As the flash-bulbs went off and interpreters tried to sort out the various arguments, it was difficult to know whether our next destination would be Scotland or Uruguay. At one stage the Boss asked us if we were prepared to play Racing Club again and we said ‘Yes’, mainly because we could tell from his attitude that he thought we could still win the third game if we got protection from the referee. The Uruguayans assured us the next game would be strictly controlled, and finally Mr. Kelly took their word for it.
I didn’t know then, of course, that if the Chairman had been adamant and refused to play in Montevideo I would have been spared the most embarrassing football experience of my career…but I’ll tell you about that later.
We had cheered up a lot by the time we flew out to Uruguay the next day. We had heard that the fans in Montevideo didn’t like Racing Club at all and were sure to be behind us. And any doubts we may have had about this story were quickly dispelled at the airport. We got a great reception; the crowds were shouting ‘Celtic, Celtic’ and that really gave our morale a boost. It pleased us even more when we were visited at out hotel by the Penarol players, the former World Champions who had played us in a friendly at Parkhead. They confirmed that Racing Club had a reputation for being a really nasty bunch, but they were sure we could beat them.
The Boss must have been cheered by all this too because there were two occasions when he showed how quick he can be with the gags. There was a phone call and one of the waiters in the hotel came up to him and asked: ‘Are you Stein?’ In the local accent, however, it sounded like ‘Are you stayin’? – and quick as a flash the Bog man replied: ‘No, I’m leaving on Sunday.’
Outside the hotel the following day he really had us rolling about. We had been invited to go to a nearby shop where we could get some bargains in clothes. The proprietor was delighted to see us. He wore a broad smile and, like me, he had the kind of nose, which leaves very little room for the rest of your face. “This is wonderful,’ he said. To think you come all the way from Glasgow to my shop. And you know what? I’ve got a cousin in Glasgow. Maybe you know him. His name is Levy.’
The rest of us smilingly shook our heads. Our clothier friend didn’t realise how many people there are around Glasgow with a name like Levy. But the Boss had the answer. After a moment he said ‘Levy? Sure I know him. Your cousin must be Betting Levy!’
As the rest of us nearly choked trying not to laugh, the Montevideo man could hardly contain himself. ‘Sure, sure’, he cried, ‘that sounds like him. But is he doing well?’
Back came the deadpan reply: ‘Doing well? He takes a fortune every week!’
That was the news this leading light in Montevideo Menswear had been waiting for. He could hardly serve us after that because he was obviously bursting to spread the word among his relations that their nearly forgotten cousin in Scotland was making a fortune and seemed to be a household name.
This little bit of kidding by the Boss gave the clothier a great deal of pleasure – and it helped the Celtic camp a lot too. It gave us something to look back and laugh about for the rest of the day and as the ‘decider’ approached our mood of optimism was increasing. Yet at the same time our preparations were deadly serious – so serious that Bertie Auld and I were nearly thrown out of the team altogether!
It happened like this. On the afternoon before the game Bertie and I sat in the hotel lounge chatting to some Press men. Time passed quickly and it was a long while before we realised we were the only players around. No wonder. Up in one of the rooms the Boss was holding his final tactics talk and nobody had noticed we were missing. By the time we sheepishly put our heads round the door the meeting was almost over. Later the Boss had a few things to say to both of us and he finished by telling us very frankly that if the next day’s game had been anything less important than a World tie we would have been out of the team and in the grandstand.
Since we were in we were able to join the rest of the boys in a search for a Uruguayan flag. It had been decided that since the local fans were supposed to be on our side they would back us even more if we went out with their flag. So about twenty minutes before the kick-off we all strolled on to the field, waved, acted like a most friendly bunch of fellas, then unfurled the flag. The fans seemed to like the gesture, but their response wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as we had hoped. Back in the pavilion we soon found the answer. Someone told us that ten minutes earlier the Racing Club party had been waving an even bigger Uruguayan flag than ours!
