The Spectre Of Atletico Madrid Still Reeks Of Disgrace…
I remember the night which shamed the Beautiful Game as if it were yesterday. I remember staring at my brief as if it was Willy Wonka’s Golden Ticket on 10 April, 1974. I was 15 years old and loved the Celtic more than anything else I can remember.
The continental magic in the names of the Spaniards visitors had me dreaming of another battle with the greats, and I envisioned Billy McNeill climbing another set of stairs to hold aloft yet another glittering trophy.
That 15-year-old Bhoy was to witness a shock of epic proportions, one which had him in floods of tears well before the hapless, Dogan Babacan put his whistle to his mouth to light the touchpaper in a seething Parkhead cauldron.
CELTIC V ATLETICO MADRID EUROPEAN CUP SEMI-FINAL 1974 L/R DAVIE HAY, JIM BROGAN , KENNY DALGLISH & HARRY HOOD – PHOTO ERIC MCCOWAT
The Turk had allowed some of the most shameful and disgusting assaults on a superb Celtic side, attacks not seen since the infamous Racing Club shame and ones which would ultimately deny the great, Jock Stein’s Bhoys another tilt at a European Cup Final which would have made it three in seven years.
It didn’t happen, and as was oft the case when the left to the clearly corrupt officials within the governing body when Scots teams were seeking justice, a blind eye appeared to make the vital call.
The shirt Atletico Madrid are wearing on Wednesday night to ‘honour’ their thugs from 1974.
70,000 green and white-clad fans were shoehorned into Paradise, animated and excitedly reading from the match programme the names which jumped out of the pages: Ruben Diaz, Ruben (Little Mouse) Ayala, Eusabio, Garate, etc, etc.
Mouthwatering names which we all pined to see, but reality ‘kicked’ in when our esteemed guests spent the entire 90 minutes booting, hacking, punching and spitting on our players, and the Spanish circus had well and truly come to town.
I was with my Dad and his mates as usual under the towering floodlights to the right of the old ‘Rangers End’, and I’ll never forget the agony I went through seeing my heroes being brutalised time and again, particularly Jinky, Hay and Dalglish.
Three savages were sent packing, although the ref should have been braver and sent the whole band of thugs packing. He didn’t, and the eight ‘men’ (I use that word guardedly) who remained celebrated like they had just lifted the trophy.
A battle broke out in and around the tunnel when the smirking Latin cheats goaded the irate Celtic players, ones who could still walk, never mind play. Some hooped combatants took umbrage, and a little retribution ensued with the help of local constabulary who felt the need to ‘intervene’.
Me? I stood crying on the terrace as all hell let loose around me, and to this day I am amazed there was not a pitch invasion. I’ve rarely, if ever, seen the Celtic support so enraged, but still, they did the club proud and stayed on the terraces but were still baying for claret.
Celtic’s ‘goal’ scored by Kenny Dalglish was ruled out as the linesman reckoned that the ball was out of play.
Of course, the Spaniards got away with it and won the second leg in Madrid 2-0 with their superior regular players, not the butchers they had lost through suspension. They had initially hand-picked Argentinian and Uruguay thugs to soften us up for the second leg-it worked.
Jimmy Johnstone was visibly shaking en-route to the ground the morning after the debacle and if truth be told, the Madrid game was a farce and one which should never have taken place. Did I mention the UEFA authorities? Rogues and reprobates whose reputation preceded them in matters like this. The more things change…
They got Bayern Munich in the Final and were only minutes away from a shock 1-0 victory courtesy of an extra-time sickener from Aragones when big Hans-Georg Schwarzenbeck hit a long-range screamer and sent half of Glasgow into absolute ecstasy.
‘Der Kaiser’ Franz Beckenbauer’s superstars took the Spaniards apart in clinical fashion in the replay, a humiliating 4-0 rout, and every goal deliciously celebrated by most ‘reasonable’ Scots fans as if it were Stein’s team who scored them.
At 15, I may or may not have swigged more than a little of my Dad’s McEwan’s export which may or may not have been left open next to me, by mistake of course. We were all Bavarians that evening I can assure you!
The Spanish outfit come calling again this week, back to the scene of the crime. But they don’t see it that way. They grafted their sleazy way out of trouble in 1974 with lies and disinformation, now they intend to rub salt into our wounds by flaunting the ‘pride’ they so clearly have in their animalistic behaviour by wearing replica strips of that sickening night.
They are openly boasting of that ‘great night’ and their pride in ‘beating’ the giant of Celtic. Well, they sure as hell ‘beat’ us, but not in a way which any self-respecting club or supporter would relish or would like to be associated with.
They are, of course, an abnormal lot who wear their violence and cheating as a badge of honour. They have no shame, and although they are cashed up and likely to claw the points back to their hovel, I will embrace the Kevin Keegan saying, “I’d love it if we beat them!”
They reeked of filth in April of 1974, they reek of filth now, and this choice of attire merely demonstrates how low they will stoop to prove this to the world. Regardless of the result, I’d much rather be a proud Celtic man than an unsporting, classless circus clown.
Do us all a favour Celtic, please?
Eddie Murray
WHERE YOU THERE?
If you were at this European Cup semi-final between Celtic and Atletico Madrid we’d love to hear your stories and memories of that disgraceful match when Atletico Madrid shamed the beautiful game…
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