Magic
Andy McDonald pushed open the door of the
rather jaded looking Celtic Shop adjacent to Queen Street Station. All was quiet
and still inside the modest little shop and he wondered for a moment if the
staff were on lunch break. A voice from somewhere broke into his thoughts, ‘Be with you in a minute.’ Andy stood by the counter and looked
around at the Celtic souvenirs which lined the walls. From strips, pennants,
footballs, scarves and even teddies, it seemed there was nothing they wouldn’t
stick the club badge on to make a profit. A middle aged woman with badly dyed
blonde hair appeared from a back room, ‘Wit can I dae for ye Son?’ Andy tried
to sound confident as he replied, ‘Just
popping in tae see if you’ve any Cup Final tickets left,’ She regarded him
suspiciously, ‘You a Pools agent?’
Andy nodded and lied, ‘Aye, 54 customers
a week.’ She wandered into the back shop again and returned with a white
envelope. ‘Limit is 2 per agent, that’s
£8.’ Andy handed over the money and tried to control his heart pounding in
his chest as she laid two of the precious tickets on the counter. The
transaction complete he turned and headed for the door. Once into the fresh air
outside the shop he could no longer control his emotions and roared, ‘Yes! Ya Beauty!’ From behind the window
of the Celtic shop the woman who served him peered out with a rather bemused
look on her face.
On the bus back to Springburn he looked at
the tickets with a smile on his face. He read one to himself; ‘Scottish Cup Final Tie, Hampden Park,
Saturday 20th May 1989.’ Andy was elated that he was going to
the Cup final the following day and having two tickets meant he could take
Brendan too. He couldn’t wait to tell his brother. As the number 37 bus
trundled up the Springburn Road he thought of his own first cup final in 1980.
Celtic had won but the ensuing riot was all people remembered from that day
despite the fact it had actually been a fairly good game. Andy had been 10 in
1980 and by coincidence his wee brother Brendan was 10 this year. Brendan had
been a late arrival for his mother and had been born with Cerebral Palsy. The
family had rallied around and Brendan never lacked for love and encouragement.
As he grew, his spirit and amazing determination made them love ‘Wee Bren’ all
the more. His physiotherapy was often hard and tiring but he did it all and
then some more. He still dragged his left leg behind him at times and still had
an odd gait when walking but he never felt sorry for himself. His speech was
slurred but improving as he got older and the therapists did their work. Andy
had got into a few scraps over the years when some loudmouth would call Brendan
a spastic or some equally moronic name. If only these idiots could see the
funny, brave and determined wee boy who lived out his life with a smile
despite his problems. In some ways Brendan was an example to them all in
perseverance and guts. ‘Yeh’ thought
Andy, ‘if anyone deserves to go to the
cup final it’s Brendan.’ He got off the bus and headed for home.
Andy’s mother shook her head, ‘No way Andy, no tae a Celtic–Rangers match.
If it was another team, maybe I’d think
aboot it, but no against them.’ Andy frowned at her, ‘But Ma, Eddie and big Joe are coming tae, we’ll look after Bren, he’ll
be fine. I was his age when I went tae my first cup final!’ His mother
wouldn’t relent, ‘Aye and that ended up a
riot! Forget it son, Brendan’s no going!’ Andy tried hard to make his
mother see reason but she was adamant that Brendan wasn’t going to the cup
final. His euphoria dissipated as he left the house and wandered up Springburn
Road to his friend Eddie's house. ‘Whit’s up wi you?’ Eddie said at the door, ‘Yer cat die or something?’ Andy explained the situation as Eddie
listened sympathetically. ‘I can see her
point but he’d be oan the supporter’s bus there and back and we’d be right
beside him, what could go wrong?’ Andy decided there and then that he’d do
something he’d seldom done in his life; defy his mother’s wishes. He looked at
Eddie with a determined look, ‘Fuck it Eddie,
we’re taking him.’ Eddie said nothing, he simply nodded.
Late on Friday night, Eddie quietly opened
the door of the bedroom he shared with his younger brother. Brendan was
sleeping as Andy sat beside him on the bed, gazing at his peaceful face and his
tousled blonde hair. Andy glanced for a moment at the wall above his bed. On it
were posters and pennants, mostly from Celtic’s euphoric centenary year the
year before. He looked at the familiar faces; Burns, McStay, McCarthy, Rogan,
Bonnar and Bren’s favourite player the mercurial Joe Miller. Brendan would be overjoyed to be going to such
an important game and Andy would see it went without a hitch., ‘Brendan’ he whispered
shaking his brother’s shoulder gently, ‘wake
up.’ Brendan stirred and his pale blue eyes opened, focussing on his older
brother. ‘What is it Andy, ah wis sleepin
there!’ Andy smiled, ‘I’ve got ye a
wee present.’ He held the cup final ticket in front of his younger brother’s
eyes, ‘This is for you.’ He smiled as
Brenden’s eyes widened, ‘Wit? Ye mean I’m
going tae the cup final!’ he exclaimed in an excited voice, ‘Andy you’re the best brother in the whole
wide world!’ Brendan sat up and hugged Andy who suddenly felt a little
emotional. ‘No I’m not Brendan… you are.’
They parted and Andy explained how things had to be in the morning if Brendan
was to make it to his first cup final.
Saturday May 20th dawned clear and
sunny. A stream of bright early light slanted into Andy’s bedroom as he slowly
opened his eyes. The first thing he saw was his brother’s smiling face gazing
at him from the bed opposite his. ‘I’ve
been awake ages, I canny wait tae get tae Hampden. Whit’s it like Andy?’
Andy raised himself up a little on his bed and told Brendan of a few of the games and
incidents he’d been part of at Hampden, ‘Beating
Dundee United tae dae the double last year was the best. What a way tae
celebrate Celtic’s centenary!’ Brenden listened to his brother, totally
absorbed. It was as if he was storing all of these stories, using them to set
the context for today’s cup final. ‘So it’s
win or bust today, they want the treble and no way Celtic want to end the
season with nothing. We’ve got tae stop them Brendan.’ Brenden smiled, ‘We will Andy, I know it!’ With that
Brendan got up as Andy watched him force his unwilling limbs to obey him. The
boy had guts all right.
A few hours later Andy McKay was saying his
goodbye’s to his mum, ‘I’ll drop Brendan off
at Peter’s hoose and I’ll pick him up when I get back from Hampden.’ His
mum nodded, ‘Mind, nae drinking son and
get Brendan home for half six. You know that lot cause trouble whether they win
or not.’ Andy nodded, ‘I’ll be
careful Ma.’ He then turned to his little brother, Right, c’mon you and I’ll get you tae wee Peter’s, I’ve got a game tae
go to.’ They left the house together and turned left up Springburn Road.
They bypassed Atlas Street where Brendan’s friend Peter lived and headed for a
bar near the railway station outside which stood two large coaches. Joe Toner and Eddie Hamill were standing by
the first coach, ‘Look who it is, wee
Bren and his bammy brother!’ Brendan smiled, he knew Andy’s friends well
and liked them. ‘Yer first cup final I
hear wee man?’ grinned Eddie. Brendan grinned like a Cheshire cat, ‘Aye Eddie, ah canny wait.’ They helped
Brendan up the steep steps of the coach and found him a seat beside his brother
on the already packed coach. As the engine revved the coach resonated with song…
‘Hail Hail,
the Celts are here, what the hell do we care, what the hell do we care? Hail
Hail the Celts are here, what the hell do we care now?’
Andy felt his brother’s hand slip into his as
he grinned up at him. ‘Thanks.’ Andy smiled,’Nae
bother wee man. Just stick close tae me and we’ll be ok. Eddie, sitting in the seat opposite them
nodded, ‘Aye, don’t leave our side for
the whole game.’ As the bus
travelled through the sunny streets of Glasgow the excitement built. Other
Celtic supporter’s buses passed them and friendly faces smiled at them. On one
occasion as the bus waited at the lights a bus load of Rangers fans drew up in
the lane opposite. Insults were exchanged from the safety of the coaches and
windows banged as the songs boomed out. Andy was glad when the lights changed
and they turned left towards the stadium. He disliked the aggression and venom
the rivalry brought out in some. He wanted Brendan to have a memorable first
cup final and remember it for all the right reasons.
The bus parked and they set off on a long
walk along Aitkenhead Road towards Hampden. Celtic fans were everywhere,
singing, drinking and the mood was positive. As they neared the stadium, line
of Policemen kept the rival fans apart. They lined up at the north enclosure
which was split 50-50 for the cup final in scorching weather. Andy stood with
Brendan in front of him, both hands on his shoulders. From inside the stadium
they could hear the songs already throbbing and pulsing around the old bowl of
Hampden. They finally reached the turnstile and clicked in. Andy, Joe and Eddie
flanked Brendan as if they were his bodyguards. In a way they were. They made
their way to a spot in the centre of the Celtic part of the north enclosure.
The place was already packed as Brendan looked around him in awe at the sea of
faces, the colours and the gladiatorial spectacle of it all. Andy recognised that look, he’d had it himself
in 1980.
The teams appeared amid an incredible
cacophony of noise and Celtic began the match in a resolute and determined
mood. Rangers had drubbed them 5-1 and 4-1 in the league matches at Ibrox earlier
in the season and few outside the Celtic support felt the Hoops would win. The
raucous atmosphere seemed to affect the players as they thundered into tackles
and cleared their lines with hefty clearances up the field. Both sides had half
chances but as half time neared, a goal looked a remote possibility… and then
it happened. Roy Aitken grabbed the ball for a throw in which should clearly have
been awarded to Rangers. He launched the ball towards Peter Grant who hit a
high pass towards Joe Miller. A Rangers defender headed it back but an alert
Celtic player in turn nodded it forward again. English international full
back Gary Stevens was first to the ball but miscued badly with the predatory
Joe Miller on his shoulder. In the packed enclosure Andy watched as if in slow
motion as Miller reached the ball and slammed an unstoppable low shot past the
startled Rangers goalkeeper and into the net.
The packed terraces holding the Celtic fans
exploded! A huge wave of sound greeted the goal as the green clad hordes roared
and jumped for joy. In the midst of this throng there was a crowd surge and Andy
was grabbed by huge man who smelled like a brewery and who roared at him in a
broad Belfast accent, ‘Yaaas! We’re gonna
beat these bastards!’ As the crowd settled a little Andy’s grin left his
face. Brendan was nowhere to be seen. His heart sank as he desperately looked
around him, ‘Eddie,’ he roared, ‘Where the fuck’s Brendan?’ Eddie
Hamill looked at him dumbstruck, shaking his head. As the Celtic fans began to
bounce in unison singing ‘Can you hear
the Rangers sing? No-oh no-oh’ Andy, Eddie and Joe scoured the terracing
looking for Brendan but there was no sign of him. As the game halted for half
time they took advantage of the calmer mood to split up continue the search, ‘He canny be far,’ Andy said, sounding
braver than he was feeling, ‘Find him for
God’s sake.’ As the three friends looked in every direction and asked
anyone who would listen if they’d seen a ten year old, blonde boy Andy was
quietly praying to himself. Just as a feeling of terror was grabbing at his
heart he heard a voice calling to him, ‘Andy,
Andy!’ he spun around to see a smiling Brendan being helped up the stairway
towards them by a middle aged Celtic fan who was dressed in Celtic shirt, ‘This
your wee brother?’ he asked. Andy didn’t reply but swept Brenden up in his
arms, ‘Jesus, I thought I’d lost you
Bren.’ The man smiled, ‘I’ll take
that as a Yes.’
Andy held his brother close as the titanic
struggle for the cup resumed. Both sides had chances in a dramatic second half
but Celtic held firm and won the cup. Again the Celtic end danced with joy but
this time Andy held tightly onto his wee brother. ‘Brendan sang his heart out
in the blazing sunshine as Celtic paraded the cup they had fought so hard to
win. As the songs flowed from the terraces onto the pitch Andy looked at his
Brendan and smiled, ‘How was yer first
cup final bro?’ Brendan, eyes shining, beamed back at him, ‘Magic!’ It was a perfect day, a great first cup final
for Brendan. It was a game he’d remember all his life.
Late that night as Brendan lay asleep in his
bed, Andy bumped into the room. He’d dropped his brother off at home as agreed
with his mum and headed out for a drink at Eddie’s house. As far as he knew his
mother suspected nothing of Brendan’s adventures at Hampden. She had asked him
how he’d enjoyed playing at his friend Peter’s house and what they’d done.
Brendan stuck to the story well and she seemed content. He lay on his bed
feeling that happy, tired feeling which follows an epic Celtic victory. On such
days the fans went home as tired as the players. It had been a good day. As he
settled to sleep the room door opened and his mother quietly entered. ‘Andy, I taped the game for you today.’ Andy
pushed himself up on one elbow, ‘Thanks
Ma, I’ll watch it tomorrow.’ She turned to leave the room and stopped at
the door, ‘Oh, did I mention I saw you on
the telly?’ Andy’s eyes opened wider, ‘Did
ye Ma?’ She smiled, ‘Aye, you looked
as if ye were enjoying yourself.’ As she closed the door he thought he
heard her say, ‘So did Brendan,’ but
he might have misheard that part.
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