TAKING THE HIGH ROAD
Pre-season 1987 tour diary
Football, it's a canny auld game ye ken, as Ian St. John has probably never said to Jimmy Greaves, on their Saturday lunchtime ITV weekly football slot, before sticking the nut on his sidekick for all of those repetitive gags about Scottish goalkeepers, the tight-fisted Scotsmen wisecracks and 'chilly Jocko-land' references... he really ought to though... 'Stitch that Jimmy!'.Most of their chat is harmless banter and no malice is ever really intended, as the two old pals and rivals, both at club and international level, mutually rib and take the piss out of each other.
But times change and ever so occasionally the context of a few stereotypical brickbats, steeped in music hall theatre comedy traditions, do stretch the boundaries just a fraction too much for some.
It's a question of degree. Although, that said, some people are far more easily offended than others, while those of a nit-picking persuasion will scratch the surface of just about anything and everything in their obsessive search for sinister elements that never really existed in the first place.
The overall content of 'Saint & Greavsie' is lively and entertaining enough. In the main, the show is fast paced, light (hearted) entertainment (of a kind) and it's even occasionally absorbing... and somebody on the production team obviously has their finger on the pulse of current terrace culture, to the extent that a good number of fanzines have had a mention on the show. ![]()
But, between all of the amusing clips and 'Jockular' exchanges... a new scriptwriter wouldn't go amiss every now and then. That said, ratings would suggest that the programme format is viewed as a preferable antidote to the more 'stiff upper lip' approach favoured by Football Focus on the BBC's Grandstand programme. The England/Scotland rivalry outwith the scope of the tongue in cheek exchanges of two ex-pro TV pundits. has obviously seen a sizeable number of far more serious confrontations historically, but our small entourage of thrill-seekers, taking the high road to watch a handful of pre-season friendly football matches, were hardly the stuff of an invading cross-border raiding party and we were met with hospitality as opposed to hostility on our travels. Well, we were at two of three destinations least-ways, though the complete opposite could be said of a large element of those we were confronted with at our final game.![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
![]()
When my Scottish manager at work asked me where I was heading for the holiday shutdown this month, he responded with a fist-clenched salute when I divulged my travel fans plans and roared: "Remember Bannockburn!"
I had to confess that my knowledge of Scottish history is sketchy at best, but mentioned that I'd heard of this slogan before and seen it printed on those yellow Scotland flags that depict a red rampant lion, along with the year of 1314... and even the teachers in English schools had mentioned Robert the Bruce, albeit briefly... he's the guy that sat in a cave talking to spiders.
"Ach well, Bannockburn is a famous event in Scottish folklore, where for once, we nearly beat the bloody English. Unlike 1967 when we did beat actually beat you, 3-2 at Wembley, to become the world champions because ye' didnae have a bent Russian linesman to bail you out of the shit that day!"
"Och aye! But we won it back from you... and last season we claimed the Rous Cup too and it cost you a tenner as well". For the record, if being better than Scotland at football is to be used as a Barometer of the England team's success, it says a lot about my own national side too. Bragging rights asides, it's 'nowt to write home about really, is it?
We'd had a bet on the game and the loser was going to have to hand over the money in front of the entire shop-floor at 11AM the following morning. He honoured our arrangement and to be fair had conceded that it was good for workforce morale, that they'd had to opportunity to boo and hiss at him, as he appeared defiantly wearing his Scotland shirt, to hand over a crisp ten pound note to yours truly. "It's only a prop, you better give me it back later!", he joked, to a backdrop of much merriment. Would I have paid up if England had lost? I would have thought so, but I guess we'll never know. This year's 1-1 draw at Hampden Park, means that our most recent bet was carried over and the next time one of us loses, it's going to cost him (not me) double.
Brazil, of course, won the Rous Cup this time around... it was a three team tournament this year, by virtue of the points they got for their win against Scotland in the final game, but it needs putting on record, that the they didn't beat the England team, because Bobby Robson's side drew both of their games. As small mercies and straw-clutching goes, I'll take it if that's all that's available at the moment.
Personally, I wish that the powers that be would reintroduce the 'Home Internationals' as an annual four team tournament. But sadly, I recognise, that first and foremost, football is more of a business than a sport these days and as such it needs to maximise income streams to survive. The attendances for some of those games at Wembley against Wales and Northern Ireland, demonstrated that not everybody is as 'football daft' as me and many floating fans will only shell out for tickets when the likes of Brazil roll into town.
It was different to the north of the border however, because England's visit to Hampden Park, attracted almost 23,000 more paying spectators than turned out four days later to watch the Brazilians.
So whatever my 'Jockanese' gaffer might think of my national team, they're still a box-office attraction in Glasgow, even if that is only by virtue of so many people wanting to turn out to throw bottles at us as when we emerged from Mount Florida station and edged our way towards Hampden Park, as the Strathclyde Police stood by smugly grinning to themselves, while awaiting any sort of retaliation from their English guests, before moving in to any make arrests.
Back in May, an associate of mine, strayed briefly out of the police escort, to ask of a constable of the law if it was a race relations offence for the Glaswegian hordes to keep calling him an 'English c*nt'... the reply he received, along with being shoved unceremoniously back into line, was: "Stop bellyaching, you English aren't even a race, you're a different f*cking species!" Actually, surveying the scene that was unfolding all around me at close quarters, at that current moment in time, I would've found it hard to disagree with such a statement.
But, for the most part, the dynamic of the crowd (if you could call such a modest gathering a crowd) for our latest excursion, would be nothing like what you'd expect to encounter at a run of the mill, hostile 'Auld Enemy' international.
Although, of course, wherever there may be a gathering of people to watch a game of football, not everybody who turns up is of a mind to partake in the beer and soft drugs ambience and camaraderie and it pays not to get so severely wasted that you completely drop your guard and end up being in the wrong place at the wrong time, with the wrong company... even when you've travelled to the sort of game goes by the name of a pre-season friendly.
The good people of both Greenock and Ayr were fine company... but then we headed to Glasgow for the final leg of our journey, that was a completely different sort of 'day trip'.
Saturday 25th July 1987
Cappielow Park, Greenock
Morton 0
Arsenal 1
Perry Groves
Having won promotion as First Division champions last term, the 'Ton started the new season as a Scottish Premier League club. It's been something of a yo-yo type of existence for the Greenock based side for a few years now, where they have proved to be too good for the second tier but not strong enough to sustain themselves in the top-flight. They were relegated in 1983, but went back up in 1984, dropped out of the elite division again in 1985, but as I've already mentioned won promotion again at the end of last season... and now they're the bookies favourites to go down again.
George Graham's Arsenal won the League Cup at Wembley last season, when they claimed their first silverware since they lifted the FA Cup in 1979 (and second since the won a league and cup double in 1971) when they beat Liverpool 2-1, from a position being a goal behind, after having repeated the same feat against their arch-rivals Tottenham in a semi-final replay.
Ian Rush scored for Liverpool at Wembley and legend had it that they had never lost a game that he had score first in. Charlie Nicholas was credited with both Arsenal goals that afternoon, regardless of how far off target his second effort was before it deflected wickedly off of Ronnie Whelan and went in to Bruce Grobbelaar's dismay. But, to my way of thinking the architect of the Gunners win was second-half substitute Perry Groves, who battled down the flank before providing the cross for the winning goal.
It was the former Colchester United player Groves who scored the only goal of the game at Cappielow Park this afternoon, which in the main was bog-standard: going through the motions, getting some playing time under the belt, building up the fitness levels and leisurely paced traditional pre-season stuff. A traditional old ground all told, with some decent surrounding scenery for photographic backdrops too.
Tuesday 28th July 1987
Somerset Park, Ayr
Ayr United 0
Arsenal 6
Alan Smith 3, Niall Quinn, Charlie Nicholas, Paul Davis
Ayr United go by the nickname of the Honest Men, which derives it's origins from a Robert Burns poem 'Tam o' Shanter', written in 1760, which contains the line: 'Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses, for honest men and bonnie lasses'. Amongst other things 'Rabbie Burns' was also known as the Bard of Ayrshire. He also wrote the traditional New Years Eve anthem 'Auld Lang Syne', y'know the one that everybody knows the first line to and then der, der, ders along to hoping that nobody else notices... don't worry, because most of them are doing exactly the same.
Burns Night (January 25th) is an annual event, whereby a haggis is set alight to the accompaniment of bagpipes being played, while Whisky is consumed and Burns poetry is recited.
Haggis (not a real creature, you understand) is a concoction of a sheep's heart, liver, and lungs, minced and mixed together with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt and stock, cooked while cased in the animal's stomach. Always wanting to broaden my horizons and palate... and being daft enough to try just about anything after a skinful of ale, I treaded myself to a Haggis supper from a local chippy. I wouldn't want to eat it for tea every night, but it was actually alright, if a bit on the salty side. A definite improvement on the deep fried black pudding and white pudding I'd eaten the previous night, although my friend spoiled that particular meal by telling me half through eating the white pudding, that it was made of oatmeal and bull semen... Oatmeal!? That's disgusting.
There was a gulf in class out on the field of play at Somerset Park, where the second division (third tier) side, managed by the former Scotland boss Ally MacLeod (he finally seems to have found his true level) were brushed aside with consummate ease.
Saturday 1st August 1987
Celtic Park, Parkhead, Glasgow
Celtic 1
Owen Archdeacon
Arsenal 5
Martin Hayes 2, Charlie Nicholas,
Kenny Samson, Perry Groves
Celtic, who'll be following in our own footsteps, when they head out west to Greenock for their opening SPL fixture against Morton next weekend, will have to do a lot better than they did in this friendly game if they want to hit the ground running this season.
At least their new manager Billy McNeill got some first hand experience as to what his sides obvious weaknesses are in the run up to the new campaign, i.e. defensive frailties, a lightweight midfield and an ineffective front-line, as Arsenal clinically dismantled their hosts, before Owen Archdeacon netted a consolation goal for the hoops inside the final minute, to claim the only goal that the Gunners have conceded on this pre-season tour of Scotland.
Tongues will be wagging that Nigel Winterburn replaced Kenny Sansom as a substitute in all three of Arsenal's tour games, even though he was actually signed from Wimbledon as a replacement for the outgoing Viv Anderson, who has left Highbury to join Manchester United. But there's plenty of life left in the England full-back yet, as he proved when he weighed in with a goal.
Anderson's departure meant that the home supporters, stood just through the fence from us, only had four black players to boo and make monkey noises at today. Seriously!? I'd heard a rumour that Glasgow was a cosmopolitan and thriving hubris of culture, and not still a fertile breeding ground for both extremes of an uncomfortable sectarian balance. Somebody was telling me fibs then.
Although it needs to be said that it wasn't a majority of Hoops fans who were partaking in caveman behaviour... it was a large enough section of them not to exactly be called a minority either.
When the exit gates opened, a lot of the Parkhead faithful made their way home early, long before the game had actually finished... although it was effectively all over when Martin Hayes had put the visitors three up with a crashing long range effort that had left Pat Bonner grasping at fresh air early in the second half. Some of the element of home fans who'd been abusing Michael Thomas, David Rocastle, Paul Davis and second half substitute Gus Caesar, along with their former idol Charlie Nicholas, took advantage of the open gates and entered the segregated section put aside for visiting supporters, with around ten minutes left on the clock. One of them was showing off a blow torch and saying: "If any of you lot are ministry of defence, you're gonna get some of this!"
He looked confused when nobody appeared to be worried in the least bit or even slightly concerned about his presence in the 'away end' and non-plussed when he was merely laughed at. "Get your lads together and meet us outside you f*cking tramp!" a large dark-skinned Londoner taunted him, "And get the f*ck out of our end before I give you a slap for all of the n*gger abuse!"
'The Tramp' left as quickly as he's appeared and after the game as we filed away towards our transport, the confident looking big lump of a Londoner and his mates went in the opposite direction, headlong in the Celtic fans.
There is a lot of talk about both Celtic and their rivals, reigning SPL champions Rangers, joining the English leagues any time soon, although granted, most of that is just speculative idle chatter among the ranks of the 'Old Firm' biased Scottish media themselves. Might I be so pertinent as to suggest, in the unlikely event that such a thing ever happened, the Glaswegian clubs might be playing 'catch up' both on and off the pitch for quite a while... and some of their dinosaur supporters could be in for a nasty shock.
Three games, thirteen goals, Morton and Ayr were both great fun; but Glasgow, in truth, we laughed at it, not with it... well, at the examples of the local scruffs who we were brushed shoulders with today anyway. When they're singing 'Auld Lang Syne' on December 31st this year, they would do well to wind the clock forward. A couple of decades ought to do it.
I'm sure that it's a great city with a lot going for it, but we were unlucky enough to come into close contact with some of the local dregs today, who were an embarrassment to both themselves and the 'grand old team' they've chosen to attach themselves to. Hopefully, any decent Celtic fans reading this will realise this is not a dig aimed at them, but a criticism of some of the pond-life among their number... and when all is said and done, all clubs (English and Scottish) attract a few lost souls and stupid tw*ts who they would rather do without.