‘At first I thought Johnny had taken it too quickly and overhit it. I remember reacting first and seeing the Manchester United defenders stood still. I was thinking, f—— me, I'm in mid-air leaping like a salmon, and that f—— ball is going to sail right past me and out of play. As it dropped I realised I could get my head to it and said to myself – go on Bill, head the f—— thing into the net, you can reach it, you can do it. The ball seemed to drop down in its trajectory, beside, yet behind my head. I twisted myself backwards and sideways in mid-air, and managed to divert it into the Manchester United goal! To this very day I still don't know how I got to that ball, yet as soon as I did, I knew it was going in. Johnny always said he had dropped it right on my head. That's not true. He hit it in my general direction. Before I landed on the ground I could hear the Leeds fans let out a huge roar, what a noise. I think it was Tony Dunne who was closest to me, and I heard him shout, “You lucky Yorkshire bastards, Bremner, you little shit.” Boy did I feel good. As I got to my feet I reminded him that luck never came into it, the best team wins. The Manchester United fans were screaming all kinds of abuse and throwing coins at us. I didn't care, it was the greatest moment of my Leeds career up to that point.’
Sadly, the game was marred seconds after the Bremner goal, when a Manchester United fan ran onto the pitch and knocked out referee Mr Windle with a clean punch to his head. Despite the despicable behaviour of the Manchester Red Army, behaviour that was to get much worse as the decade progressed, the night belonged to Billy Bremner and his Leeds United colleagues:
‘What happened to the referee was all wrong; the man could have been seriously hurt. That aside it was a great moment for us all, to get to a Wembley Cup final, a first for Leeds. In the dressing room after the game, I was trying to have a relaxing smoke and a bit of time to reflect but it was pandemonium. Everyone was hugging each other and in the end I realised that I wasn't going to be able to enjoy a fag and it was a complete waste of time trying to grab five minutes for myself.
‘I had done Wembley before in a schoolboy international back in April 1958 when we beat the England boys on their own soil, but I knew it wasn't going to be remotely comparable to appearing in an FA Cup final.’
The Wembley final against Liverpool was played on a filthy, wet afternoon on 1 May 1965. The pitch, green and lush at the beginning of the encounter, resembled a mud bath at the end of ninety minutes, as the teams fought out a 0-0 draw in normal time, thus ensuring that extra time was necessary in an FA Cup final for the first time since 1947.
‘It had been a long old season for us all and I was bloody knackered at the end of the ninety minutes. The Wembley pitch saps your energy and strength. It's the Cumberland turf, it was like a sponge, and it's great in the dry, but like a quagmire when it gets damp or wet. I thought we had matched Liverpool in every area in the first ninety minutes, and in the back of my mind I wanted us to hold out for a draw and a replay at Maine Road the following week. That would give us all time to rest and do battle again.
‘I could see other players were shattered, and poor Albert Johanneson was a bag of nerves with some of the Liverpool crowd shouting racist comments at him. That unnerved him, but so did the fact that he was the first black footballer to appear in a Wembley FA Cup final. Someone, a reporter, had reminded him of the fact in the tunnel area before the game. As he walked into the dressing room I could see something was bothering him. He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. So I asked him what was wrong. “Sir, they say I am special and the eyes of the world will be on me today, as a black footballer in an FA Cup final.” Most people would see that as an honour and challenge to be the best on the day. Not Albert, he shit himself and when some of the crowd made Zulu noises each time he got the ball that finished him. It wasn't only Albert who was struggling. As a team we had ran out of steam at the final hurdle. Just when it appeared that we could hang on for a draw, it happened, they scored.’
That initial blow came after ninety-three minutes when Roger Hunt dived in to head the Merseysiders into a 1-0 lead. The goal looked as though it had settled the tie. Both teams were clearly weary through their exertions, yet despite suffering from exhaustion and cramp, continued to strategically outmanoeuvre each other. Leeds, with nothing to lose, pushed forward at every opportunity, only to be snuffed out by the strong Liverpool rearguard. On 101 minutes, a dishevelled-looking Billy Bremner, soaked to the skin, and with one sock rolled down to his ankle, giving him the appearance of a lost waif as opposed to a professional footballer, put a temporary halt to Liverpool's somewhat presumptive celebrations. His sweetly struck shot from the edge of the penalty area flew high into the Liverpool net, past the clawing and clutching fingers of the despairing goalkeeper Tommy Lawrence. Bremner threw his arms out high and wide and began his celebratory sprint. Jack Charlton meanwhile leapt high into the air, punching his right arm towards the heavens. Wembley stadium erupted into a sea of white, gold and blue:
‘I have scored a few goals in my time, but the two goals in the FA Cup that season are the most memorable. The diving header against Manchester United gave me a great feeling of relief and achievement. The goal in the final against Liverpool was without doubt the one which gave me the greatest amount of satisfaction. When they first took the lead in extra time, I think we all knew that it was going to be hard for us to get back into the game. I looked round at our players and could see in their faces that they were physically drained. I ran round to each of them and reminded them that Liverpool looked knackered too; I kept telling them that I was going to give it one final push and to get behind me in doing that.
‘Many were too tired to speak, others gave an understanding wink. When I equalised I thought my goal would generate that lift, that additional rush of adrenalin you sometimes need to keep going. When the ball came out to me, I looked up, I was a good distance away from the goal and reminded myself of something John Charles had once told me: “Power and accuracy lad, that can beat any goalkeeper from any distance, if you can see the features on the goalkeepers face, then you are close enough to shoot and score.” I really smacked that ball and I felt all my energy going through my leg and into the shot. It was a great feeling – watching it sail by Tommy Lawrence and into the back of the net. There was a split second of silence, probably through disbelief more than anything else, before my goal celebrations began, it was a wonderful moment. It felt like we had won the damn Cup, not just equalised.’
The revival lasted just ten minutes. An unmarked Ian St John headed the Merseysiders back into the lead to virtually kill off the Leeds challenge. The FA Cup was on its way to the Anfield trophy cabinet for the first time in the club's history. As the final whistle blew, many of the Leeds team collapsed to their knees, mentally and physically shattered by the afternoon's exertions.
It was a defeat which Bremner was never to forget:
‘When I left the Wembley pitch that afternoon, I was really pissed off. The boss came up to me and gave me a reassuring hug, he thanked each and every one of us for our efforts. It is a dreadful feeling losing at Wembley, an emotional void that I would often recall, in order that I would give my everything, just to prevent it happening again. At the time I could not really understand why the boss had said “Thank you” to us at such a moment. He later explained that he felt that we had given our everything and could give him no more, and no man could ask for anything more.
‘At the post-match banquet, which was more like a funeral, the boss explained that the game and the result was gone, part of history, and we had to put it behind us, learn from the experience, and not to repeat the same mistakes that cost us both the game and the Cup. He also reminded us that very few people ever remember the losing Wembley finalists. How right he was.’
6
SCOTLAND THE BRAVE
The week following the FA Cup final defeat, Saturday, 8 May 1965, the rollercoaster ride that was Billy Bremner's football career reached a new summit, when he was called up for hi
s first full Scotland international cap, by the then Scotland manager Ian McColl. It was an international challenge match against Spain at Hampden Park, in Glasgow:
‘What an honour, and it was like I was coming home and making my Scotland full international debut at Hampden Park. I was so excited when Ian McColl gave me the call to tell me I had been selected. What you must remember is that playing for Scotland back then really meant something special. The team was full of world-class players who could cut it at any club in the world. From goalkeeper through to substitutes, we were a match for anyone on our day. For me, it was the ultimate accolade, I cried with joy and pride. Me, Billy Bremner from Raploch, representing my country at football, fantastic. It was a good way for me to end the football season. I was roomed with wee Willie Henderson, what a footballer and man he was, so much skill, and quicker and stronger than a steam train, too.
‘Willie was a really nice guy who everyone liked. He was a master piss taker too; nobody was safe from his practical jokes or impressions. It was lovely having such a great guy alongside me. The team that day is one which will stick in my mind for eternity: Bill Brown, Alex Hamilton, Eddie McCreadie, Billy Bremner, Billy McNeill (captain), John Greig, Willie Henderson, Bobby Collins, Denis Law, Alan Gilzean, John Hughes. What a great line-up that was. We had an abundance of football talent and most of us were good pals as well.
‘Even though the game ended 0-0, it is a memorable game in the history of Scottish football, if not world football, sadly not for any football reason but through its classic comedy value. Up front, Denis Law had been putting himself about a bit, typically challenging for every ball and generally hassling the Spain defence. One of the Spanish defenders thought that Denis had gone into a challenge too hard, so he punched him in the head. The referee saw everything and ran up to the Spaniard and sent him off. On receiving his marching orders, the Spanish player flung himself to the ground and lay there feigning injury. The referee didn't know what to do next, so allowed the Spanish physio to come onto the pitch to give him treatment. For a few minutes it was bedlam, Spanish players were arguing with the referee and a linesman, neither of whom could understand a word of what was being said to them.
‘All the time this was going on, the Spanish player who had lumped Denis Law was receiving treatment for an injury that didn't exist! Eventually, everyone calmed down and the game restarted, and both teams still had eleven players on the pitch. The referee either forgot or ignored the fact that he had sent a Spanish player off, and he remained on the pitch for the rest of the game. What a palaver to be involved in on your full international debut. It did give me an insight into the mentality of European footballers and what some of them were capable of. We were all able to have a good laugh about it afterwards. What else could we do?
‘As for the referee, well, despite his major cock-up, nothing truly happened to him. I should say that in my opinion, and in the majority of instances, the standard of refereeing didn't really improve throughout my career.
‘I loved playing for and representing Scotland, it was totally different from club football; players who were your enemies in the football league were able to put that animosity behind them, and become their true selves, genuine Scotsmen. Throughout my international soccer career, I played alongside and against the world's greatest footballers and met some really high-powered dignitaries.
‘I remember the game against Spain for another reason. I was standing near to Willie Henderson as we were introduced to some royal official with an unpronounceable name from Spain. Willie had secretly imbibed a drop of alcohol before the game, not a lot, just enough to take away the nerves. Anyway, there we were standing almost to attention when the dignitary comes along and shakes our hand. He said something to me, I didn't know what it was, so to save embarrassment, I smiled and nodded. As he reached forward to take Willie Henderson's hand, I heard the noise that makes everyone giggle, an emission of wind from the backside, it came from behind us. It was Willie! Embarrassed, he immediately said, “Ooh shit, sorry.” The official smiled and swiftly moved on.
‘Great times, you couldn't do that now with all the cameras on you. There was another time when Willie kept getting one of our player's name wrong. Throughout training he would be calling him Bob, eventually the player came to him and said, “Will you stop calling me Bob, my name isn't Bob.” Quick as flash, Willie, said, “Oh, okay sorry pal.” Thereafter he called him “Touchy sod”. That was Willie through and through.
‘Jimmy Johnstone was another who liked a dram or two. What a player he was, I don't know another player who could drink as much then go out and play a full game on a belly full of ale. Jimmy is such a lovely guy, and back then, drinking and smoking wasn't the sin it has been made out to be now. Most players enjoyed a fag and a pint, in moderation of course. It's natural when old pals get together to represent their country that there is going to be a bit of daftness at times. I remember Jimmy getting so drunk once, that he took a rowing boat and went out to sea. He was pissed. The tide carried the boat out away from the coastline, Jimmy was drifting away. There was a lot of panicking, and the coastguard was called out to rescue him. It was all good humoured, although a bit dangerous too; the press got hold of it and tried to malign us all. The end result was Jimmy playing the game of his life for Scotland and it was even nicer that it was England we beat, 2-0. I remember Jimmy running up to the press pack as each goal went in, and giving them the salute they deserved. Agitators the lot of them.
‘I don't think it's worth disguising the fact that Jimmy and I had a bit of a reputation for a enjoying a drink or two, and a game of cards after. It was good for bonding. Yes, there were a few scrapes and incidents we got ourselves involved in that, looking back, maybe weren't the wisest moves we ever made. Like the night in Oslo in 1974, we were well and truly enjoying ourselves and thought it would be good to give some of the locals a rendition of “Flower of Scotland”. We were staying in student accommodation, there was none of those swanky hotels for us Scots on our travels; as long as we had a bed, a bar and each other, then we were content. As it was, the bar stayed open for us and we crooned them Norwegians with some wonderful Scottish songs. Unbeknown to us, they hated it and complained. One chap seemed keen on trying to fight with us but we weren't having any of that. So I reminded him how my team, Leeds United, had beaten local side Lynn Oslo 16-0 a few years earlier. Not the wisest thing to do; the management were called, and we were given a stiff telling-off and warning. We were both full of apologies, of course. And went out of our way to appease the locals and show ourselves to be great ambassadors. A few of them even spoke up for us. That was nice. I remember telling Jimmy that we should maybe keep off the juice in future get-togethers. He laughed and said, “Nice sentiment Bill, you've been down in England for too long, pal.”
‘Well, a year later, the game was up. I had pissed off a lot of Scottish Football Association officials with my outspoken and honest ways, and some of the extra-curricular drinking and celebrations I had with my colleagues. I was told by a few folk, players and managers that there was a groundswell of these people who wanted me out of the Scottish international equation, they saw me as a loose cannon.
‘The incident in Copenhagen gave them all the ammunition they desired. I went out with Arthur Graham, Pat McCluskey, Willie Young and Joe Harper. We had a disagreement with a member of staff in the hotel, and a drink got spilled – thrown – whatever, she ended up getting wet. We celebrated and had fun in the bars and clubs we visited. It was all innocent fun, so we thought anyway. But the cops were called and, as usual, the matter was blown out of all proportion.
‘There was also a bit of a bedroom trashing to a Scottish Football Association official's room (Jock McDonald), nothing damaging, just the odd bit of blanket throwing on the floor, and it was said by him that someone crapped on his bed. He got anxious and upset by our behaviour and I told him what a boring fart he was and to loosen up a bit. He told me he would make sure I never played for Scotland aga
in.
‘Next thing, I am on the floor – he had smacked me one! We each got five-year Scotland international bans, mainly courtesy of McDonald's report; though our behaviour did warrant some punishment, it was way over the top. The worst thing was I heard that a couple of the players were told privately not to appeal, as their punishment would be reviewed and lifted. Not so mine, and whilst I formally and publicly apologised for my behaviour, McDonald was so influential that he was not about to allow my punishment to be rescinded. It was a sad end to my Scotland career, and I felt as though I had let so many people down, not least my family.
‘There were many great players and characters around that time. Jim Baxter for instance – what an arrogant man he was on the football field, and off it too. He had a very definite way about him, Jim. Confident, and focused all the time, especially on himself. You were never sure whether he was being funny, as in funny peculiar, or whether he was pulling your leg. He always said it as it was. He once told Alf Ramsey, the England manager, that he (Ramsey) didn't have any personality, and that he found him really boring as a person. Jim meant it, and Ramsey knew it. Next thing I hear is that Ramsey rang Jim up and said that he was worried by what Jim said, and asked him what he meant by boring. Jim had told him straight: “You put people to sleep when you talk.” To which Ramsey had said, “Oh” and replaced the telephone receiver. Jim loved playing for Scotland and would have gladly given all he had for a Scotland win. It was like that for all of us back then, though I'm not so certain in today's game we see the same level of commitment.’
As someone who has witnessed for himself how proud and committed Billy Bremner was to the Scottish cause, it is perhaps worth noting how things have changed, not for the better, in the international game since the days when Bremner, Henderson, Johnstone, and cohorts were thrilling crowds with their skills and football prowess. In today's international game, players retire for a variety of less than orthodox reasons; because they are displeased by tactics, or at being substituted, or because they don't like another player in the squad. Some even come out of international retirement when a new coach is appointed. This isn't something unique to Scotland. In England, Wales and Ireland too, the commitment and pride at being selected to represent your nation seem to have been ignored, as players often churlishly put their own needs before that of the nation they are called to represent. I can tell you now, Billy Bremner and the majority of players of his era would have freely given up their time and walked hundreds of miles to represent their countries at not only football, but anything. The thought of voluntary premature retirement from international duty would be quite unthinkable to the likes of Billy Bremner, as would not giving 100 per cent commitment and effort when wearing the country's colours in a game. Quite what he would have made of some of the Home Countries international performances during the most recent 2010 World Cup qualifying and competition is open to debate but it's doubtful that he would have been accepting of any of the players’ attitudes or performances. There was a lack of passion to their game.
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