool fan and there are two dates which resonate. Neither chimed with the date in the book. And then I read the back page and discovered why it had been written.

Tom Jackson, Les and San’s eldest boy was murdered in Australia. A red through and through from a red family, this is the story of where he came from and how the sport of football gave him and his family memories that have sustained them and helped others to get through a tragedy that is truly heart-breaking.

I have read better written tales and I have abandoned worst misery memoirs, but by the end of this I knew a Tom who was full of life, dedicated to his club and who was passionately remembered and missed by a loving family. As an emotional tribute from a father, this was clearly – job done.

Though the pandemic gave Les an opportunity to write it, and the reason for putting fingers on keys is tragic, it is not without humour. There are many moments of light relief and when I noted the key to a potential trivia question, no spoilers here, I am using it, I realised not that this was someone who had got over their tragedy, but who had found perspective and was now sharing it. So let me, in that spirit pose another. Which footballing legend was present at three of the biggest tragedies in British football and what were their roles at each? Heysel, Ibrox and Hillsborough. (Answer at the end.)

As a Scot, your relationship with English football can be based upon quite arbitrary decisions. I followed Liverpool for a variety of reasons in the eighties. Firstly, as an Ayrshire man, I was made aware of the Glenbuck man who had revolutionized the fortunes of a second division team he then led to league glory. I still pass both the turn off to the village and the new colourful memorial in Muirkirk to Bill Shankly on a regular basis. Secondly, having watched with awe the development of a young lad from Troon who was clearly destined for bigger things, my interest peaked when we sold Stevie Nicol for a then club record of £300,000 to Liverpool. I was also not too keen on Brian Clough at the time so whilst most of my mates liked Nottingham Forest, I couldn’t stand them.

But such an affinity takes you so far. Having begun the book with a curiosity, where it works best for me is the personal story. I became embroiled, not just in the way in which the football team was followed but the effect it had upon Les and his family. I get the walk round the houses rather than sit and listen to the game on the radio – though I still listen, I get the desire not to miss out on the big games, the, often, ridiculous ways in which you try and make sure you can be where you need to be to hear and see what you want to hear and see too.

Les adds colour to the bigger occasions by the peculiar and personal recollections of what a young child will do to an icing set, John Manning, his arch nemesis at chess, Mr. Matson, the teacher who introduced him to the game, the reason Tim would have been a suitable nickname growing up and the closeness of a club where you could end up in a kickabout with a player – even if he was a blue. It is telling the tale of a time long forgotten by some but treasured by a generation and whilst it is pleasing to read of the years attending a uniformed organization – the Boys Brigade – which does not include any scandal, it serves as more than a piece of social history with which to bore the grandkids. It also reminds us of why the game has such and enduring relationship to us – it mattered, because it was what dominated our lives. It seeped into us not just because there were few alternatives, but because it was there – close to us and accessible.

There are times when the story resonates more – his first match saw Leicester City with Peter Shilton in goal – as was mine, questionable fashion choices around a time when the bombshell of Shankly retiring whilst mine was when Ally MacLeod went to take on Scotland, discovering your child – in his case, Tom – had a potentially dangerous ailment, dermatomyositis – different ailment, same trauma for me, and the Orange Lodge Days which for us in the West Coast of Scotland have an altogether more fiery outcome and significance. But you don’t need to be “of a certain age” to understand or enjoy this. People are coloured in, and the issues are widened out for you to understand. In short, you are taken on a journey where all becomes clear as you are travelling and not awaiting a major reveal at the end of it all.

The Hillsborough section caught my attention most. Les was there, and as he acknowledges there are plenty of other legacy tales which cover the pain and tragedies which unfolded. Justice for the 97 is well served but, as someone who follows English football avidly, the chapter on Hillsborough gave vital context. Why the ground was used, what other semi-finals had been there and why it had become a significant chapter in the book of any year was exactly what has been missing for many football fans. I got it.

It underlined why the personal stories were so important. What happened can only be understood in the context of what was lost. Not the memories but the expectations that those memories built. You may always have Istanbul, but you knew there was always the opportunity for another one. With new members of the family arriving, there shall be new memories, different and equally valued. But different.

As the story weaves through finding San, his soulmate and Tom’s mum, jobs in various parts of the country the significance of a central part of your life – Anfield becomes increasingly important. It not only centres your week, it holds your entire focus. If all else fails, you can go and collect cups in May…

It is therefore the success that eluded Liverpool which becomes important as much as the success they had. This is a story which is framed around a club but also informs the narrative. If you are expecting a story that takes you season by season, game by game, this is not it. The totality of the effect of the seasons is measured personally and as Dan arrives and Liverpool progress it allows the Disneyland Paris trip, the Barcelona visit and European excursions become about the core reason for writing this – the family.

That family is constantly extended, not just by the inclusion of new close family members but by colleagues and acquaintances who may be able to barbecue better than Les as well as provide the type of support which you wish never to have to rely on but are immensely grateful when it is there.

And then I arrived at the chapter.

23^rd of August 2016.

Tom had gone to experience Australia and when there was staying in a hostel. One night he went to the aid of a young woman being attacked. The attacker turned on Tom and of the three, only one survived. It was neither victim of the attacker.

From the message received that he was in hospital, that supportive cast of characters kicked in. Les went to Australia, and after a period of time, brought Tom home. I cannot do justice to the expression of pain dripping from each page nor to the pride felt when Tom was recognised by friends, governments and former schools. There are too many clichés to be avoided over what a parent should expect regarding their children, but here there is genuine emotion well expressed. That the book, near the end talks of how the attacker has now been released and may be walking free back in his home country of France does not send Les into apoplexy but his understated angst. Is. Completely. Clear.

The ending of the book manages the positive and when Les is pontificating on the game, the passion has continued but it does not quite work as well. Les is hobby horsing a bit. I can forgive that. You could forgive much, but to do so would be to treat this as a sympathy review of a piece of work that has true meaning. It’s well written and it tells the tale well. I am glad I got to read it in the end. You should make the effort to do so too.

And as for the trivial question – Sir Kenny Dalglish, Rangers supporter at Ibrox, Liverpool player at Heysel and Liverpool manager at Hillsborough. Small world, right enough…

Donald C Stewart

(Publisher: Independently published. March 2021. Paperback: 296 pages)

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Book Review – We Made Them Angry by Tom Brogan

“These supporters can win you the game. When I hear them, the hairs on my neck stand up. They must be the best in the world. It makes me want to finish my career back in Britain. But Scotland will have to play with the passion they showed against us in Mendoza four years ago.”

Jonny Rep, who scored against Scotland in the 1978 World Cup, putting us out of it, prior to the final game for Scotland against Russia in the 1982 World Cup.

When I went to university, my first encounter with my History Professor was just after he had published his new book on World War One. When asked about the reviews that he should expect he told us these mattered little as most of his contemporaries would not read the book, just look at the bibliography and sources he quoted. From there they should be able to work out what he thought and his opinion of the principal facts; all of which were not in doubt.

At the time, it appeared odd.

Reading We Made Them Angry by Tom Brogan reminded me precisely of that discussion. Of all the books you will ever read, I would challenge you to find one that is as well researched and documented as this. There are not just references made to player’s biographies but also to obscure matchday programmes, interviews, many of which are long forgotten and a bibliography which includes periodicals, websites and scholarly tomes.

It is all in aid of telling a tale of World Cup redemption under the leadership of arguably the best manager Scotland ever produced, Jock Stein. It is of a campaign sunk in the midst of more noticeable and argued over World Cup Group failures – ’74 when we never lost, ‘78 when we lost our dignity, ’86 when we lost our leader, and ‘90 when we last graced the competition, and thus thereafter lost our place on its stage.

1982 was the year of two headlines – a toe poke and a collision. Both with connotations of violence which the Scottish Football Association were nervous about fans displaying under the Spanish sunshine whilst on the terraces, but we were undone by both, ironically, not in the stands but on the field of play.

Brogan has much to say about both, but to his credit they do not dominate the tale he tells. He begins at 7am on Wednesday the 14^th of October 1981, in Belfast. It is the culmination of the campaign to get to the World Cup in Spain; we are one game away. It is symbolic. Not just that this was a game being played by the Scottish national team in Northern Ireland for the first time since 1972 but as a Scotland fan, it is always games close to the wire which hold significance. We are past masters at taking the entire process and holding it on a knife edge prior to destroying ourselves; at least that has been the majority of our experiences…. 1982 was little different.

To be reminded of the fact that we were in the midst of five World Cup Finals in a row, rather than it being a painful memory, stirs the blood and I have fond memories of the processes of getting to World Cups which, unlike now, were expected to be successful. I have not often agreed with Graeme Souness, but here I can wholeheartedly, insofar as these were our World Cups, the process of qualifying. Brogan is highly expansive in the build up and in the detail, he brings to the table.

But it is here where I began to struggle just a little.

Academic treatises tend to have their bibliographies and footnotes but keeping your reader onside needs the yarn told swiftly with pace and flair. The interruptions to tell of each significant player’s background, fascinating to start with, becomes slightly irritating as we progress. Turning some of the reference points into footnotes or refences would not have diminished the authority with which this story is told but enhance the structure with which it is enjoyed.

I don’t know if I really wanted to know as much about the Russian coach as I found out, that Alan Hansen was born in Sauchie or the tartan background of so many of the New Zealand team, but to be fair, it was interesting to read. But it took nothing away from the authenticity of the research. It felt authoritative. It was interesting to note that Alan Hansen turned down a trial with Hibs so he could play a golf tournament or that The Game (a fictional account but a very real emotional rollercoaster of Scottish fans going to Argentina in 1978) was broadcast on STV in opposition to the night of BBC Cup Final Sportscene’s highlights programme or of the machinations in government which could have seen the Scottish team being pulled out of the entire Finals due to the worsening military and political situation in the Southern Hemisphere, but they could have been crafted in a more integrated manner.

That political situation was the Falkland’s War and Brogan quotes from a number of sources over the possibility that the team would have to bow to pressure and not play in a contest where the possibility that they may meet on a field of play, a country fighting them on a field of battle, was very real. In the end opinion swayed all and Scotland went to the Finals. Brogan quotes widely from official documents released in 2012 as well as players like Danny McGrain who reflected that a poll in the Daily Record wanted them to play, Graeme Souness who responded to the news that the Task Force wanted them to play and Kenny Dalglish who seemed unaware of it all! In the end, the government wanted them to go, so go they went. It is interesting to note that this is the equivalent today of asking Ukraine the defenders to withdraw from sport rather than Russia, the aggressors.

The other political back drop of which I was unaware was the Home Internationals and how playing in Belfast had become such an issue. It clearly feels a far more violent time and Brogan does well to draw our attention to the historical detail which some may have called a more naïve period in our collective history but is in reality far more sensitive to the cause of offence than some would admit. Names of the past who had their teeth cut administratively within that context find a voice and Brogan tells it as it was, without much by way of criticism. It is a refreshing feeling that we, as a reader, are given the notion of being able to form our own views.

What I also enjoyed was the detail around how the authorities dealt with the preparations and the scandal of the tickets and Mundiespana, the post competition reflections from the likes of Jim McLean and where there was disappointment and dissension, it was noted and explained. These appealed, as much to my interest in the Scotland team as to my academic prejudices.

Perhaps my favourite part of the entire book, as a proud Scot, is the claim, borne out by Brogan’s meticulous evidence is that 1982 gave birth to a phenomenon which has endured – The Tartan Army. Rather than disgrace themselves in the sun, as some worried would happen, the Scottish supporters excelled. Warm, friendly and in some cases under extreme provocation, given that Argentina was a Spanish speaking country, they behaved and earned the highest of praise. I am sure that there were many who followed the competition who were disappointed that the Scots did not get through. The voices that Brogan brings of the fans who went and saw the glory of their country are very worthy of reading. Of the drinking competitions, the water polo playing by a guy from an estate in Dunfermline or the ways in which they travelled there and came back, derring-do is made de rigueur.

Of course, for Scottish fans two events defined the Finals.

Firstly, when Jimmy Hill called Dave Narey’s goal against Brazil, a toe poke, he meant it as a compliment. Most Scots did not take it as such, and Hill enjoyed notoriety in Scotland from that point onwards. It was not always good natured, however, but the goal led to an alleged conversation, not in the book, where one Scottish player was to say to another, I think we have annoyed them! On the terraces the quote became the title of the book – we made them angry. Having woken them up, the samba perfect Brazil went on to beat us 4-1 in an exhibition of football which was a privilege to watch, and according to the players, quoted in the book, with which it was a privilege to share a pitch.

Then came Willie Miller and Alan Hansen bumping into each other in an attempt for both to clear a Russian attack, which led to Russia scoring. It has become part of our folklore that this was blamed for putting us out of the competition. As Brogan makes very clear, it was a little more complex than that, but a draw was what finished us. The perspective of fans, the manager, pundits and both players add to the understanding Brogan brings to the debacle.

And as the final game drew its veil over our participation, it was indeed a draw, once again that did for us. We should have known. In ’74, all we did was draw, in ’78 the draw with Iran became the headline, ’82 was the draw with Russia, ’86 the draw with Uruguay and then in ’90 all we needed was … a draw. And guess what we did not get…

Despite it being very heavy on the evidence, this is a book which does great service to a World Cup Finals which drew us back into the realm of some dignity. 1978 was not just a tough watch but for someone like me, an Ayr United fan, a tough experience as our greatest ever manager was castigated for one of the greatest footballing disasters which befell any national team. Brogan has the material to dwell on what we were good at, because we were, and this lends authority to the memory of a time when we expected to be at the top table.

Donald C Stewart

(Publisher: Pitch Publishing Ltd. April 2022. Hardcover: 384 pages)

Buy the book here: We Made Them Angry

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Book Review: His Name is McNamara by Jackie McNamara (with Gerard McDade)

“I should have played you more son.”

So said Martin O’Neill after Celtic icon, Jackie McNamara’s testimonial at Celtic Park, and it is a wish that we all had, when he retired from playing. According to his autobiography, it is a sentiment that he wishes the national manager, Craig Brown shared. But of that, more later.

There is perhaps a prejudice about footballers that they are perhaps a little less than bright. Bucking the trend has always been the likes of Pat Nevin, the reluctant footballer, but here we have a man who has faced death and returned to tell the tale whilst combining a career that went from being a cultured player on the park to a much-lauded manager that ended with a curious position as a Chief Executive. Aside from the managerial role, the parallels with Nevin are secure.

His Name is McNamara is a stellar run through the career within football with the backdrop of a collapse at home on the 8^th of February 2020 which shaped his future and weaves throughout the biography. McNamara suffered a brain haemorrhage that day, which saw him hospitalised for a prolonged period of time.

His tale begins with McNamara telling us one thing that, on reflection, we should have known – he is a fighter. Given that he ended up in surgery more than once, it should have been more obvious, but then again, as he explains, he is a middle child. His story takes us from that settled and loving family environment through an apprenticeship, to an icon in a hooped shirt, a Midlands sojourn, a North East swansong, a fledgling managership in Glasgow, a mixed experience beside the Tay and then to be the next English import in lower league football ending with a curious period of time as a Chief Executive. Running throughout is the story of his illness and recovery from the darkest place; it makes for a powerful read.

Throughout he pays special attention to those to whom he owes a debt. For example, there is a touching reference to Sandy Brown, the “someone” who saw his potential and started his progress in the professional ranks. His first club, Dunfermline Athletic then managed by the legendary Big Jim Leishman, now the mayor of Dunfermline was critical. ‘Big Leish’ was one of the biggest characters in Scottish football, though for McNamara, his influence was short lived as he was off, soon after his signing in the way that many managers are mutually relieved of their duties. McNamara became introduced to the fleeting passage of a football manager.

His senior debut, thanks to another Scottish legend, Jocky Scott came in the B & Q Cup – it would take too long to explain what that was – but from such minor cups came the man who would bag 4 Scottish Premier League titles, 3 Scottish Cups, and 2 Scottish League Cups, as well as appearing as player and manager in 6 other cup finals! It’s a remarkable journey and McNamara keeps the foot on the gas as he tells it.

By the time that McNamara was at Celtic, when there were trophies being won, it was also during his time when Rangers were going for 10-in-a-row. Achieving a 10^th Scottish Premiership title would have handed their bitter rivals the ultimate boast – that Celtic’s greatest domestic achievement of winning 9 titles in a row was now second best to Rangers’ domestic achievement of 10.

McNamara tells of how manager Wim Jansen, in his one and only year as manager of Celtic, stopped the 10-in-a-row party in Ibrox. It is already the stuff of legend, but McNamara provides insights into all the backdrop, the background and the respect Jansen held during his time in charge. Such insight includes how the “Smell the Glove” t-shirt came about – which is mundane and fascinating – and the bizarre nature of the management in the club at the time – which is not. This includes the match in Portugal they had to play just after winning the title came about because it was part of the contractual agreement that brought Jorge Cadete to Celtic. From the outside, this was one of the increasingly bizarre episodes of the time and it ended with Jansen despite being the hero of the season not being given another contract.

And then there were the Scotland games.

Programme from McNamara’s final cap for Scotland

McNamara appeared at a World Cup and the infamous game played in Tallinn. The home side, Estonia refused to show up and Scotland kicked off against nobody. It was where McNamara made his international debut, lasted 3 seconds and never touched the ball. Mind you, neither did 9 of his teammates!

McNamara though not shy to criticise, does so with decorum. Of course, there are those with whom he did not quite get on – Ian McCall being one, Craig Brown another – and those with whom he had a flourishing relationship – Simon Donnelly (Sid), John Hartson, Martin O’Neill and Henrik Larsson (who wrote the foreword). For each there are words of truth written without rancour and without hyperbole. It is true that he lets his feelings out, but he recognizes where his bitterness should end and his understanding, given the circumstances he has found himself facing, colour his views of the past.

From Celtic he found himself signed for Wolverhampton Wanderers, helping them get to the play-offs, then to the twilight of his career in the Premiership with Aberdeen, before signing for Falkirk. His time at Falkirk included a loan spell at Partick Thistle which was prematurely ended by a horrendous leg break at Somerset Park. I know, I saw it. He recovered, signed permanently for Thistle and then took his first steps into the dugout by becoming their manager, following Ian McCall’s departure, for the 2011/12 season.

I interviewed McNamara when he was the boss at Partick Thistle and aside from the well-worn cliché used to describe him – that he appeared to be quite shy of the media, wanting to give praise more than accept it – he always struck me as an assured reader of the game. There was a quiet confidence that was far from the swagger of many of his contemporaries. You got the feeling that whilst other bosses would kick the cat and harangue the family after a loss, McNamara would welcome reflection and a quiet period to piece together what went wrong and then plan more effectively for the next game. Whilst this is an observation from one who does not know him, it is fully backed by the autobiography which shows a man who faced death and rather than succumb to self-pity has reflected, counted his blessings and realised how fortunate he is.

He made such an impression at Thistle, that he was ironically transported to Dundee United. Ironic, because it was to the same club that Ian McCall had gone to and failed to ignite. What was to happen to McNamara was an exit under a cloud. That cloud was a suggestion that McNamara had financially benefitted from two transfers of United players which soured his reputation. McNamara, though not denying that there may have been some form of contractual advantage to him through transfer fees, makes it very clear that he did not benefit, if at all, to the value that had been claimed. That he then goes on to suggest that his well-publicised fall out with the youth team coach, Stevie Campbell, was due to the fact that Campbell who had previously benefitted from financial inducements when his youth team players graduated to the first team. Such an arrangement was threatened because McNamara was bringing players into the club rather than promoting them from within. It strongly suggests there was a culture in the club of financial benefit for successful staff. It is therefore not a leap to believe that McNamara may have also had such a clause in his contract. Having said all that, McNamara, given what he has been through has little reason to lie. There is no reason for him to apply to be back in the manager’s chair. So why try and repair his own reputation? Here he believes that Campbell had leaked the story out of spite. It is his one bitter note.

Team sheet from McNamara’s first game as manager of York City

The manager’s chair at York City was his next destination and whilst up in Scotland, we knew of the City and its football club, we struggled to fathom why a young Scottish manager of such great ability would end up at a League Two club. After a few training sessions and games, it would appear that McNamara was unsure too.

Taking his friend, Simon Donnelly with him to be part of the coaching set up, he discovered that Donnelly was probably the best player in the club! His work was cut out. His reason for going was wrapped up in his relationship with Chairman, Jason McGill. It endured a relegation down into the National League and led to McNamara taking the role as CEO of the club. It was here that things began to unravel as a new manager arrived without a new philosophy. It was an old school way of doing things which were more than a clash of personalities. By the time that McNamara left the club, Jason had sold it and the McNamara family had settled in Yorkshire.

In a strange left field kind of way, his next move was to write a comedy, The Therapy Room. Though it never got past the pilot stage, it used his experiences in creative fashion and it could be argued that his name carried the opportunity to it being made at all. He also tried his hand at a variety of post retirement ventures which have sustained him to an extent and are covered in summary more than detail.

Throughout the book chapters are introduced with the slow revelation of the events of his illness, from the day it began through the setbacks and the recovery to the final pages. By the end he is out the hospital and with family. The former owner of York City and his wife, having proven to be true friends, McNamara can look forward to the future being just where he has settled. There is a contentment which travels across the page. He talks of how managers in football can be stuck in a bubble. For him, that bubble, truly has burst. Whether the experiences of the allegations at Dundee United or relegation at York City prepared him fully for life beyond the dugout, his collapse, coma and concerned family, have provided him with the future based upon a reality which is far more secure – his faith and his health.

McNamara credits his collaborator, Gerry McDade with a great deal of the fluidity and success of the book. Whether it be a footballer with a decent education or a writer with exceptional source material, this has the types of lessons and insight that make it a very easy read. It has proven that McNamara beyond the white line was just as compelling with a ball at his feet as with a pen in his hand – even one guided by McDade.

Donald C Stewart

(Publisher: Pitch Publishing Ltd. September 2021. Hardcover: 320 pages)

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Book Review – The Ghosts of Cathkin Park: The Inside Story of Third Lanark’s Demise by Michael McEwan

1967 was some year.

This was the year in which Scottish football found beauty in a left foot on the Wembley turf as Baxter played and World Champions stared. It was the season when we arrived in Europe where the Lions roared in Lisbon and Rangers lost out in another European final, Dundee United defeated Barcelona and Dunfermline showed up in the Fairs Cup.

And so, the highs are our backdrop but, in the foreground, 1967 had its own tragedy.

It was the year in which a once proud team of military bearing found itself smeared in scandal, Third Lanark Football Club, The Hi-Hi’s. The scandal involved corruption that was out of sight, with asset stripping in plain sight. By the end of the 1966/67 season, we witnessed the city of Glasgow reduced by one team: permanently reduced. Glasgow ought to have been a city filled with sporting pride but in the shadow our national stadium, unfolded that tragedy where a community lost its club, that haunts to this day.

And now, Michael McEwan has brought those ghouls to life through The Ghosts of Cathkin Park, published by Birlinn, which tells the story of the demise of Third Lanark in the southside of Glasgow.

McEwan is a marvellous narrator, who tells a compulsive tale. It is one filled with skulduggery when one man, Bill Hiddelston, evolved into the pantomime villain of the piece, even managing a dramatic exit in a puff of smoke and mirrors, ruled a roost and ruined a legacy.

Prompted into the tale, from observing the demise of another Glasgow footballing institution – Glasgow Rangers – McEwan saw parallels which included the unscrupulous investors, greedy men looking for their pounds and the flesh of a beast laid bare and vulnerable which had the heart of a fan and the soul of a supporter whose loyalty was abused, and their investment ill used in the process.

McEwan’s journalistic background gives us plenty of context whether it is the games played in and around the Thirds or the march towards European glory by either of the other two Glasgow clubs. It is a heady mixture of reportage and context that lies in the shadow of their tumble. At times it may feel like the year is being investigated more than the demise of a once proud club, but it does serve a purpose. Occasionally though, the episodic nature does disrupt the principal narrative, and it feels like the journalist is outmuscling the storyteller. Your desire to discover the next chapter keeps you reading on.

The reason is that Hiddleston ruined more than Third Lanark. You might expect this of a man who died before the law caught up with him. As chairman of Third Lanark his is the one name more closely associated with this story than any other. His name was the one referred to by the Board of Trade who found that Hiddelston’s practices merited police investigation. His was the name associated with the penny pinching and refusal to spend anything close to what was needed to allow the club to reach 1968. And his was the name blamed when things were not properly recorded or accounted for.

The fact that there is little new to report on the story and little by further revelations to be uncovered does coral your narrative but where McEwan’s journalistic leanings have truly paid off are the new voices being heard. Hiddelston does not emerge from the pages with much to redeem himself, we do, however, get other perspectives. McEwan excels in bringing to the page, the voices of people who were there. People from the terraces can become caught in the myth and mystery but the people who spent their tentative careers, fledging lives and autumnal passages in and around the club have a very purposeful tale to tell. McEwan gives them a platform and it adds to the human disaster. There are interviews with past players, aplenty, but the real coup is the interview with Hiddelston’s son, Crawford. The voice of the former chairman may not be able to be heard as he died in the aftermath of the club folding, thus avoiding the charges being laid against him by the Board of Trade for multiple offences, but reading the effect it had upon his family, especially his wife was instructive. Whilst those fans and players are key to the memories and to the legacy, it is the inside stories which draw you in and make this such an important book.

And to the story itself. I had heard of repainting footballs white to fool referees, but I’d not believed it; it was true. I had no idea about the bath with no plug; it is true. I was sceptical over the failure to pay out to visiting clubs; it is all fact. There are multiple minor details which hinted at a bigger malaise – McEwan has documented them within their context that was obvious to those who wished to see it.

If there is one message, however, that is loud and clear from the book it comes from the commentary on the guidance and the governance of Scottish Football. To hear former players, claim that Hiddleston could not have died of a heart attack because he never had one is one thing or that he was just a disgrace, is another, but the role played by the Scottish footballing authorities is the emerging debate: failure to regulate, monitor and ensure fair and correct protocol is hardly new then.

But there were other villains; not least a corrupt set of directors who had colluded, were prosecuted, convicted and fined; but also, Glasgow Corporation who brought the concept of Rotten Boroughs right up to date. In the end you put down the book with a sullied hope that things should not be as bad as that now until you read over what has happened since – Airdrieonians, Clydebank, Livingston, Vladimir Romanov, Dundee, Rangers…

If Michael McEwan’s The Ghosts of Cathkin Park has taught us one thing it is not to draw a line under the past and move on but to remember that those who forget the lessons of history are condemned to repeat them. Please not again…

Donald C Stewart

(Publisher: Birlinn Books. September 2021. Hardcover: 288 pages)

Buy your copy here: The Ghosts of Cathkin Park

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