Season 1969/70 would be a rollercoaster of joy and despair for Celtic. The Hoops would edge another League Cup section including Rangers after both sides had won their home games, the Ibrox side’s dropped point against Willie’s old club, Raith Rovers, proving critical.
Wallace had then received his marching orders for the second time as a Celt, brawling with Dunfermline Athletic’s Willie Renton in a bad-tempered clash at East End Park on Saturday, 6 September 1969, the hosts winning that one 2-1.
Ronnie Simpson then, sadly, became the first of the Lions to cease the wearing of the green, after dislocating his shoulder at Hampden in the replayed League Cup semi-final against Ayr United, on Monday, 13 October 1969, just two days into ‘Faither’s’ 40th year. Willie Wallace would come off the bench to replace the stricken keeper, with Tommy Gemmell taking over in goals as the Hoops won 2-1.
An early goal from Bertie Auld in the final 12 days later would then be enough to defeat a St Johnstone side playing in its first major cup final, Celts claiming an unprecedented fifth successive triumph in the competition, albeit at the cost of a broken ankle for another Lisbon hero, Stevie Chalmers. That would ultimately prove significant also.
December 1969 had been the most productive month so far that season for Willie in terms of goals, doubles against St Johnstone, Dundee United and Partick Thistle within a fortnight, as the Bhoys scored 22 goals in just four League games, taking his Hoops tally to the magical 100, an excellent and timely way to mark his third anniversary as a Celt.
The League had ultimately been won comfortably, a point at Tynecastle sealing five-in-a-row before March was out, as the gulf between the champions and the others continued to grow. The Celts had looked good for another Treble also, as they faced Aberdeen in the Scottish Cup final for the second time in four seasons, reviving happy memories for Willie, his two-goal haul winning the 1967 showpiece to the disappointment of his old pal, Aberdeen’s Jim Storrie.
Sadly, for both Willie and this 9-year-old author attending his first cup final, a combination of Robert Holley Davidson and Derek ‘Cup-tie’ McKay would see Martin Buchan rather than Billy McNeill hold the famous old trophy aloft on Saturday, 11 April 1970, in front of 108,000 fans.
But like the Murphy’s…
Four days later, a Celtic side excluding Willie Wallace beat Leeds United 2-1 at Hampden in front of 136, 505, the largest attendance ever to watch a club match in European competition, to reach a second Champions Cup final in just four seasons.
Whilst Jock Stein had preferred Yogi to Wispy at Hampden, Willie had played his part in Celtic getting there, scoring against both Fiorentina and Benfica at Parkhead, in two nights which are still revered by Hoops supporters of a certain vintage. The Bhoys would now face Dutch champions Feyenoord in the final, the Rotterdam outfit having earlier disposed of cup-holders AC Milan, thus denying the defending champions the opportunity to play the final on their own ground, the San Siro.
The signs were good for Celtic. Like the 1967 campaign, the journey had begun against the Swiss champions, in this case Basel rather than Zurich, they had beaten the Italian champions again and played in Lisbon, albeit requiring the fate of a Dutch guilder to be guessed correctly by Billy McNeill after a torrid night in the Estadio da Luz at the hands of Eusebio and co. And now they would face their destiny at the home ground of Inter Milan. What could go wrong?
Well, pretty much everything as it turned out, in the din of Milan on Wednesday, 6 May 1970.
The omens continued to favour Celts, as Tommy Gemmell repeated his Lisbon trick, a decoy run par excellence by the Italian referee Concetto Lo Bello fooling Eddy Pieters Graafland in the Feyenoord goal to give the Hoops the lead. Graafland and Wallace had faced each other at Hampden in an international friendly back in 1966. Sadly, Eddy passed away in April of this year, just a week short of the Golden Anniversary celebrations in Rotterdam. God bless him.
But as we sat back in front of the television to enjoy the evening, we had misread the script.
Unlike Lisbon, it was Celtic who were the overwhelming favourites, and who would later be accused of underestimating the opposition. Of having won it before we played the game.
With the favourites taking the lead only serving to confirm their so-called superiority, the underdogs immediately struck back, a looping header from Feyenoord skipper Rinus Israel, their Cesar, leaving Evan Williams helpless in the Celtic goal, and suddenly it was game on.
As the match progressed, the Dutch were winning battles on and off the field, the klaxons my abiding memory of that evening. How Celts survived as long as they did will forever remain a mystery to me but survive they did, an old champ bouncing back from the ropes, refusing to go down. Then, in the dying seconds of extra-time, a replay imminent and bringing the chance of redemption, of rewriting our history, there is a slow-motion goal, with defenders falling over and a goalkeeper seconds too late to stop the danger, and a Swedish hitman to curse rather than love, Ove Kindvall flicks the ball over Evan Williams to win the cup for Feyenoord.
In time, perhaps the fantastic achievements of that run will be properly recognised, to beat the clubs we did and beat them the way that we did, albeit that pain will never entirely fade.
But for now, there is only that pain.
