Welcome to the future

 

Welcome to the future

The winter of 1964-65 was tough one in Scotland as snow and frost brought the usual chaos to the roads and sporting fixture lists. For Celtic fans it was a frustrating time as their talented crop of young players seemed to lack the consistency required to make a challenge for the honours. Manager McGrory had been at the helm for 20 years and had delivered just one league title. For a club of Celtic’s stature, that was unacceptable. In his defence, he had a domineering chairman in Bob Kelly who often interfered in team selection and would sell stars like Pat Crerand and Bobby Collins instead of building a team around them.

1965 had begun with a 1-0 defeat at Ibrox in which Jimmy Johnstone had been sent off and Bobby Murdoch blazed a late penalty over the bar. As January unfolded, Celtic lost to Dundee United and Hearts as well as drawing with Clyde and Morton. As January drew to a close, they demonstrated their ability to the full by thrashing Aberdeen 8-0 but inconsistency had killed off any hope they had of being in the hunt for the title. They would finish a distant 8^th that season. The cup kept the fans going and St Mirren and Queen’s Park had been dispatched before they faced a formidable Kilmarnock side, who would win the title that year, in the quarter finals.

So it was that on March 6^th 1965, Celtic fans in the 47,000 supporters at the match with Kilmarnock wondered which Celtic would show up. On the day, Celtic, in their ‘shamrock’ strip,  outplayed and outfought a very good Kilmarnock side by more than the 3-2 scoreline suggested. As the fans went home happy, they’d have heard that Jock Stein’s Hibs had ousted Rangers from the cup in front of 47,363 fans at Easter Road. Some worried they’d have to face Stein’s emerging side in the semi-final but could not have guessed that change was in the air at Celtic Park. Jock Stein would indeed get his hands on the Scottish cup that year, but not with Hibs.

Even as Jimmy McGrory’s side defeated Kilmarnock to reach the cup semi-final, negotiations were already underway to replace him with Jock Stein. The Hibs boss had rejuvenated Dunfermline before working his magic in Leith with the Hibees. He held out until he was absolutely sure that he’d have full control of team matters. Jimmy McGrory was a wonderful scorer of goals in his day but the warrior on the field was placid off it and as manager, allowed Chairman Bob Kelly to tell him who should be playing on a Saturday. Stein would never accept that. Nor did he accept the notion of being joint manager with Sean Fallon. Celtic knew what it would take to land the best young coach in the land, yet still Kelly prevaricated.

Back at Hibs, the team’s doctor was clear what Stein ought to do. Doctor Batters urged Jock Stein to go to Celtic with the words… ’ John you’re a Celtic man, you should go or you’ll regret it.’  Stein decided to let it be known that he was being courted by Wolverhampton Wanderers in order to force Kelly into making a decision. The Celtic chairman may have been an interfering autocrat, but there is no doubting his love for Celtic. He knew there would be outrage amongst the support if the best young coach out there, a man who had captained Celtic, was allowed to slip away. In the end he did the right thing. Jock Stein took the reins of Celtic on Tuesday 9 March  1965.

One of the first things Stein did was to call the players together and tell them what he expected of them. He also told them that Jimmy McGrory, appointed public relations officer, would receive due respect and still be called ‘boss’ by himself and the players. The following day, Celtic travelled to Broomfield, the tight little stadium of Airdrie FC, and defeated the locals 6-0 with Bertie Auld scoring 5 goals. Stein saw the nucleus of the team was good but there were setbacks as he tried to implement his way of playing and give the players more belief in themselves. He said in the match programme, ‘I have been handed the reins of management and I alone have to do the driving. For the playing side, team selection, tactics, coaching and scouting, I have full responsibility.

As he watched his inconsistent young side lose 1-0, he had an idea of the task ahead of him. He growled at the post-match press conference, ‘I can see now why I was brought here.’ The defeat to St Johnstone was followed by a 3-3 draw at Dens Park before his former club, Hibernian arrived in Glasgow and demonstrated that the Stein effect was still with them. They were 3-0 up within 23 minutes and went on to whip Celtic 4-2. The fans, their eyes on the upcoming cup semi-final with Motherwell, were hopeful rather than confident of their chances.

52,000 fans headed for Hampden Park for the cup semi-final between Celtic and Motherwell. A fairly even match was in the balance at 1-1 when Joe McBride put Motherwell 2-1 up. Would Celtic crumble? Could Stein get his players to force a result? As Celtic threw themselves at the Motherwell defence in the second half, Bertie Auld was brought down for a penalty in 60 minutes and converted to level the tie. Celtic had missed some chances in the game but had not performed well overall.  Stein, thinking of the future, was already casting a covetous eye over the Well striker, Joe McBride.

The replay saw Celtic in dominant form and in front of 59,000 fans they swept into the final with a 3-0 win. In the other semi-final, Stein’s two previous clubs, Dunfermline and Hibs met at Tynecastle in front of 33,305 fans. The teams were near the top of the table and both in good form. It was the Fifers who emerged victorious and reached the final with a 2-0 win. Celtic had lost their previous two games with the Pars and would approach the cup final with none of the superiority complex of the modern era. This would be an almighty struggle for Stein’s young team.

In the run up to the final, Celtic lost two of their three competitive games. The most worrying being a 6-2 humiliation at Falkirk. The side which had hammered Hibs 4-0 at Easter Road and looked far more convincing, had stuttered again. A 2-1 home defeat to Partick Thistle the week before the cup final had the fans concerned. There were flashes of what Stein was trying to achieve from his side but Celtic remained an enigma. Brilliant one week and awful the next. Which Celtic would show up at Hampden?

A crowd of 108,808 packed into Hampden for the 1965 Scottish Cup Final. Most of them were Celtic supporters who knew that they had the nucleus of a good side but as yet, they hadn’t tasted the glory that comes with winning a trophy. Perhaps, some reasoned, winning the cup would be a springboard to better days. Stein played Bobby Murdoch in midfield, a master-stoke as he was wasted as a forward. Murdoch and Auld matched the Dunfermline midfield and their range of passing and running gave Celtic a more potent attack. As a titanic tussle was played out on the Hampden turf, Celtic twice found themselves behind and twice had fought back to level the score. As the game entered the final ten minutes, it was clear that the next team to score would most likely claim the trophy.

In the 81^st minute Gorbals boy, Charlie Gallagher, lined up another Celtic corner. In memory’s view, the ball arced into a crowded penalty area as the huge crowd held its collective breath. Was this the moment of decision? Dunfermline Keeper, Jim Herriot raced from his line to intercept the ball. It was a fatal error. Celtic centre half, Billy McNeill got to it a split second before him to bullet a towering header into the net. For the first time in the game Celtic was in the lead. The roar which greeted the goal was deafening. Pat Woods and Tom Campbell, those great Celtic historians described it beautifully…

“For two seconds Hampden’s vast bowl was still, stunned with the sudden shock of decision, and then it erupted into bedlam; the roar continued, minute after minute, and it’s prevailing note changed; it was not merely the burst of joy that a goal produces, rather it was a tumultuous welcome to the future and the instinctive realisation by all Celtic’s support that the young men had grown up and that nothing, now, nor in the years to come would withstand their collective spirit.”

For Stein and Celtic, the cup final victory of 1965 signalled the arrival of a new force in Scottish and European football. In the seasons ahead, Stein forged Celtic into a tremendous football machine which approached any opponent without fear. Gone was the stuttering, inconsistent Celtic of the early 1960s. In its place was a team which took the success starved fans from famine to feast and served them up the greatest dish of all two years later beneath the azure skies of Lisbon.

 

 

A Beautiful Distraction

 

A beautiful distraction

The dream was always the same; he’d be walking with his father by the river on a warm summer’s day, when out of the vaulted blue sky the jets would scream towards them. The noise was deafening as they roared overhead just above the top of the trees which lined the banks of the Bug River. He knew the distinctive triangular shape of the SU57s and that they were Russian. He pressed his face to the black earth as they passed and the noise diminished. When he sat up to look for his father, he was gone.

Lexi awoke with a start and sat up in bed, reaching for his water bottle. He opened the curtains to a beautiful sunny morning. He had learned quickly that the weather in Scotland was unpredictable although this, the last day of July  looked set fair. He swung his legs out of the bed, glancing at the yellow and blue Ukrainian flag adorning his bedroom wall. Beneath it, on the dresser was picture of his father. Where was he today? Lexi wondered. The last he had heard from home his old man had joined the rest of the 79^th Brigade in the Donbas. They got the odd letter from his grandmother, but she had heard nothing from Lexi’s dad in three months. He thought about his father every single day and hoped that they’d all be reunited in happier times.

His phone buzzed on the bedside cabinet and he smiled as he answered it, knowing exactly who it was. ‘Aw right Kraft Cheese?’ said the familiar voice of Ross McAlinden, ‘remember the train is at two today. I’ll be banging on yer door at half wan.’ Ross was the first friend Lexi had made at school when he arrived from Mykolaiv that spring. He had introduced himself as Rosco and when Lexi shook his hand and said his name was Olexsiy Kravchenko, Rosco had instantly christened Lexi Kraft Cheese and it had stuck. ‘I’ll be ready, Rosco. Remember to bring the tickets.’ Rosco replied in that heavy Scottish accent of his, ‘Nae fear there, mucker. They’re in ma sky rocket the noo!’ Lexi smiled, ‘I have no idea what you are saying. Could you try that again in English?’

‘You be careful in that Glasgow,’ his mother had warned him in the halting English she insisted they speak at home, ‘I hear from neighbour it is rough place.’ Lexi smiled, ‘no rougher that Ukraine at the moment, mama.’ She shrugged, ‘yes, but you know what football people do. Just be safe.’ Lexi looked at his mother, she had aged in the six months they’d been in Scotland. Some nights he could hear her crying. It must have been so hard on her leaving her family, her man and her country before heading to a foreign land on the wet and windy periphery of Europe. But once Mykolaiv had been targeted by missiles and artillery, it was clearly better that they leave.

The station was already full of boisterous football fans by the time Lexi and Rosco arrived. They were joined by a few other teenagers from the school, all excited to get to the big match. Most wear sporting something green and a good few wore Celtic shirts. ‘Alright, Lexi boy,’ a gangling youth called Dominic smiled, ‘first match for you?’ Lexi nodded, ‘I’ve been to football games back home but this is my first in Scotland.’ ‘You’ll enjoy it. Full stadium tifo and Celtic get the trophy for winning the league last year.’ Lexi nodded but before he could respond, the Glasgow bound train pulled into the station and a cheer went up. ‘Rosco put his arm around his shoulder, ‘here we go Kraft Cheese!’

They entered an already busy carriage and had to settle for a standing space just inside the door. Lexi could hear singing from further along the carriage and some of the supporters were drinking beer despite the signs on the train doors saying it was illegal. He could see the rough comradeship supporting a common cause brought the fans, that was the same in any country. As he gazed out the window at the peaceful summer fields flashing past, he wondered what his first trip to Glasgow would bring.

To his right, two older women were sitting deep in discussion. He recognised immediately that were speaking Ukrainian. The noise of the train and the singing of the Celtic fans made it hard for him to hear much beyond a few snatches of what they were saying. Their conversation merged into the noise around them…’my Lucasz is in Mariupol, may God protect him… Jota on the wing, Jota, Jota on the wing…. You must be so worried… when he scores, he makes the Celtic sing… Bohdana is in Germany, she has a job now… our superstar from Portugal… will we ever get to go home?’ Lexi wondered that himself sometimes. The worries of these two women were invisible to those around him who were more concerned about a football match.

As hundreds of fans spilled out of the station and into the bright sunshine, there was a happy mood abroad. Lexi crossed George Square with his friends, gazing at the huge war memorial, guarded by two white lions. It seems nowhere was untouched by war. Rosco saw him glancing at the memorial, ‘thinking of yer old man?’ Lexi nodded, ‘yes; every single day.’ Rosco put his arm around his shoulder, ‘one thing I like about watching Celtic is that it makes me forget my worries for a while. I stoap thinking aboot my plooks, about Tania in fifth year and aboot my maths exam.’ Lexi smiled and nodded, ‘Tania is a good-looking girl.’ Rosco smiled, ‘good looking? She’s a babe, she’s the Queen of Babe-alonia!’ Lexi laughed, ‘you’re a funny guy, Rosco. Now tell me, what are these ‘plooks’ you speak of?’

Olexsiy Kravchenko gazed around the great bowl of Celtic Park as he held his square of plastic up like almost 60,000 others. They created a spellbinding mosaic which he had to admit was like nothing he had ever seen in his life. He glanced at Rosco and the others, they were lost in the moment. Perhaps that was what he meant when he said it made him forget his worries for a while. As the game started, the throbbing drums of the ultras away to his left boomed out as they led the singing. It took Celtic just four minutes to score when blonde defender, Welsh headed home. The noise was deafening. Lexi remembered going to see MFC Mykolaiv with his father but it was nothing like this.

Aberdeen held on after that and did well to keep themselves in the match till the 75^th minute when Celtic winger, Jota, fired an unstoppable shot high into the net. Again, the crowd erupted and left Lexi wishing he knew some of the songs which spilled from the stands onto the pitch, like a love song to their team. And then it was over. Lexi had to admit that whole spectacle drew him in and left him spellbound at times. ‘That was quite something, Rosco,’ he said to his friend as they trooped from the stadium. ‘That you a Jungle Jim noo?’ his friend replied in that impenetrable Scottish dialect of his. Lexi grinned, ‘if that’s a good thing, then yes, I’m a Jungle Jim.’ Rosco returned his smile, ‘good man, always knew ye were wan of the good guys.’

As the train back to Grahamston swayed and rattled over the tracks, the group of friends sat on either side of a table discussing the events of the day in happy tones. ‘That was some goal fae Jota,’ Dominic said, ‘he’s gonnae be great this season.’ Rosco nodded, ‘big Ange looks like he might get a tune out of this team.’ Lexi listened carefully before saying, ‘a tune? Celtic has an orchestra?’ Everyone laughed as did Lexi. His increasing knowledge of Scottish slang terms meant he could sometimes have a joke at their expense. ‘Whit did ye think of yer first Celtic game?’ Rosco said, looking at him. Lexi thought for a moment, ‘it was amazing and I did forget my troubles for a while. It was a…’ he searched for the right words. ‘It was a beautiful distraction.’ Rosco agreed, ‘aye, I never thought of Tania in fifth year once.’ Dominic cut in, ‘liar, ye had a Paddy Bonner for most of the first hauf.’ Lexi looked confused. He had much yet to learn about Scottish slang.