WHAT'S your most prized possession?
Is it the boot with which you scored the
winning goal so many years ago? Is it the autograph of your
favourite player?
I know what mine is. It's something we
don't see any more. It's an eight-page brochure presented
with a Sunday newspaper and entitled: 'Souvenir of a Famous
Victory.' It's yellowing at the edges now. It's tattered,
but every time I look at it I'm on my way down memory lane
to one of the most memorable matches I ever saw.
Today that match means nothing. But
I'll never forget it. For I feel now, as I certainly felt
then, that it was the most exciting game I ever saw. Well,
it must have been an outstanding match for a national paper
to have brought out a special supplement the following
week.
It wasn't an international or a cup
final. It was the third round tie of the Scottish Cup
between Celtic and Kilmarnock at Parkhead in March,
1938.
I remember it probably best of all
because it was die first time I had been in a Press-box in
one of the big Glasgow grounds. There were stars in my eyes
as I proudly showed the commissionaire my Press pass. I had
just started in journalism and now my big moment had
arrived. I was actually reporting my first big game. Not, of
course, for one of the big Scottish papers. I was the wee
laddie who covered football for an Ayrshire weekly.
As I took my seat, I gazed round in awe.
All the stars of the football-writing world seemed to be at
Parkhead. I was suitably impressed with the conversation of
the pundits next to me.
HOW WONDERFUL!
I thought how wonderful it would be if I,
too, could be reporting for the Evening News or the Daily
Record.
But: dreams of journalistic fame faded as
soon as the teams appeared. For I became almost at once a
true son of Ayrshire, forgetting I was in the allegedly
neutral Press-box, supporting Kilmarnock, hoping they would
beat the giants of Celtic Park.
Now and again, after letting my emotions
get the better of me, I looked around guiltily, afraid the
eagle eye of some famous sports reporter would be upon me,
wanting to know who dared cheer on his team in such a place
as this.
I needn't have worried. Press-boxes -
if I may let you info a secret aren't really strongpoints of
strict isolationalists. Fervour, of course, is often
suppressed - but when, it really explodes . . . boy, you
really know just which team it is that is favoured by your
colleagues!
So it was that mad March day of 1938. The
match turned out to be the soccer stunner of all time, with
excitement mounting to an almost unbearable crescendo. No
wonder even the hardened reporters felt their pulses race.
When the draw for the third round came
out, Rugby Park fans felt slight regret. For Celtic were at
their peak - a brilliant, star-studded side, with probably
the best inside-forward trio in football, McDonald, Crum and
Divers, whose rapid and bewildering interchange of position
disconcerted the most formidable defences.
By February l2th, 1938, they had played
fifteen successive League matches without a defeat, losing
only two points in all, with a total of fifty-nine goals in
their favour and only eleven against them. And it was
Celtic's jubilee year. They were being tipped as winners of
both League and Cup.
No wonder Kilmarnock supporters were
apprehensive. 'If only the game had been at Rugby Park ... a
fighting chance ... but at Parkhead ... oh dear!'
Yet there were always the optimists. I
was one. And I consoled myself by thinking that Kilmarnock's
new manager might have a plan to defeat Celtic. Certainly no
manager knew more about the Parkhead set-up.
For
the Rugby Park boss was none other than Mr. James McGrory,
the Celtic centre-forward who had been the greatest menace
to goalkeepers in the history of the game and who had left
Parkhead in December, 1937, to join the Ayrshire club.
Then
there was our Ayrshire pride in our homespun side. For this
was a local team making good. Six of the players were dis-covered
in our home county, picked from the ranks of Ayrshire's
juniors. Collins, (pictured right) McAvoy, Milloy and
Robertson were natives of Kilmarnock. The other two from
Ayrshire were Ross and Thomson.
Nevertheless, Kilmarnock looked boyish
and inexperienced compared to the great Celts when the teams
lined up like this:
Kilmarnock:
Hunter; Fyfe, Milloy; Robertson, Stewart, Ross; Thomson,
Reid, Collins, McAvoy, McGrogan.
Celtic:
Kennaway; Hogg, Morrison; Lynch; Lyon, Paterson; Delaney,
McDonald, Crum, Divers, Murphy.
Kilmarnock started well enough. They were
eager, smart and clever. But we all thought that while the
brisk Killie raiding might last for a minute or two, Celtic
would quickly get a grip on the game.
BOLT FROM BLUE
Then
came the bolt from the blue. Kilmarnock, rampaging,
rollicking rascals, were a glorious goal ahead. George
Robertson (pictured left) slung over a shy to Benny Thomson.
The winger slipped a smart pass to his inside-man, George
Reid, himself a Celtic player on loan to Kilmarnock. I held
my breath as Reid pushed a dainty lob out to the left.
And there was Felix McGrogan rushing
in! Would he ... could he score? Next second I was
delirious with joy. All Ayrshire went wild as the ball
landed in the net.
The taste of blood was sweet. But how
long could Killie hope to hold it?
My heart beat painfully as Crum cavorted
round Jackie Stewart and sent Delaney spanking off. Again
the feeling came of Goliath toying with a boyish-looking
David. But the Kilmarnock defence showed the toughness of
their mettle. For every Celtic advance was strangled in the
making.
And now came another great moment -
Kilmamock's second goal.
Fred Milloy had been hurt. But although
he was limping he sent a well-directed free-kick to the
unmarked Thomson. From Thomson to Reid, back to Thomson –
and again to Reid went the ball.
The inside-right sent his parting cross
cruising round Lyon to the feet of young Alan Collins. Just
one second of doubt. Then the mightiest Kilmarnock roar of
modem times. The ball was in the net - and the boys had
turned into heroes and I was standing up in the Parkhead
Press-box cheering like mad and there was consternation on
the faces of the Glasgow reporters.
And so to the half-time whistle - to
bring
me back to earth. I wanted to talk and
talk about this epic match, to praise the young gallants of
Rugby Park. Then my face fell. I heard one famous sports
writer say: 'Licked ? Don't be daft. When did you ever see
Celts licked before the 90 minutes? Just you wait and see
what they'll do in the second half.'
I knew that might well be true. Away deep
down I had my doubts about Killie going home victorious.
But how those doubts began to fade
with each succeeding minute of the grimly fought second
half, with Kilmarnock's defence earning undying glory.
There was just one short spasm of panic.
Fyfe palmed the ball. A penalty for Celtic. And Malcolm
McDonald - who was to become a noted Kilmarnock manager
later - didn't miss.
And what heart the green-and-whites took
from that goal. Surely, I thought, there must be more than
30,000 Celtic fans in the ground. It sounded as though half
of Glasgow was behind that roar of encouragement.
It was enough, I felt, to unnerve the
most seasoned internationalist, never mind the Killie lads
in their teens. I wouldn't have blamed them if they had
snapped under this strain.
But here it was that the veteran touch
revealed itself. George Reid knew Celtic Park and the home
fans. He produced in the Kilmarnock ranks that sense of calm
that makes a whole team blend, insinuating himself into the
danger zone of Celtic attack, covering the no-man's land
across which the Celtic wing-halves slung the chains that
bind them to their forwards.
AMAZING END
And so to the amazing end, with Celtic
flinging everything desperately into the attack. But
Kilmarnock were still defending brilliantly - and they were
still dangerous up in front.
What a change, I thought proudly, from
the ragged displays they had given earlier in the season.
The Kilmarnock plan was always speed -
speed in the tackle, speed in the pass, still more speed in
the parting effort.
Then the roar of joy from Kilmarnock
throats. It was the end - and Killie had won a sensational
2-1 victory.
Even today I still think of that game -
thanks to my 'Souvenir of a Famous Victory'.
