Every
other Saturday
Tommy Mullins picked
up his pint and glanced out of the window towards the lush green rectangle
which had been his field of dreams for so many years. He was getting on now and
enjoyed the comfort of the hospitality lounge at Celtic Park but part of him
missed the old place. He was a Jungle boy at heart and his formative years had
been spent on that famous old terrace cheering his team on. From the lounge
above the North Stand he gazed into space, his mind’s eyes seeing Dalglish chip
the keeper, McGrain racing down the wing and Johnny Doyle and Burns fighting
for the Celts with every ounce of their being. They were some days to be alive
and he was glad he was there to see them. Now he was older, probably wiser but
still he hankered for the raw passion of the Jungle and the fans who brought it
alive every other Saturday.
As he mused on these
things a voice behind him broke into his thoughts. ‘Tam Mullin?’ He turned and gazed into the face of a man who
might have been a similar age to him. Bright blue eyes regarded him, ‘I thought it was you, no seen ye in aboot
30 years!’ Tommy was struggling to recognise the face as he reached to
shake the man’s hand. As he did so he saw a fading Indian ink tattoo etched
below the man’s thumb. The word ‘Toi’
and a small blue-black shamrock beneath it told him what he wanted to know. ‘Eddie!’ he blurted out as recognition and
relief flooded into his mind. ‘Eddie
McGrory! Long time no see!’ Eddie smiled, pleased that despite losing most
of his hair and the 30 years of wear and tear on his face that Tommy still
recognised him. ‘You’ve come long way
since our days fighting the Cranhill Fleet,’ he smiled. Tommy laughed, ‘They were wild days, Eddie, glad we both
came through them. A good few didn’t.’
Tommy got the beers in
and few would have guessed that the two smartly suited Celtic fans were
discussing the less wealthy and more dangerous days of their youth. ‘What became of all the old mob?’ Tommy
asked. Eddie rhymed of all their old friends and what he knew about them. ‘Toner’s in Barlinnie for selling the gear.
Mad Max ended up in Australia, Tony G got married and is a Grandad noo! Big
Andy ended up on the oil rigs and hasnae been seen since the 90s. Oh and Geezer
lives in Airdrie noo, running a pub, I hear.’ Tommy nodded, ‘They were good mates. Stand by ye no matter what.’ Eddie regarded
him, ‘How the fuck did we survive that
madness, Tam?’ Tommy nodded, knowing exactly what his old friend meant. The
gangs of Glasgow in the 1970’s sucked in so many of the young and their turf
wars were brutal in the extreme. Easterhouse lads like Eddie and Tommy drifted
into them to avoid being bullied by the other toughs in the area. ‘Ye mind that night we fought the Drummy? The
time big Geezer got lifted?’ Tommy asked. Eddie nodded,’ Jesus, I thought my number was up that night Tommy.
That mob broke intae the Butchers that week and brought every knife they stole.
One mad bastard even had a cleaver!’ Tommy nodded, ‘I actually let myself get jailed that night, Eddie. It was safer in
the cells.’ They laughed like two old war veterans talking about their
service together.
They spent an hour
reliving the days long gone when they were young and reckless. They talked of
wild nights when alcohol flowed, and violence was never far away. Of the ancient
Football Special trains taking them and hundreds of other Celtic supporters all
over Scotland to see their team. Eddie said with no hint of regret in his voice,
‘Mind we teamed up wi the Shamrock tae
fight that mad Hilltoon mob in Dundee? I missed the bus and had tae skip the
train hame.’ Tommy grinned, ‘I lost a shoe at Motherwell, horse stood on
it and I was swept away wi the crowd. Watched the game with a Haddows bag on my
foot!’ Eddie laughed, ‘Then there was
Hampden in 1980. The Huns came charging up and yer old Da, God rest him, shouts
‘Are yeez gonnae let these bastards bully yeez?’ Old fella was aboot 50, but he
was one of the first o’er that fence and intae them.’ Tommy shook his head,
a smile on his face, ‘Aye, my old man was
off his rocker at times.’
They spoke too of the
good times; the parties, the away trips following Celtic, the nights at the
dancing, the ‘burds nipped’ and slow process of making something of their
lives. The good people who struggled in hard circumstances to help them move
on. ‘You left for Uni, as I recall,’
said Eddie to Tommy. Only guy I ever knew
fae St Leonard’s who went tae Uni back then. Tommy smiled, ‘Plenty going now from Easterhouse. I help
them and other like them.’ Tommy
explained his route into higher education after completing his degree. ‘Once my Ma passed I realised I couldn’t
live that manic life any more. Got a bit of help from the social worker, went
to night school and on to Glasgow Uni. Guys like us never had the chances back
then, Eddie. We lacked the aspiration, but I’ll tell ye this; we were no less
bright that folk from Bearsden or Clarkston.’ Eddie nodded, ‘I screwed the nut tae. Got intae
computers big time. Did a degree in programming; used tae make a fortune
copying games and selling them at the Barras but it’s been legit for the last
fifteen years.
As they chatted the
stadium outside the glass window of the executive box began to fill. The throb
of the Green Brigade drums began to fill the air and the songs started. Eddie
nodded towards the corner where they stood, ‘At
least wee bit of the Jungle survived eh?’ Tommy agreed but added, ‘I liked the old place, Eddie but there’s a
time for change. We don’t forget where we’ve come from, but the world moves on.’
As kick off time approached they exited the lounge and headed for their
seats. Eddie was three rows in front of Tommy and like him utterly engrossed in
the game as they had been all those years ago in the old Jungle. Celtic
controlled most of the early play in the bright September sunshine but Rangers
hung on stubbornly. Then in 32 minutes Sinclair lined up a corner as the huge
Celtic support roared in anticipation. He arced the ball to the back of the six-yard
box where Moussa Dembele waited like a coiled spring. He rose above the static
defence to power a header into the net and Celtic Park exploded. As the wild
celebrations calmed a little Eddie turned and smiled at Tommy. Tommy returned
his smile, nodding his head as he did so. It was always good to see old
friends, always good to be reminded of where they had come from.
As they
refocussed on the game it struck him too that Celtic was a constant in their
lives too. Wherever their journey took them they’d always be interested in what
was going on at their club. He guessed even ‘Mad Max’ as they had called their
big mate Joe Gibson was tuned in somewhere in Australia. Celtic get’s you that
way, gets in the blood and stays there for a lifetime.
When the game was over,
and Celtic had carved out a famous 5-1 victory, the two friends said their
farewells. ‘It was good tae see ye Tam, gies
a phone and we’ll get together again soon.’ Tommy shook his hand warmly, ‘It was great, Eddie. I’ll be in touch for
sure mate.’ As he turned to leave Eddie gestured around the lounge with its
bars and walls covered with paintings of Celtic stars of the past and present, ‘We’ve come a long way since we fought the Fleet.’
Tommy smiled, ‘Glad we survived it all,
Eddie. Days like today make it all worthwhile.’
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