MY week began with a very pleasant morning spent in the company of Sir Menzies Campbell (see overleaf to find out why), reminiscing about this, that and other.
One name that came up was that of Mike Hildrey. For the non-journalistic or athletic amongst you, Mike was an intrepid reporter with our sister publication, the Evening Times. However, more sporting readers might recognise the name, as in his prime, Hildrey was nicknamed “The Balfron Bullet” – one of Scotland’s finest sprinters of the early 60s.
His inclusion in our chat came about when I mentioned to Sir Ming that he always looked as if he was putting everything into his running, regardless of distance, straining every sinew to shave another fraction off the clock. “Indeed, that was me. But if you wanted grace and style, Michael Hildrey was your man,” conceded Sir Ming.
Mike enjoyed talking sport, but, one Monday, he’d had enough of golf as various colleagues explained how their Saturday or Sunday had been ruined (or made) on the golf course, inevitably playing out their various duffed putts, chips and drives in front a frustrated Hildrey.
Eventually, his patience snapped. When asked about his weekend, and having watched one bunker shot too many, Hildrey dropped to one knee, dusted his hands, went into the set position, and took off up the corridor.
No-one ever mimed their golf swings in front of him again.
THIS week I was sad to see the passing of Vic Wakeling, the former Sky Sports chief and a man who helped revolutionise the way football was broadcast and viewed in the UK. Back in 1998, and the inception of the SPL, he hosted a lunch at Hampden to herald the new innovation of Sunday evening football and the likes, and as a bit of fun, had a competition amongst the assembled journalists to test their footballing knowledge.
There were three questions; who would win the title, who would be promoted, and who would be relegated. And, there was a tie-break question; how many goals would be scored in the top flight. I predicted Rangers, Hibernian and Dunfermline, and, that there would be 472 goal scored, even including my calculations on my entry. I was wrong. There were only 471 scored. But there were 12 bottles in the case of champagne he sent me . . .
THERE was much hilarity at Ibrox on Wednesday evening – and little else for the locals – when one Rangers fan decided enough was enough and made off with the match ball midway through the game against Aberdeen. Unfortunately, they found another ba’ and the Dons won 2-1.
Back in 1985, Rangers were playing Hamilton Accies at Fir Park in a League Cup tie when a work colleague (who will remain nameless), tried to get in having just finished work his shift at eight o’clock.
Having been denied access, he became abusive towards the turnstyle operator who hailed a policeman.
On seeing the officer, the noisy would-be spectator legged it. Undaunted however, he tried further up the street only to be confronted by the same response, and then, the very same officer. A chase ensued. But, while being pursued up Knowtop Avenue, in the direction of Windmillhill Street (as they’d say on Crimewatch), the match ball was punted out the ground on to the pavement, where it stoated up in front of the individual fleeing the scene, who grabbed the Mitre Size 5 and stepped on the gas as, in true Keystone Kops fashion, more polis joined the chase. He got away, with the spoils, which he paraded at work the next day.
I often wondered if John still has that ball. Or did I just Frame him?
THE Israeli ambassador was at Holyrood on Thursday, with the usual security in place around him, as is the norm for politicians, dignitaries and sportsmen and women from that nation when they travel abroad. A dozen years back, I met one of those officers in his line of duty, given an assignment to watch over a bunch of sportsmen taking part in a world championship.
He told me he’d been encouraged to sign up for such a detail, because some of his comrades had been to Moscow, Bologna and Valencia with Maccabi Tel Aviv in the Eurobasketball tournament, and, to Turkey, Bulgaria and Slovakia with Hapoel, Haifa and Tel Aviv in the various UEFA soccerball competitions. Sounded like a pretty decent junket. So where did I meet Avi?
Ayr, more accurately, at the Northfield Bowls Complex, where he’d been dispatched to watch over the Israeli national lawn bowling squad, in Scotland for the world championship. Ah sport, just full of surprises . . .
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