by Alex Gordon
DENIS LAW
KING AND COUNTRY
DENIS LAW
KING AND COUNTRY
ALEX GORDON
First published in 2013 by
Arena Sport
An imprint of Birlinn Limited
West Newington House
10 Newington Road
Edinburgh
EH9 1QS
www.arenasportbooks.co.uk
www.birlinn.co.uk
Copyright © Alex Gordon, 2013
Foreword © Sir Alex Ferguson, 2013
The moral right of Alex Gordon to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form without the express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 978 1 90971 506 6
eBook ISBN: 978 0 85790 639 7
British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Ebook by Iolaire Typesetting, Newtonmore
Contents
List of Illustrations
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Author’s Note
Foreword Sir Alex Ferguson
The Patriot – Denis Law
Introduction – By Royal Appointment
Chapter One – The Man, The Myth and The Magic
Chapter Two – The boy who would be King
Chapter Three – Enter Denis
Chapter Four – History-maker
Chapter Five – After the brawl was over
Chapter Six – Wembley woe
Chapter Seven – Hailed . . . and failed
Chapter Eight – Just heaven! Eleven in seven
Chapter Nine – On top of the world
Chapter Ten – Arrivederci England
Chapter Eleven – The Auld Enemy
Chapter Twelve – Wembley Wonders
Chapter Thirteen – Law and Baxter
Chapter Fourteen – Screen gems
Chapter Fifteen – Lawless Scotland
Chapter Sixteen – The Wilderness Years
Chapter Seventeen – Return of The King
Chapter Eighteen – Nine and out
Chapter Nineteen – Czech mate
Chapter Twenty – For the Record
Chapter Twenty-One – The final farewell
Chapter Twenty-Two – From World Cup to World Service
Chapter Twenty-Three – Denis Law at 60
Chapter Twenty-Four – Denis Law at 70
Chapter Twenty-Five – Hail The Lawman
Chapter Twenty-Six – What the papers say
Epilogue – Forever The King
Appendix
That’s a fact
Denis Law’s goals
Law minutes on pitch
They served with The King
The Law line-ups
That was the year that was
1940: Denis Law’s birthday
1958: Denis Law’s international debut
1967: Denis Law’s greatest triumph
1974: Denis Law’s retirement from football
List of Illustrations
The Laughing Cavalier, the enduring image of Denis Law in his Scotland strip.
England beware! The Scots pose for a team group as they prepare for the match against the Auld Enemy at Hampden on April 11, 1964.
The famous Lawman salute. He’s pleased with himself after netting a long-range effort in the 2–2 draw with England at Wembley on April 10, 1965.
Denis the Menace. Law thrived on games against the English and he threatens here with Keith Newton and Jackie Charlton teaming up to repel the dangerman.
Pick it out. Denis Law, with a cobra-like strike, smashes a rebound past a grounded Gordon Banks to put the Scots on their way to a history-making 3–2 triumph at Wembley on April 15, 1967 – one of the player’s finest memories.
Out of luck. Denis is just off target at Wembley with a left-foot effort where, as usual, his pace and anticipation have made space in the defence.
The save of a lifetime. Law’s wonderful lob is pawed round the post by Banks to deny the Lawman a typical goal.
Headmasters. There was talk of a ‘fall-out’ between Jim Baxter and Denis Law after the 1967 win at Wembley.
At full-stretch. Denis sees the ball plucked off his toe by Gordon Banks in his last match against the English which ended in a 1–0 defeat on May 27, 1972 at Hampden.
High and mighty. Denis made his international return after more than a year’s exile for the crucial World Cup qualifier against Czechoslovakia on September 26, 1973 at Hampden.
Law triumphant. Denis adopts his famous arm-in-the-air pose as he celebrates Joe Jordan’s winner against the Czechs.
The final strike. Law launches a typically acrobatic effort into the Northern Ireland net in the 86th minute after keeper Pat Jennings fails to cut out a corner-kick.
Rise and shine. In his one and only appearance in a World Cup Finals tie, Denis strikes a typical energetic pose as takes to the air to fire a header at the Zaire goal in Scotland’s way to a 2–0 win in West Germany 1974.
Forever The King. The stylish, strutting merchant of menace as all Scottish fans will remember the one-and-only Denis Law, the hero of a nation.
Dedication
To my wonderful wife Gerda for her support throughout. Also, for getting the coffee going at the ungodly hour of 5am when I was working on this book. And for throwing a bacon butty into my den every now and again for some much-needed sustenance.
A massive thanks must also go to the man himself, Denis Law. What an inspiration to everyone. The glorious memories will always be treasured. Cheers, Denis.
Acknowledgements
There has been a lot of laughter along the way in putting this book together. A lot of hard work, too. Denis Law had a playing career that spanned 18 years and there wasn’t too much this man missed on his way along life’s highway, on and off the pitch.
There was so much to be discovered that hadn’t already seen the light of day about a genuine Scottish football legend. I delved through newspapers, scrutinised cuttings, scoured magazines, checked out books, devoured matchday programmes, visited libraries, watched hours of TV, video and DVD footage and interviewed so many people who were happy to give their time to talk freely about the one and only Denis Law. Thank you everyone. There are too many to mention, but you know who you are. Also, I would like to express my gratitude to Neville Moir and Peter Burns at Birlinn.
A special round of applause must go to my good friend Fraser Elder, a stalwart of journalism for as long as Denis has been around. Thankfully my mate, by his own admission, is a hoarder. On his travels throughout the world, Fraser, working in all aspects of the media from TV and radio to the written word, has picked up a veritable treasure trove of football memorabilia. For instance, he magically produced the matchday souvenir brochure for the England v. Rest of the World FA Centenary celebrations at Wembley on 23 October 1963, when Denis Law played alongside his great hero Alfredo di Stefano. That’s just one instance; there are so many more. Fraser became a man possessed as he unearthed gem after gem, facts and statistics of which, I have to admit, I didn’t even realise existed. His help, professional dedication and kindness will never be forgotten; there is a lot in this tribute to Denis Law that would never have been seen if it wasn’t for my pal. Thank you, Fraz.
Author’s Note
I was enjoying a welcome pint of cold frothing ale with my good friend Davie Hay in a quiet little pub one day when I mentioned I was thinking of writing this very book. Yes, I realised Denis had already been involved in at least three ex
cellent autobiographies, but I was also aware that they, as you might have expected, majored on his time with Manchester United, a massive chunk of his career and life. A chapter in each tome had been set aside for his international experiences. To my mind, there was so much more to discover about Denis Law, as patriotic a Scot as you are ever likely to meet. One chapter per book on his playing days with Scotland was never going to be adequate. There had to be a full book on this colourful character’s devotion to Scotland. As I dropped the idea on Davie, he looked at me, grinned and, without a flicker of hesitation, said matter-of-factly, ‘Denis Law, Scotland’s first football superstar.’
Just like that. Absolutely spot-on. Six little words. I smiled and ordered another drink for my mate – it was well worth it. The book came alive in that instant.
Foreword
SIR ALEX FERGUSON
It’s hard to say something about Denis Law that hasn’t already been said by countless people over the years. Quite simply, he was the finest player that Scotland has ever produced and one of the greatest the world has ever seen. He was my idol as a player.
Denis Law is one of the all-time great stars of football and that opinion would have had a much broader base had he played in more international tournaments. World Cups and European Championships provide a huge profile and there are few great players who break into the world class category who haven’t displayed their skills regularly in the big international contests.
To say that Denis is the finest talent to come from ‘North of the Border’ is in itself a huge accolade. The Scottish national side may not be the team it once was, but there were times when Scotland could boast numerous outstanding players. Richly-gifted individuals such as Alan Morton, Hughie Gallacher, Jim Baxter, Jimmy Johnstone, John White, Billy Bremner, Willie Henderson, Kenny Dalglish and Alex Ferguson (how did he get in there?), and that’s just a few of the names that trip off the tongue.
It’s no wonder that the fans of the Stretford End were quick to crown him as their ‘King’ when he moved to Manchester United from Italian club Torino in 1962. He was in the early years of his incredible career, but he had already stamped his mark on the game. Lightning quick, fearless, dynamic, good with both feet, spectacular – and sometimes unbelievably devastating – in the air, he was as near as damn it the perfect goalscoring individual.
Anyone who saw him in his halcyon days was privileged in the extreme to see a total footballing craftsman in action and I’m immensely proud to say that he’s a Scotsman.
There are not a lot of years between Denis and myself, but I list him as one of my heroes, and a close friend.
SIR ALEX FERGUSON
The Patriot
Playing for Scotland is, without doubt, the greatest honour anyone could have bestowed upon me. It really doesn’t matter if it’s football, rugby, athletics or whatever; it’s a massive honour to represent your country, though, particularly in football as it’s the national game. It was always a thrill to be informed that you were playing, no matter whether it was against Jutland, Norway or Brazil. As the old saying goes, you would play for your country for nothing: the money side of things doesn’t even come into the equation. That certainly holds true for me at any rate.
DENIS LAW
Introduction
BY ROYAL APPOINTMENT
Artiste and assassin. Entertainer and executioner. Showman and swordsman.
Denis Law. The name simply shimmers and sparkles with charisma. It whisks you off to a golden, bygone era when football truly was the beautiful game. Performing for his country, he was the Dark Blue Pimpernel, a character with a rare and spectacular combination of elegance and menace; a debonair destroyer; a master of improvisation; a contortionist in the penalty box. He was the Demon King, clinical and nerveless, possessor of lightning, gravity-defying reflexes to unleash hell, or open the gates to heaven, depending on which side you were on.
Unique and uncompromising. Beguiling and brave. Flamboyant and fearsome.
Denis Law. Scotland’s favourite footballing son, the offspring – the last of seven – of an Aberdeen trawler man and a school cleaning lady. A special talent whose daring deeds on the field of battle are the stuff of legend. A one-off, the genuine article, there will never be a replica. An exponent of danger zone spontaneity; a devotee of creating mayhem in packed defences. The millions who were fortunate to get a close-up view of this extraordinarily-gifted individual were swept along as he lived the dream.
Talented and tenacious. Performer and predator. Cavalier and controversial.
Denis Law. A free spirit who engaged your mind, emotions and ambitions. An individual who embodied and captured the very essence of a small and proud nation that was always up for the skirmish, always determined to punch above its weight. An icon who was never addicted to the spotlight; a man who never craved publicity. Try to give him the red carpet treatment and he’ll head for the back door. Put him in a football strip, though, and things happened. Marvellous, exceptional and memorable things. He was the football hero’s football hero.
And Scottish . . . passionately Scottish.
He brought Hollywood to Hampden. The shock of blond hair, the arm thrust into the air, the cuff tightly gripped, the back ramrod-stiff, the jersey flapping outside the shorts and the magisterial strut after leaving another scene of devastation behind him.
He was the main attraction, irresistibly so. The quintessential Scotsman. There may have been imitators and even impostors, but Denis Law was the real deal. You really shouldn’t compete with a legend. He was light years away from us mere mortals, but somehow had a relationship with us; some sort of captivating connection with the man on the terracing.
How else can you explain a collection of schoolboys congregating outside a tenement block at 54 Dougrie Road in Castlemilk, a council estate on the south side of Glasgow, on the freezing cold evening of 7 November 1963 preparing to walk almost two miles to Hampden Park to watch Scotland play Norway, hardly a world force and consisting almost solely of amateur players? It was a friendly encounter of very little importance, the game largely meaningless and the result, too, probably. But Denis Law was in town, in the team and around ten young lads – aged between 11 and 13 – weren’t going to pass up the opportunity of witnessing their soccer god in action. Another 35,400-or so supporters agreed with us. The weather was dreadful and, in fact, the game had to be put back 24 hours after a blanket of fog had engulfed the city the previous evening. However, we trekked to the national stadium bursting with curiosity, wondering what Law might conjure up beyond the relative mundane, muck and nettles of ordinary football fare served up on a weekly basis in domestic football. There wasn’t anyone to compare with the great man. Yes, we had Jim Baxter, Jimmy Johnstone, Willie Henderson, Billy McNeill, Alan Gilzean and so many other exceptional worthies. But they weren’t Denis Law.
He possessed something extra that the others didn’t have and, as an 11-year-old, obviously I would have found it impossible to define. Nevertheless, it was there alright. We could merely watch in wonderment and awe as he performed as only he could. Floating majestically in mid-air, a snap of the neck muscles like an angry cobra, pent-up energy released to perfection at the moment of impact, and the ball whizzing beyond another bewildered goalkeeper. Only the terminally stupid among the defensive fraternity ever eagerly anticipated confronting this combustible character.
My pals and I, a mixture of supporters of Celtic, Rangers, Clyde, Third Lanark, Partick Thistle, Queen’s Park and, if I recall correctly, one Falkirk fan, met on that particular November evening in 1963 with the skies already turning slate grey; the fog being replaced with the very real threat of a downpour. Naturally enough, as you might expect, not one of us hardy souls would be the possessor of that wonderful invention, the umbrella. No matter. Off we went along Dougrie Road, passing St Margaret Mary’s Secondary School and then the stretch of three-storied tenement buildings on Birgidale Road on our left, Castleton Primary School on the opposite side and eventually t
urning right into Carmunnock Road and heading down towards Croftfoot roundabout, passing the Bluebell Woods on our left, the vibrant summer colours having long since surrendered to the dark and dank conditions of an uncompromising change of season. Then we journeyed beyond a row of shops on either side and onto Aikenhead Road, with King’s Park, very stately we thought, on the right.
Our determined trek would take us past the Wylie and Lochhead funeral parlour at the corner of leafy Southwood Drive. On the same trip a couple of years later, there was always a pause at this particular juncture among the Celtic-supporting fraternity. They would go through the ‘we are not worthy’ salutations directed towards a neat and tidy bungalow at the end of the stretch; home of the legendary Jock Stein. Somehow you always felt in awe of this particular pile of bricks and mortar. Jock Stein actually lived here. We couldn’t have been more impressed if The Queen herself had invited us in for tea at Buckingham Palace. The voyage would continue along Aikenhead Road past the Territorial Army recruitment centre. We would pass the Beechwood Bar, bulging with Scottish supporters and obviously doing brisk business.
Our hearts pumped a little faster as the towering Hampden Park floodlights, at half-beam some 40 minutes before kick-off, loomed into view. Valhalla was a mere handful of minutes away. There was a great wee fish and chip shop on the way and some of my chums would look at their admission money and wonder if it was worth taking the risk of purchasing a poke of chips – 3d – and then relying on some kind supporters to give them a lift over the turnstile. It happened all the time back then and that was when you actually envied the wee guys. There never seemed to be a problem with them. Me? I think I came out the womb at six foot two inches, so there was little point in me making such a request to some bloke who came up to my navel. Denis Law or a poke of chips? There was only ever going to be one winner.