Never Better
Glasgow
2016
Tommy Anderson felt every one of his 90 years as
he pushed himself up in his hospital bed to welcome his visitors. Getting old
was no fun, even his bones seemed to ache. His grandson, Aiden, had brought his
8-year-old son up to cheer Tommy up and it had the desired effect. ‘Alright,
granda?’ Aiden smiled, ‘guess where Junior and I are off to the morra?’ Old
Tommy shrugged, ‘no idea, son.’ As Junior picked at Tommy’s grapes, Aiden
grinned, ‘he’s coming wi me tae his first derby match.’ Old Tommy smiled,
‘that’s great, but just make sure you look after him. That lot can take defeat
badly. Brendan’s got the team playing well, so hopefully the wee guy sees a
good result.’ Aiden nodded, ‘aye, we’ll be oan the supporters’ bus so it’ll be
cool.’
A nurse appeared at this point and checked the
chart on a clipboard at the end of his bed. ‘Morning, Mr Anderson. How are we
today?’ Tommy smiled, ‘aye, no bad, hen. Might need tae give the marathon a
miss this year though.’ She smiled at his joke, ‘and who is this young man?’
Tommy looked at Junior, ‘that’s my great-grandson. He’s off to the big game
with his da on Sunday.’ ‘Good,’ she
smiled. ‘I hope he enjoys it.’ Her time in casualty had taught her that these particular
games were not events that the staff there enjoyed as their caseload more than
doubled.
After she left, Tommy and his grandson chatted
quietly about life, football and his illness. ‘What was the doc saying?’ Aiden
asked, his face a little more serious. Tommy Anderson looked at his great
grandson before replying to Aiden, ‘let’s just say I’m in injury time and leave
it at that, son.’ Aiden nodded, appreciating his grandfather hadn’t spoken too
bluntly in front of Junior. He remembered when Tommy was a younger man and
they’d attend games together. He loved Celtic and had passed that love on to his
son and grandson. ‘What was your first Rangers game?’ Junior suddenly asked.
Tommy smiled at the fresh-faced youngster. ‘It was a long time ago, son. 1938
if I recall. Celtic beat Rangers 6-2.’ The boy’s eyes widened, ‘six two! That
must have been brilliant.’ Old Tommy smiled, ‘oh it was, Malky McDonald and
Johnny Crum ripped them apart. What a forward line we had then; Delaney,
McDonald, Crum, Divers, Murphy.’
Tommy sipped at his water and his great-grandson
asked another question. ‘What was my grandad’s first Rangers game?’ Old Tommy
settled back onto his pillow, his face wearing a faraway look. ‘Ah, Junior,
that was a day I’ll never forget. His mind drifted back almost 60 years…
Glasgow, October 1957
‘Whit?’ Davie said, a look of incredulity on his
face. ‘It’s a cup final man, ye have tae come!’ Tommy Anderson shrugged, ‘I
want tae go Davie, but she’s goin’ tae see her maw in Ayr. I need tae watch the
wee guy.’ ‘Noo haud oan a minute,’ Davie said glancing at Thomas Junior,
sitting happily playing with his toy car, ‘if my Carol started that pish, she’d
be o’er my knee and her arse well skelped. Can ye no get somebody tae watch the
wean?’ Tommy shrugged, ‘naw, I’ve asked
around. Everybody is busy or has this flu that’s doing the rounds. Besides, I
promised her I’d watch him.’ Davie exhaled loudly, ‘I’d ask Carol but she’s
still in Blackpool wi her sisters.’ There was a moment’s silence as the two
friends thought about their predicament. ‘How old is wee Thomas noo?’ Davie
asked. ‘He’s two and hauf.’ Tommy looked at him sensing where this was going.
‘He’s too wee, Davie. We cannae take him tae a Celtic Rangers game at that age.’
Davie looked at him, ‘aye we can. I can swap tickets wi Paddy oan the bus. He
always goes tae the wee enclosure in front of the stand. It’ll be ok in there.’
Tommy Anderson mulled the idea over in his mind for a moment before looking at
Davie. ‘Ye really think he’ll be ok?’ Davie smiled, ‘is the Pope a Catholic?’
Tommy wrapped his young son up well despite the
fact that the sun was slanting in the window. He stuffed some food and a bottle
of Irn Bru into a duffle bag and set off. The supporters’ bus was rocking as
the fans sang all the way to Hampden. Tommy held his son close and kept an eye
out for any opposition fans as stoning buses was a regular occurrence in
Glasgow. Young Thomas snuggled against his chest seemingly unfazed by the
racket going on around him. Most of the men on board were swigging from beer
bottles and clapping along as they sang…
‘Hail,
glorious St. Patrick, dear Saint of our Isle, on us thy poor children bestow a
sweet smile; and now thou art high in thy mansions above, on Erin’s green
valleys look down in thy love. On Erin’s green valleys, on Erin’s green valleys…’
They
reached Hampden Park which was already buzzing with anticipation. Cup finals
were always exciting; Celtic v Rangers cup finals were even more so. Davie had
arranged the ticket swap and they headed for the enclosure in front of the main
stand. A burly policeman looked at 2-year-old Thomas being carried in by his
father. ‘He not a bit young for all of this?’ Tommy smiled, ‘you want tae
babysit him? I can pick him up after the game.’ The cop smiled, ‘naw, I’ll be
watching the big weans today. I’m sure I’ll be babysitting a few of them later
at the station.’ Tommy clicked through the turnstile and found a spot right at
the front wall close to the Celtic end. Hampden was filling up and the noise
increasing as the kick off approached. Tommy Anderson swung his son’s small
legs over the wall and stood behind him, one arm looped around his waist. The
day was set fair for the wee guy’s first look at the boys in the hooped shirts.
On
that sunny day in October 1957, Celtic didn’t just defeat Rangers; they tore
them to shreds. With the Celtic midfield in total control, it was the wingers
Fernie and Tully who terrorised the Rangers full backs, while McPhail and
Mochan dominated the Rangers centre backs. Tommy Anderson watched in disbelief
as Celtic scored goal after goal against the much vaunted ‘Iron curtain’
defence of Rangers. In the dying moments of the game, with the score at 6-1,
Willie Fernie placed the ball on the penalty spot. Tommy placed his son on the
cinder track momentarily as Fernie began his run up. As the ball flashed into
the net to make the final score 7-1, he roared in delight before looking at his
son and shouting, ‘ye see that, wee man? That’s just magic!’ It had been some
day and some first game for wee Thomas.
Glasgow
2016
Old
Tommy Anderson slipped in his ear plugs and tuned his small radio into Radio
Scotland in time for kick off in the match with Rangers. He smiled at the
thought that wee Junior would be at his first derby. His own was in 1938, his
son Thomas had little memory of the 7-1 game but that was his. His grandson
Aiden had gone to his in 1998 when Paul Lambert had almost burst the net. It
seemed as if the Anderson family had a habit of seeing Celtic victories on
those days. He settled back on the hospital pillows as the game began. How many
of these matches had he seen in his 80 years of life? A hundred? Two hundred? More?
He always knew which one was the most important- the next one.
After
a half hour of football in which Celtic totally dominated, the score was still
0-0. The BBC commentator was sounding quite optimistic about Rangers chances if
they could reach half time without conceding a goal. As Tommy listened, the
commentator’s nasal tones said, ‘a corner to Celtic on the left, in front of
their ultras section. Sinclair to take it. He fires it in to the back post area
and Dembeleeeeee heads it home! Goalllll! Celtic have the lead!’ A few
miles from Celtic Park, an old Celt was smiling. ‘Go on bhoys!’ A passing nurse
looked quizzically at old Tommy, ‘You alright, Mr Anderson?’ He smiled at her
and nodded, ‘never better, hen. Never better.’
