Did they believe?
Old Dan Hogan sat up in his bed when he saw
his son and grandson enter the room. ‘Ye
made it!’ His son, Tommy, shook his father’s hand and gave him a hug, ‘Happy new year, Da.’ The old man smiled,
‘and tae you son,’ He nodded towards 12 year old Charlie who stood a little
shyly by the bed, hooped shirt under his jacket, ‘I see you’re taking the young fellah tae the game.’ Tommy nodded, ‘Aye, he’s never seen Celtic beat Rangers
and by Christ if they ever needed tae beat them it’s today.’ Old Dan patted
a spot the bed. ‘Sit here son and I’ll
tell ye a story.’ Charlie Hogan sat on the bed beside his Grandfather as
his father looked on. No doubt Tommy had heard many of his father’s tales when
he was a boy now another generation was hearing them. The old man smiled, ‘Went along to Ibrox in the late 50s wi ma
da, that’ll be you’re great granddad, you never met him, died young. Anyway, I saw
Celtic win 3-2 that day. We played well, deserved tae win but after that I
never saw Celtic beat that mob in a league game again for mer than 6 years.
Losing kills confidence and gives the team the feeling that they’ll never beat
the other lot. But in the end they did beat them, just before Stein arrived.
Then in came big Jock and he put the shoe oan the other feet, gave them the
inferiority complex. The thing is, ye need tae believe ye can win. Jock
instilled that in his teams. Stopped them going in tae a game already beat. Ye
win the game in yer hied then oan the pitch. Jock knew that. Charlie
nodded, ‘We huvny beat Rangers for ages
Granda, if we lose today they’ll dae ten in a row.’ The old man nodded, ‘Aye, that’s true but the team are improving
and if they ever needed tae get a result then it’s in this game. Every day the
players walk intae Celtic Park, they’ll know what stopping them beating Jock’s
record means. Every fan they meet on the street will remind them of it. They’ll fight like
tigers today, don’t you worry aboot that son.’
Young Charlie Hogan listened as his Grandad
told him of the matches, players and incidents of long gone games noticing the
glint in the old man’s eyes. ‘When Cox
kicked Tully in the RS McCall’s, aw hell broke loose in the Celtic end,’ he
laughed, ‘Ref claimed he never saw it, he
was the only man in Ibrox who missed it if that’s true!’ There were tales
of games where bad luck, odd refereeing decision had played their part but the
old man was adamant that the secret of success was attitude and confidence. Celtic
meant a lot to him and he had stored all of these memories, good and bad, in
his head from a lifetime of following Celtic. Charlie listened spellbound to
names of players he had never seen play, Matt Lynch, Tully, Stein, Collins,
Evans and Crerand. ‘Thing is,’ the
old man concluded, ‘even the longest
losing run comes to an end. Might as well happen today?’ Charlie nodded, ‘I
hope so Grandad.’ The old man coughed, a loud, rasping cough, ‘Pass me that medicine Tommy,’ he spluttered,
pointing to a brown bottle on the stand beside his bed. Charlie watched his
father frown as he helped the old man take his medication. Old Dan lay, head on
the pillow, ‘Need tae rest noo, come back
and see me efter the game if ye huv time.’
Tommy Hogan patted his father’s hand, ‘Will do Da, take it easy noo.’
Tommy and young Charlie walked down
Millerston Street on what was a rather gloomy January day. ‘What’s wrong wi Granda?’ Charlie asked
looking at his old man. ‘He used to work
in a factory making fire proof boards, he breathed in the dust for years and
it’s ruined his lungs, son.’ Young Charlie thought for a moment, digesting
this information. ‘Will he get better?’
Tommy shook his head, ‘We’ll do all we
can for him Charlie but there’s no cure. He’ll be ill for the rest of his life.’
With that they reached the Gallowgate and Charlie looked along in the
direction of the Barras. Thousands of Celtic fans were flowing along the road
like a vast living river of green and white. Their songs were already booming
out into the chilly Glasgow air, ’North
men, south men comrades all, Dublin, Belfast, Cork or Donegal, we’re on the one
road singing a song….’ The butterflies in Charlie’s stomach began to
flutter as the magnitude of the game was hitting home. Celtic were 4 points
behind Rangers, lose today and 10 in a row was almost certain. Stein’s record
would be smashed and men like his old Grandad would be downcast. He hoped
Celtic believed they could win today… they had to.
Charlie and his Dad passed under the strange
looking scaffolding which supported the temporary stand in what was the Celtic
end. The huge bulk of the new north stand loomed over them and this was already
full of supporters who had come to see if Celtic could save a proud old record.
They had suffered so much pain and disappointment in the last decade. Should
they lose today, it would be the final capitulation, the greatest humiliation
of all. As they sat on the quaint little stand, open to the elements, a great
roar announced that the teams were emerging from the tunnel. The Celtic fans in
the temporary stand stamped their feet making a loud drumming noise as Celtic
entered their pre match huddle. ‘This is
it,’ Charlie’s Dad shouted at him through the din, ‘do or die today, son!’ The huge north stand reverberated to strains
of ‘You’ll never walk alone,’ and the
patrons of the temporary stand raised their colours and joined them. Celtic
were receiving magnificent support, it was up to the players now to have faith enough
to slay the dragon which had tormented them for so long.
As the game got underway Charlie unconsciously
took his father’s hand. Celtic were nervous early on and Rangers probed the
Celtic goal without any real threat. Stubbs made a clumsy tackle on Laudrup at
the edge of the box and he tumbled to the turf. Charlie’s eyes immediately
flashed to the Referee who was thankfully unimpressed and waved play on. The
crowd growled and roared as Celtic slowly took charge and began to force
Rangers back. Brattbakk forced good saves from Goram but still Celtic couldn’t
find a way through. Goram, who so often saved Rangers against Celtic was at it
again. As the teams trooped off for half
time the Celtic support cheered and sang their hearts out. Their bhoys were
giving their all, if only they could make the breakthrough and score.
The second half saw Celtic shooting towards
the temporary stand which thundered and roared with every Celtic attack. Rangers
were looking rattled as Lambert and Burley bossed the midfield and drove the
back. Brattbakk, Stubs and Larsson all came close but still they couldn’t
score. Charlie screamed his young head off, ‘Come
on Celtic! Let’s start believing!’ Then midway through that tempestuous second
half McNamara picked up a ball in midfield and raced past a defender, the
Centre half, seeing the danger left Burley to close McNamara down. Jackie saw
the gap and switched a beautiful reverse pass into Burley’s path. The Celtic
midfielder let the perfectly cushioned ball cross his body before unleashing a
thumping low shot. For Charlie, behind that goal, time seemed to slow as the
ball headed towards the goal. Goram dived desperately to his right but the ball
evaded him and exploded in the net behind his despairing grasp. The roar which
greeted the goal pieced the dark Glasgow sky. Charlie and his Dad hugged and
roared, ‘Yaaaas! Mon the Celtic!’ They had made the crucial breakthrough but
there was still time for Rangers to respond. As Rangers kicked off the stadium
rocked and seethed as the Celtic fans roared out their songs. Surely they
wouldn’t blow it now?
Young Charlie Hogan looked at his watch as
the game entered its closing phase. ‘Come
on Ref, blow yer effin whistle.’ His father smiled, ignoring his son’s language
given the stress of the situation. Then as the game edged near its conclusion,
a ball was flicked into the Rangers box and headed clear by a defender. Paul
Lambert raced onto it as defenders closed on him. With no time to think he
thrashed the ball goal-wards. It whizzed through the cold air as Goram dived to
his left, clawing at the ball which sped past his forlorn hand and crashed into
the top right hand corner of the net. It was a stunning goal, a goal of skill
and beauty. Celtic were 2-0 ahead and the title race was back on. The remaining
moments were played out amid a crescendo of noise as the Celtic support celebrated
a famous win. Behind the goal, in the rickety temporary stand, a father and
son, arms around each other, shared the joy of the moment. The whistle sounded
and it was over. Charlie had at last seen his team win against their ancient
rivals. He was utterly exhausted but also utterly overjoyed.
It was a dark Scottish winter’s night when he
reached his Granfather’s house. His father agreed that Charlie could pop into
the old man’s room to bring him the news that Celtic had won. He opened the
door and stepped into the dimly lit bedroom. His grandfather lay on the bed,
seemingly asleep, an oxygen mask covering his mouth. Charlie approached the bed
and gently took the old fella’s hand. ‘Granda,’
he said quietly, ‘are you awake?’ The
old man opened his eyes, his breathing forced and shallow, ‘Charlie,’ he whispered, ‘how did the boys do, did they believe?’
Charlie smiled, ‘We won 2-0, Burley and
Lambert scored, they believed all right.’ The old man grasped his grandson’s
hand. ‘They’ll stop the ten now Charlie,
just you wait and see. Jock’s record will be safe.’ Charlie nodded, ‘I think they will granddad, I think they
will.’ His grandfather closed his eyes, a small smile on his face. They believed.
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