by Alex Gordon
‘It wasn’t a game to remember and officials of both countries condemned the brutality. Said Sir Alf, “I disliked the physical aspect intensely in the first 20 minutes. I think both teams wanted to win and there was rivalry between the players from the same club on opposite sides and there is a great deal of feeling between them at club level.”
‘In the end, Scotland were probably unlucky to lose 1-0, but, frankly, neither side distinguished itself. I felt the presence in the England midfield of Storey and Hunter, two players not noted for their reluctance to hammer in physically, was seen by some of the Scots as an invitation to war. Scotland fell into the trap. Unlike the West Germans, who had decisively beaten England and who disdained the savagery of their opponents in Berlin and kept on playing football, the Scots became war-like, retaliating with the old fervour of the “Wha daur meddle wi’ me?” clans. That suited England perfectly. So there was little football.
‘There were 46 physical fouls recorded during the match – 24 against England and 22 against Scotland. And the sad truth was that Scotland failed where the team manager expected them to be strongest – in midfield. There was no player of inspiration or class to vary the style, to bring imagination and a shrewd long pass, no Eddie Gray, Bobby Murdoch or Charlie Cooke, who would have made a world of a difference.
‘This deficiency was all the sadder because Scotland carried a real threat at the front. England’s crowding defence gave Lorimer little room for his explosive shooting to count. But Law, who became the hero of Hampden again with a fine display, was near his old electric self and Macari was sharp and energetic, a real find.
‘It was, however, the war at Hampden that will be remembered, not the good football. The main aim of too many players seemed to be to hurt an opponent and because there were so many culprits on both sides it was impossible to apportion blame. Once the Scotland v. England international was an exhibition of all that was best in British football, hard but fair and sporting with artists allowed to show their talent. Now it’s a battle, with a cluttered midfield and anyone trying to hold the ball ruthlessly chopped down. In the end, Scotland were reduced to pumping high balls into the England penalty area, useless against their tall defenders.
‘Hampden 1972 was the worst advertisement British football has ever had.’
Actually, I was in the antiquated rundown Hampden press box that afternoon among the hoi-polloi of British sportswriters – along with a scattering of scribes from all sorts of other publications from around the globe naturally curious to see what all the fuss was about concerning the oldest international fixture in the world. I was 20 years old at the time and had been writing a monthly Scottish football column for about a year for the prestigious World Soccer magazine. Their editor, Phillip Rising, telephoned and asked me if I would be interested in covering the event for his monthly mag. Try stopping me!
I wrote my article on the Monday and sent it by registered post to the World Soccer offices in London. Remember, these were the days long before the internet where you can send an e-mail round the world at the push of a button. Mobile phones? The Daily Record had one walkie-talkie for emergencies and it was known as The Talking Brick. You needed a wheelbarrow to cart this thing around with you.
Anyway, I searched through the rubble of the disaster area that masquerades as a library at home and, remarkably and eventually, found a copy of that particular World Soccer. I was intrigued to discover what I had said all those years ago. One paragraph leapt out. ‘At the start Roy McFarland kicked Denis Law. Denis Law kicked Roy McFarland. Norman Hunter kicked John Brownlie. Archie Gemmill kicked Alan Ball. Alan Ball kicked Billy Bremner and Peter Storey kicked everybody in a blue shirt.’ Alas, that just about sums up the afternoon when Hampden became a hacker’s paradise.
Denis Law’s farewell to this fixture deserved so much better.
Chapter Nineteen
CZECH MATE
Willie Ormond had a problem. He was plotting for his seventh game in charge of the Scottish international team and the furrows criss-crossing his brow, running in three deep parallel lines, resembled rail tracks. Clearly, this was a worried man. In public, Ormond disguised his fretting with a quick smile and his courteous, likeable ways. He had taken over from Tommy Docherty at the start of 1973, inheriting a team that was on the brink of winning its way to the World Cup Finals in West Germany the following year. Under The Doc, the Scots had triumphed 4-1 over Denmark in Copenhagen on 18 October 1972 with Lou Macari, Jimmy Bone, Joe Harper and Willie Morgan on target. Goals from Kenny Dalglish and Peter Lorimer eased their nation to a 2-0 victory over the Danes a month later at Hampden. It was to be Docherty’s last involvement at this level.
Manchester United sacked manager Frank O’Farrell and, within days, on 22 December the garrulous Glaswegian was on his way to Old Trafford as his successor. He went from £7,500-per-year as an international manager to £15,000 per year with a United side that had struggled to find a suitable successor to the legendary Matt Busby, who had retired from the touchline in 1969 to become general manager and then director at the club. The inexperienced Wilf McGuinness moved into the dug-out before being handed his P45 a year later. Busby returned for a season and then Irishman O’Farrell was lured from Leicester City. This was the same manager of whom Denis Law would later say, ‘Frank O’Farrell arrived as a stranger and left as a stranger.’ Again the choice was hardly inspired and 12 months later it was time to call for The Doc.
Former SFA secretary Ernie Walker sighed, ‘It was astonishing. The Doc had come to us professing undying love for Scotland, saying it was the job of his dreams. He was the happiest man in the universe when he got the position. However, it seems that love for Scotland disappeared overnight when Manchester United came calling. That’s the way it is, I suppose. One learns to know Tommy.’
However, there was no time for Scotland to wallow in self-pity. There was a World Cup place up for grabs. The SFA assured everyone they would think big before naming Docherty’s successor. Celtic’s Jock Stein, Liverpool’s Bill Shankly and Hibs’ Eddie Turnbull were all mentioned, either in a full-time or part-time capacity. So, they opted for Willie Ormond, of St Johnstone. To be fair to the SFA bosses, they had to act fast and Ormond arrived on 5 January 1973 – only 14 days after Docherty had vacated the premises. Supporters were slightly puzzled, possibly even perplexed. Ormond had had reasonable success with unfashionable St Johnstone and could even point to magnificent wins in Europe over West German giants SV Hamburg and Hungary’s Vasas Budapest in the UEFA Cup two years beforehand. He also put together a fairly attractive Perth outfit that reached the League Cup Final before a first-minute goal from Bertie Auld took the trophy to Celtic in 1969. Players such as John Connolly, Jim Pearson, Kenny Aird and Henry Hall were lighting up the domestic game and Ormond’s stock was high. Ernie Walker said, ‘Willie was a great wee guy and it was difficult not to like him. He was perky, good company and liked a drink. Everybody liked Willie Ormond.’ Enough of the popularity contests. The nagging question for a sceptical nation remained: was he good enough at international level?
Ormond’s take on the appointment was a simple one. He summed up, ‘I wouldn’t like to say I am a hard man. I would like to think I am fair and I expect the players to be fair with me. I’ll respect them as men and I would hope I would get that respect back from them in return. If we can go forward on that basis I will be more than satisfied.’
Five weeks after Ormond accepted the job, England rolled into town to provide the opposition in the SFA Centenary Celebration Match at Hampden. Obviously, no expense was spared by the governing body in their plans for a glamorous occasion. A reasonable crowd of 48,470 turned out on a freezing evening in Glasgow to witness players slipping and sliding their way around a treacherous pitch. The English players seemed to cope a bit better than their Scottish counterparts; they thrashed five goals beyond Bobby Clark without reply. Underlining the arctic antics on a bizarre night, the best goal of the game probably came from Scot Peter
Lorimer with a pulverising sliced effort from the edge of his own penalty area. Clark didn’t move a muscle as the ball sizzled high into the net. Ormond had every right to groan.
The new Scottish manager was clearly traumatised when he was asked questions about the debacle the following day. Unusually grim-faced, he fixed his inquisitors in his gaze and said, ‘If some players think I will accept that sort of performance, irrespective of the ground conditions, they will have another think coming. A few of them didn’t do themselves any favours in that game, that’s for sure. I would go as far as to say that a few international careers are now in jeopardy.’ These were words from a man who was known to be almost shy in most circumstances. He was wounded, though, and it showed. Changes were on the way.
Ormond put out this line-up against England: Bobby Clark (Aberdeen); Alex Forsyth (Partick Thistle), Eddie Colquhoun (Sheffield United), Martin Buchan (Manchester United), Willie Donachie (Manchester City); Peter Lorimer (Leeds United), Billy Bremner (Leeds United), George Graham (Manchester United), Willie Morgan (Manchester United, sub: Colin Stein, Rangers); Kenny Dalglish (Celtic), Lou Macari (Celtic).
The next game was against Wales in Wrexham on 12 May. Ormond had plenty of time to ponder his changes. This was his selection: Peter McCloy (Rangers); Danny McGrain (Celtic), Jim Holton (Manchester United), Pat Stanton (Hibs), Donachie; Dalglish (sub: Macari), Graham, Davie Hay (Celtic), Morgan; Derek Johnstone (Rangers), Derek Parlane (Rangers, sub: Stein).
No Bobby Clark. No Alex Forsyth. No Eddie Colquhoun. No Martin Buchan. No Peter Lorimer. No Billy Bremner. And, clearly, no messing with Willie Ormond. All he required now was a victory and it was duly delivered when two goals from George Graham gave Scotland a 2-0 win. Ormond looked a lot more at ease in front of the inquisitive TV cameras after this one. ‘I thought we played well, but I know we can do better. We were a lot more solid and credit to the players who followed pre-match instructions.’
The storm clouds weren’t far away, though. In fact, they were already gathering as Ormond spoke to the press in Wrexham about his optimism for the future. Four days later Northern Ireland arrived at Hampden and left with the points after a well-merited 2-1 triumph. Dalglish scored, but some horrendous goalkeeping from McCloy gifted the visitors the points. It was swiftly back to the drawing board and no-one was unduly surprised when Ormond unceremoniously axed the blundering McCloy and brought in his Celtic rival Ally Hunter for the match against England at Wembley three days afterwards. This was an altogether different Scotland unit from the one that had gone through the comic routines favoured by Mack Sennett, acclaimed producer of the Keystone Kops, in Glasgow four months earlier against the same opposition. A typical Martin Peters goal gave the English a narrow win.
Celtic’s Davie Hay recalled, ‘Willie Ormond wasn’t the most demonstrative human being you might ever meet, but he was activated for this one, believe me. The five-goal drubbing in his debut match hurt a proud man like hell. He wanted his revenge and he came close, too. Unfortunately, our defence switched off once and that was enough for them to snatch a slender win. Alan Ball flighted over a free-kick and Martin Peters, as he did so often, ghosted in at the far post to send a header spiralling away from Ally Hunter.’
However, if it hadn’t been for a soaring, gravity-defying save from Peter Shilton from a Dalglish howitzer with only five minutes to go, the Scots would have got a deserved draw. Still, there was some hope from this performance. There was the emergence of Hay in midfield, a young Joe Jordan came on for Macari at Wembley, Holton looked reliable and unfussy in the middle of the rearguard and McGrain, picking up only his third cap in the game against England, was poised and assured at right-back. He would go on to represent his country on another 59 occasions and it would have been closer to 100 but for a cruel injury that derailed his progress for two years.
Ormond watched his team draw a blank at Wembley and he winced on 22 June when the forwards again failed to impress in a 1-0 defeat in a friendly against Switzerland in Berne. Eight days later, a Scot was on target, but there was little to celebrate as a flashing header from Derek Johnstone thundered beyond McCloy for the only goal of the game against Brazil at Hampden. Rangers’ Derek Parlane was doing well on the domestic front, but he was struggling in the international arena. He played against the Swiss and the South Americans without making any sort of worthwhile impact. His Ibrox teammate Johnstone was now playing in central defence and his goal threat had been removed. In desperation, Ormond turned to his old St Johnstone favourite John Connolly, who had since been transferred to Everton. He pitched him in against Switzerland without success. Connolly only lasted the first-half before being replaced by Joe Jordan. He was never selected again.
So, it was a thoughtful Ormond who sat in his Park Gardens office in Glasgow and pondered his next move. At his home in Musselburgh, East Lothian, he would pour his favourite tipple, gin and lemon, and continue to agonise. It was the same old Scottish failing. There was a distinct lack of firepower, no cutting edge up front, little thrust, no-one who could be relied upon to seize upon the half-chances. Czechoslovakia were due to provide the opposition in one of Scotland’s most important international games in history. They would be in Glasgow on the evening of 26 September and the good work done by Tommy Docherty in the double-header against the Danes would simply disintegrate if Ormond didn’t come up with a solution to the dilemma. Four games leading up to the visit of the formidable Czechs had seen Scotland score one goal, concede five and lose on each occasion. Where was Superman when you needed him?
He was at Maine Road playing in the sky blue of Manchester City, ironically, after being freed by Tommy Docherty at Manchester United. The Lawman, at 33, was upset and hurt at the way he discovered he was no longer wanted by the Old Trafford side. If you ask him his views today on Docherty you will be greeted with a one-word answer, ‘Pass’. But he went to City with an ambition, hunger and desire to show Docherty he had been far too hasty in dumping the professional he had played alongside on his international debut against Wales in Cardiff 15 years earlier in 1958. Hell hath no fury like a Lawman scorned.
Keith MacRae, the former Scotland Under-23 goalkeeper who cost Manchester City £100,000 when he signed from Motherwell in 1973, remembered Law’s season at the club. He said, ‘Yes, it looked as though Denis had a point to prove to Docherty and every other doubter, for that matter. He was genuinely excited at the prospect of playing for City alongside the likes of Colin Bell, Frannie Lee, Mike Summerbee and Rodney Marsh. There was a lot of flamboyance in the squad. Denis was eager to get started. He proved his fitness and played 22 first-team games and, if memory serves correctly, netted nine goals. Not bad for a guy who was supposed to be over the hill. Injury slowed him down, of course, but he could still do the business in front of goal and that is something you cannot coach into anyone, young or old. We all knew he was desperate to play for Scotland in the World Cup Finals and everyone at the club, even the English players, expressed delight when the news broke that he would be going to West Germany. If anyone deserved to be on that plane it was Denis Law.’
Watched by an SFA contingent in the Wembley stand, Law readily admitted he didn’t do himself justice when Manchester City faced Wolves in the English League Cup Final that season. City slumped to a 2-1 defeat and Law said, ‘I had taken a knock in the first leg of the semi-final against Plymouth and was out of the team until a week before Wembley and Francis Lee was struggling, too, with knee problems. Still, on paper, our forward line of Summerbee, Bell, Lee and me looked about as exciting and entertaining as any in the country. Bell, however, was the only one fully fit. We played as awful a game as I have ever played in that arena with 100,000 fans watching. It was a big game and a big day, but we let our supporters down completely. It was mainly because we weren’t fit and you can’t play effectively at Wembley if you’re not fit. Few get away with it and we were found out very quickly.’
Any hopes Law had of representing his nation on the biggest stage of all wer
e in jeopardy. Ron Saunders had been brought in to replace Johnny Hart, the man who had persuaded Law to join City in the summer. Hart’s health had suffered and he quit the club in November with Saunders moving in. The new manager’s sergeant-major approach to the game almost caused a revolt among the Maine Road players. Under Hart, they had been encouraged to play with flair. Saunders had his own ideas and they weren’t quite in unison with those of Hart.
These were testing times for Law. Mike Summerbee, who played eight internationals for England, recalled, ‘I don’t mind admitting Denis Law had always been a particular hero of mine. I first met him at a party given by former City boss Malcolm Allison and I had just joined from Swindon Town. Denis was there with the likes of George Best and Paddy Crerand and we ended up having a chat in the kitchen, of all places. I liked him a lot. But it was difficult for us all under Ron Saunders. I remember going to training one day and there was Denis acting as a ball-boy behind one of the goals while some of the youngsters had shooting practice. Mind you, he was in good company because Saunders had also ordered Rodney Marsh and Frannie Lee to help out. Ludicrous! Denis Law a ball-boy? That was the mentality of Saunders.’
George Best, a good friend and business partner of Summerbee, was aware of the situation at Maine Road. Best revealed, ‘It is always going to be difficult for a manager coming in to a club where there is a nucleus of players who have been there for a long time, have achieved much and are local heroes, but are approaching the end of their careers. However, there are ways and means of dealing with these situations and Ron got off on the wrong foot. He immediately began to refer to Denis Law as “The Old Man” and Francis Lee as “Fatty”. Saunders was never material for the Diplomatic Corps, that’s for sure.’