On the day that the next captain of Celtic and leader of the Green Brigade celebrated his 21st, I thought I’d take a trip back through some of the special birthdays I have shared with my team over the years.
I was born in Robroyston Hospital on Wednesday, 22 March 1961. That night, the two young stars of the current Celtic team, Pat Crerand and Billy McNeill, would play key roles in a 3-2 win for Scotland’s Under 23 side against their English counterparts at Ibrox. These games were a big deal back in the day, I recall Kenny Dalglish and Martin Buchan starring in the same fixture probably a decade later, in the quagmire which was the Baseball Ground in Derby.
Billy and Paddy were back in their normal places on the following Saturday, for the first Celtic game of my lifetime, a home league match against Dunfermline Athletic. Looking at that side, it would appear to be a mix of hardened pros and young talent, with future Lions McNeill, Clark and Chalmers lining up alongside the great Willie Fernie. Captain Bertie Peacock’s injury enabled a young John Clark’s debut run in the first team to continue, a run which included an extra-time winner in the Scottish Cup quarter-final replay at Easter Road, where Ronnie Simpson was the beaten keeper. Charlie Gallagher and Alec Byrne were on the wings, providing the ammunition for a young John Hughes in the centre. That well-established early 60’s defensive trio of Haffey, MacKay and Kennedy completed the line-up. Second-half goals from Fernie and Byrne saw McGrory’s Celts come from behind to win 2-1, in front of 20,000 fans. In the opposing dugout, a young manager watched carefully, his thoughts very much on a bigger day to follow, just one month later.
The Pars would have their early revenge, in the final of the Scottish Cup. On a rainy night at Hampden, underdogs Dunfermline ruined Celtic hopes of a first trophy since the 7-1 triumph four years earlier, by winning the replay 2-0, after a goalless first match. Goalkeeper Frank Haffey, badly at fault for the second goal, looked disconsolate at the end. Both he and Cesar had been part of Scottish football’s biggest humiliation thus far, a 9-3 defeat at Wembley, just ten days earlier.
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They watched on as young Pars coach, Jock Stein, resplendent in white raincoat, ran onto the pitch to hug the hero of the hour, goalkeeper Eddie Connachan. On a cruel, sad night for Celtic, a chain of events which would lead to Lisbon, had been kicked off.
My eighth birthday brought a very special present, that rite of passage for every Bhoy, the first trip to Hampden. I clearly remember the excitement, walking up Prospecthill Road with my dad, to take our seats in the North Stand for the Scottish Cup semi-final against Morton.
I also remember the boos as the first team ran out the Hampden tunnel, clad all in white, then the confusion, as a second team followed on in blue. For one of only two occasions I recall, the other being that famous night against St Etienne, Celtic had elected to wear an all-white strip, with thin green rings around the collar, cuffs and socks. It was a classic if not particularly well thought-out change strip, given that the majority of opponents requiring Celtic to change would have white as a predominant colour.
The early surprises continued with a Morton goal in the opening minute and the spectre of a second tournament exit in ten days, Prati’s strike having taken AC Milan into the semi-final of the European Cup, loomed large. However, the Lions roared again that fine day, goals from Wallace, McNeill, Chalmers and Johnstone ensuring that Birthday Bhoy and the majority of the near-50,000 crowd went home happy.
In the final they would meet old rivals, Rangers, with the suspension of Jinky and injury to Yogi prompting many within the media to tip the Ibrox side for the cup. However, just as he had done back in 1961 and many times since, Jock came up with a plan. In came young George Connelly, casually taking the ball from Greig and waltzing around Norrie Martin to put Celtic three up before half-time. Cesar had scored with a classic header in the opening minutes, a goal which would cost his supposed marker, Alex Ferguson, his Ibrox career.
Bobby Lennox, in his favourite fixture, sped away from the defence to make it two and Stevie popped one in at the rapidly-emptying Mount Florida end in the second half. It was one of the definitive games in Stein’s illustrious career and allowed him to enjoy his second domestic treble in just three years, a feat unsurpassed until this season.
Remarkably, this one was achieved in just three weeks, a fire-delayed League Cup final win over Hibernian at the start of the month and a great fightback at Rugby Park to earn the required title-winning point, completing the set. My own abiding memory of that Cup Final day, is walking out of Dallas’ store in Cowcaddens with my mum and sisters, to watch as the Celtic buses sped past, the fans singing and waving in scenes of unsurpassed joy. Some fifty years later, that picture lives within me still.
Three years later, another special gift was discovered in my birthday card, a stand ticket for that night’s European Cup quarter-final match against the Hungarian champions, Ujpest Dosza. Those of you of a certain vintage will remember the old stand briefs, a yellow paper ticket, which unfolded like an Evening Citizen. There was no better sight to behold.
Two weeks earlier, I had run home from school to watch the first leg live, a rare occurrence in those days. A late Lou Macari goal gave Celtic a precious lead to bring back to Glasgow, in a game perhaps best remembered for the after-match party with Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor and the travelling Celtic support!
The significance of that result was emphasised in the return game, as in front of 75,000 Celtic fans, Ferenc Bene gave our defence a torrid time, setting up a tie-equalising goal in the opening five minutes.
My young heart sank into the Upper Stand seat, as a purple tide threatened to sweep Celtic out of the tournament. But then there was Jinky. Parkhead erupted as he came off the bench on the hour mark, as yet again Jock flexed his muscles. Within a few minutes, Lou had scored again, lobbing the goalkeeper gloriously at the packed Celtic End, to kick off celebrations which would continue until full time. Celtic marched through to their fifth European semi-final, four of them under Jock, where we would face old foes Inter Milan in a repeat of the 1967 final. Sadly, there would be repeat of that outcome.
My fourteenth birthday, in 1975, was memorable for a slightly different reason, in that I had taken a season out from watching football to playing it. Following in the footsteps of Celtic giant McGrory, I turned out for St Roch’s Boys Guild in the Garngad. Thus, a day which began with my first ‘proper’ haircut, a feather-cut from the barber in Hutcheson Street, continued with a trip behind enemy lines to the remote outpost of Penilee, to take on a team from Our Lady and St George. Despite playing in the colours of Our Lady, or Aston Villa to the heathens amongst you, no respect was shown to the Blessed Lady’s team, as we recorded a rare away-day triumph, 4-1, thanks to fantastic performances from our wingers, James Divers and Arthur Jamieson.
Much like Celtic’s European record, our results were pretty much predictable, unbeatable at Fortress Garngad, where the men would leave the Hibs Club to roar us on at the red blaze pitch across the road, contrasted with an abysmal away record. My joy at our result was short-lived, however, on hearing that Celtic had lost at Broomfield, courtesy of a first-half Willie McCulloch strike. This was part of a desperate League period for Celtic, with our nine-in-a-row run about to end and only Cup Final wins over Hibernian, with Dixie adding a second Hampden hat-trick against them in a 6-3 victory, and then Airdrie, in what would be Cesar’s Last Stand, providing a degree of compensation for the season’s efforts.
My final recollection, birthday 1986, involves another memorable occasion, as Celtic fought out an eight-goal thriller at Ibrox. Celtic had taken an early two-goal lead before Willie McStay was sent packing for a second booking on the half-hour mark. This was quickly followed by a Cammy Fraser goal, to reduce the deficit at half-time. Despite an early second-half strike by the Blessed Tommy, where he rolled the ball deliciously in at the post, we then contrived to lose three goals in ten minutes to face a costly defeat in the final throes of Jock Wallace’s ‘pre-Souness’ Ibrox tenure.
Then Murdo gathered the ball outside the box to fire in a classic goal and the party in the Broomloan was in full swing again. As the ball nestled in the top corner in front of us, the prevailing emotion was one of relief. It would be six weeks later, on a rainy afternoon at Love Street, before the significance of that strike and the resulting point it earned, would be fully appreciated, eight straight League victories snatching the title from Hearts in the dying embers of the season.
Happy birthday Keiran!
Matt Corr