THE late Irish stand-up comedian Sean Hughes didn’t have much time for those in my business whose job it was to critique what he did for a living.
“I gave up on reviewers when they said that my one-man show was a bit self-indulgent,” mused one of the funniest men to ever hold a microphone in his hand.
‘Tis the same with newspaper columnists. It’s overwhelmingly tempting when you get to offer an opinion on anything and not, at least in part, make it about yourself, and far too often the resultant article is a mini
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Alas, such barrel scraping is not beyond myself and, therefore, I must tell you why my mother and I have not spoken for 40 years.
The exact date of the fall-out was June 11, 1978 when having watched Scotland quite brilliantly beat Holland 3-2, I believed that we had just won the World Cup.
I told this to the woman who brought me into the world. She looked me straight in the eye and then laid down the devastating news that not only had we not won said cup, but we were now out of the tournament.
Charles Dickens would have felt this a little too bleak.
I was five-years old. I have never gotten over the betrayal and hurt. Where’s my drama starring Hugh Grant?
She could have lied, told me that we had, as Ally McLeod thought possible, just been crowned the best football team on the planet.
Then I would have gone and played in the back garden. Instead, I burst into tears and no amount of ice cream was going to mend this broken heart.
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Something had to go. Football or my mother. I made the right choice, although being a Scotland supporter of four decades standing has not, on reflection, been particularly good for my mental health.
Despite being so young, I genuinely recall 1978 and all that with some clarity. I was sneaked into the local pub after we sent our brave lads off at Hampden to the Argentine confident Ally’s Army were going over there to shake them up, as Andy Cameron promised in his iconic song
Whichever living room we watched the Scotland games was packed. The men’s hands never seemed to be without a can of Tennents, complete with picture of a ‘lager lovely’ on the side. To this day, I can’t see a women in a bikini, high heels with blue eye shadow and not think of Don Masson missing a penalty.
We lost to Peru. But that was okay. Iran were next and they don’t even play football. The resultant (lucky) 1-1 draw made all the worse because Kenny Dalglish was substituted and our goal was an OG. Grim.
And then came that night when my family was torn apart, as Scotland won and still lost. That should be our motto. We could beam it onto Edinburgh Castle.
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Poor Ally. Sure, he made mistakes, but the man brought this country together at the start of the adventure when we all loved him, and then again a few weeks later, when emotions were a touch on the darker side. It was the last time the nation actually agreed on something.
This evening, a documentary about the 1978 campaign will be aired. It promises to be funny, nostalgic and with plenty of new footage, informative as well. I did not know AC/DC played the old Glasgow Apollo wearing Scotland jerseys in honour of our heroes.
This was before a ball was kicked. Obviously.
Ach, at least we got there. In many ways it was our most successful campaign apart from 1974 when we, of course, became the first country not to lose a game and still go out at the group stage.
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And now we can look back on those times, lasting family feuds aside, with humour at what was a truly odd time to be Scottish.
I just wish Danny McGrain had been fit. If only Graeme Souness hadn’t been ignored until the last game. Alan Hansen should have gone.
And maybe if Ally had his time again, he wouldn’t have taken Gordon McQueen to the other side of the world with his knee hanging off in the hope of some miracle. Most of all, I wish my mother had been a liar.
‘Scotland 78 - A Love Story’ is on BBC One Scotland on Wednesday, June 6 at 9pm.
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