Craig Brown - The Game of My Life. Craig Brown
became quite preoccupied by his work. I did occasionally go with him to see Hamilton play, but these were invariably mid-week matches because on Saturdays he was fully occupied by the Jordanhill football set-up. They ran five teams at the time and all the organisation was down to him and his superb colleague, Roy Small.
I was really interested in my father’s work, and it certainly foreshadowed the job I would be doing in later life. It often amuses me to listen to people talking about my job now. Many people think that all I have to do is pick a Scotland team, spend a few days with them, play the game and then go on holiday, watching football matches in other parts of the world. Oh, how I wish! Let me assure anyone who thinks that this job is a bed of roses of one thing, that even the most beautiful petals are surrounded by many painful thorns!
Because my father’s work kept him so busy, I was dependent on my Uncle Jimmy Caldow, my mother’s youngest brother, to take me to senior games at weekends. His was a famous footballing name because of Eric Caldow, Rangers captain and Scotland international. He was a Queen’s Park fan and so we used to travel to Hampden to see them. They had a good team at the time. I seem to remember that their regular side was Weir, Harnett, Hastie, Cromar, Valentine, Robb, Reid, McCann, Church, Dalziel and Omand. I learned a great deal from those trips to Hampden to see Queen’s Park with my uncle.
During holiday times my father was able to take me to see Hamilton Accies. The manager, Jackie Cox, was a good pal of my father and was an extremely well-known character in Scottish football. He had played at a good level himself and was a cousin of Sammy Cox – a very popular Scottish international who played for Rangers.
Jackie had some wonderful phrases which I can still recall clearly even though I was just a lad on the fringes of the conversations at the time I first heard them. His team talks were littered with the most amazing expressions and were audible to anyone within a hundred yards. Just to give a couple of examples of his verbal skills, he once told his men, ‘I could frighten ‘im just by clearin’ mah throat!’ That was in reference to a winger whom Jackie thought to be cowardly. He used to totally destroy the opposition verbally. I heard it all because I was just down the passage giving all the boots a good clean – it’s amazing what you’ll do just to be involved!
One day, when Jackie Cox was playing for Hamilton against Rangers, he caused some consternation. Now Jackie used to love to mix it a bit and take the big scalps and, on this particular day, he had given most of the Rangers side a hard time. Then there came a very strong tackle on the talented inside forward Jimmy Caskie, which resulted in Caskie being stretchered off. As he was leaving the pitch, Jackie ran over to him and said, ‘Jimmy, while you were in the jeelie-pieces, I was on the porridge and the breast of the pheasant!’
Hamilton’s big rivals were Motherwell, who were just the other side of the bridge over the Clyde and they had a fine team managed by Bobby Ancell. Guys like Willie Hunter, Ian St John, Charlie Aitken, Andy Weir and Pat Quinn were playing for them in the 1950s, so we sometimes used to sneak over and take a look at them.
My boyhood hero was playing for Hearts so, whenever the opportunity showed itself, I never missed the chance to go and see him in action. He was the one and only Dave Mackay and, whenever he was playing in the Glasgow or Motherwell area, I would plead with my Uncle Jimmy, my father, or just about anyone else who might be persuaded, to take me to see the game. I idolised him, and if any one player could be said to have made a huge impression on me in the formative years of my life, it was Dave Mackay of Heart of Midlothian. Every time I saw him I knew that I wanted to be just like him. The course of my future career was clear to me, and I was beginning to burn with ambition. Would I be good enough?
It was a question that would have to remain unanswered for some time. My exploits on the pitch were, at that stage, limited to the kind of games I’ve already mentioned, and so there could be no knowing whether or not my brothers and I were destined for careers in the game. Nowadays, of course, it is all very different, with lads as young as eight being marked by clubs and then wooed for years until they are ready to become full-blown trainees.
My father took a strict view of the exposure of youngsters to too much sporting activity too early in their lives, and this applied as much to golf as it did to football. He was a very keen player, but even so he would not let me actually play until I was eleven years of age. I used to caddy for him, which meant that I did learn about the game and its etiquette – but not until I was eleven could I actually take part. I could hardly wait and often used to trudge around the Hamilton golf course yearning for the day when I would be allowed to tee off.
I was learning the game of football in a similar passive way from my trips to watch Hamilton, Motherwell, Queen’s Park and Dave Mackay. I remember great games and great players at Hamilton, but I also remember a great groundsman, Bobby Shearer, father of another Bobby Shearer who played for Rangers. Shearer senior was known as ‘Bush’, but I never found out why, although I suspect his hair had something to do with it. I do know that he kept the Accies ground – Douglas Park – in absolutely immaculate condition. He took great pride in giving the players the best possible playing conditions, and he certainly succeeded.
The Hamilton side of those early 1950s contained a number of names probably well remembered by some of you – Jimmy Cron, Bobby Cunning (an outside left who went to Rangers), Jim McLean (who later became well known as manager and chairman of Dundee United and who Sir Alex Ferguson, in his autobiography says makes cussedness an art form!), Andy Paton, the centre-half, Pat Holton (who was later to join Chelsea) and Sam Hastings. They were all players whom I remember watching, enjoying their skill and determination.
That, then, was my football upbringing. I was a Hamilton supporter and a Queen’s Park supporter with a long road ahead of me.
My childhood memories are of bombs, baths, boot rooms, a friendly train-driver, a close family, moving house, having two younger brothers, and watching Dave Mackay. I also remember the luxury of the occasional daydream that perhaps, one day, it would be possible that I could become a professional footballer myself. Being a train-driver could have been fine, and even joining the forces or following my father into physical education might have been acceptable – but the power and the sheer magic contained in the game of football had already begun to work its charm on me.
MY FATHER HAD this strict policy that we should always support our local club. That was no problem to me because I never needed any encouragement at all to be an Accies supporter – I really liked the club and its ground. Of course, if everyone’s father had taken the same view as mine, then clubs like Manchester United, Liverpool, Celtic and Rangers would never have had the widespread following that they all enjoy today. However, it was my father’s policy and both my brothers and I stuck to it.
Throughout my life I had supposed that it was quite a well-known fact that we were Hamilton supporters and so, years later, it came as quite a surprise to receive a sharp letter as a result of a favourable comment I made in support of another club. It came in 1994, when Clyde moved to their new ground in Cumbernauld. I had previously been manager of Clyde for over nine years – although my good friend Alex Smith was currently in charge at this momentous time in the club’s history. I was interviewed about the exciting new era in the story of Clyde and was asked what I thought would be the outcome of their first game in their new stadium. I replied that I hoped there would be a good crowd for such a gala occasion and that Clyde would win their match.
The chairman of Hamilton at that time was George Fulston – later the chairman of Falkirk. Apparently his wife had heard, or was told about, the radio interview, and she wrote to me – and I do believe that it was without George’s knowledge. She stated that, in her opinion, what I had said was deplorable, and how could I expect the support of the Scottish people for the national team if I was showing favouritism to one team or another.
Needless to say, I quickly wrote back to Mrs Fulston – who, incidentally, is a very charming