Good times outshine Argentina angst

Published on Sunday 8 February 2004 00:00

ALLY MacLeod’s death after years combating mental illness shocked football enthusiasts, but family and close friends would surely acknowledge that his extraordinary career is the stuff of celebration, more than commiseration.

Scottish fans, whatever their allegiances, have much to thank him for, not least the vigour and humour with which he went about his business, adding character and a bit of impish dash to our game. A game, it should be said, which is increasingly peopled by bland yes-men and automatons.

Whatever his faults, he was undeniably a kick up football’s backside. You reflected on this while watching Footballers’ Lives, BBC’s tribute to MacLeod, that went out for a second time last week in place of Tam Cowan’s Offside.

Quite right, too, for it is often forgotten that, before the problems of Argentina, MacLeod had coached Ayr United and Aberdeen with distinction. Popular wisdom has it that Alex Ferguson transformed Aberdeen in the 1980s, but we watched wonderful footage of MacLeod galloping on to the Hampden turf to commune with his players after they had bagged the Scottish League Cup in the mid-1970s.

By the time Fergie was installed at Pittodrie, fans’ expectations had been elevated in no small part by MacLeod’s prior achievements in the managerial job. Remember, too, that any club outwith the Old Firm winning cups in the 1970s was about as rare then as it is now.

Ayr did not collect major trophies under MacLeod’s stewardship, but there is no doubt that Somerset Park was a bit of a fortress in those days, the team playing perhaps their most attractive football of the post-war period. Go down to the old ground on a Saturday afternoon this weather, and you will still hear old-timers waxing eloquent about the MacLeod era.

But it is the 1978 World Cup - with its bloated preamble of magic carpets and outrageous predictions, and its bloodletting aftermath - that will always be associated with the man. His widow maintained on Footballers’ Wives that it was the decision of SFA chief Ernie Walker to organise that fateful Hampden send-off, when 30,000 of us turned up in Mount Florida to celebrate, prematurely, winning the World Cup.

It sounds preposterous in hindsight, but MacLeod’s pre-tournament sentiments - "I think we’ll bring back a medal; I just hope it’s gold" - animated just about everyone. Not least the Scottish press, who were subsequently more guilty of talking up our chances in Argentina than MacLeod.

The late Ian Archer, a sports writer of some distinction in the 1970s, told me years later that not a single Scottish hack doubted for a minute that we would fail to ignite the tournament. But to proclaim such sacrilege would have resulted in a public flogging.

Oddly, the Tartan Army, or at least those who had not forked out a small fortune to make the trip to South America, came to revere MacLeod and his maverick approach, as the national team subsequently became pretty anonymous on the world stage. Time is a great healer, and the troops realised that never again would such flamboyance and gallus traits be associated with a Scottish team: Messrs Stein, Roxburgh and Brown boasted commendable traits, but they were hardly the kind of personalities liable to inspire terracing bravado.

I buttonholed MacLeod at a function some years ago, pointing out that we shared, with Stan Laurel, a secondary school in Glasgow’s south side, albeit generations apart. It was a cue for one of his favourite quips: "Aye, but I was a bigger comedian than Stan ever was."

For all that he achieved, he remained approachable and self-deprecating to the end. Thanks for the memories, Ally.