ntv 233


NTV 233 available from March 21st 2015. League Cup Final review, Stan Collymore, match reports, the earwig, Jock Stein appointment 50th anniversary feature, reviews of The Big Clubs and Pirates Punks and Politics and another tale from the Crypt.




The Big Clubs – a film by Joachim Kreck

rev big clubs cover

Originally, this film, made in 1974, was an occasional showing whenever Celtic Films visited supporters clubs for fund raisers. It was then released as a VHS video in the 90s by Connoiseur Video. A flick through the catalogue of Connoisseur Video would reveal a treasure trove of cult cinema classics by the likes of Wim Wenders, Jean Cocteau and prize-winning Estonian animator and political cartoonist Priit Pam; so It was something of a surprise when the above title arrived at NTV Mansions for review many years ago.

Now available to watch on Youtube, it’s a fascinating window into the past and well worth 45 minutes of your time whether you’ve never seen it before or vaguely remember it from the aforementioned Celtic Film night.

The film was made by a German documentary producer and sets out to explore the Celtic-Rangers phenomenon against a backdrop of pre-Mr Happy / Garden Festival Glasgow, at the time, undergoing what was euphemistically described by town-planners as a “facelift” (altogether now, it’ll be nice when it’s finished).

Read a full review and watch the film here.


Remember the Lubo 5-1 game?

If you want to refresh your memory then watch this:

The salutary tale that follows merely illustrates that even when they still existed it wasn’t always fun following the blue team in Glasgow.

Little Boy Blue

Talk about excited!

First comes Santa Claus with your presents, then you have a birthday the very next day.

Craig’s fingers tore feverishly at the wrappings as the temperature rose, the beads of perspiration on the wee baldy bit of his head reflecting the twinkling luminosity of the occasion. Like a shark in a feeding frenzy he launched himself wholeheartedly into the pile but seemed to be making no headway – almost as if he had five thumbs on each hand.

What makes these occasions worse is the audience participation thing. When you have a crowd cheering you on, encouraging you to do well, you hate to disappoint them. Craig looked at the five thumbs on his right hand. They had metamorphosed into a giant boxing glove. “Aw naw .. “ He looked at his left hand; no, not a boxing glove. It was a prosthetic hook that the character from Peter Pan would have been proud of.

The beads of perspiration were flowing just as the Buckie in his (now) empty teacup had done several seconds earlier. Mmmmm. It had hit just the right spot. He raised his left hand to wipe the sweat from his fevered brow and tore a four inch gash in his forehead that big Duncan Ferguson could not have bettered. “See me. Talk about unlucky!”

He raised his misty eyes to the audience for sympathy but saw only hazy outlines. A sympathetic suggestion saved the day. “Well, see if you can guess what the presents are then Craig.”

He picked up the first package eagerly. “Is it an umbrella?”

“Nope”. A serving wench had spotted his thirsty plight and replenished his empty vessel. The tawny nectar gazed up at him seductively with a look that said ‘Hurry up and kiss me.”

“Is it a watch?” He raised his cup to kiss the gorgeous contents but forgot about the boxing glove. “Aw naw. See me, talk aboot unlucky!”

1998 had indeed been a horrendously unlucky year for our Craig, what with his beloved Rangers just narrowly failing to … (This part had been blanked from his mind, a cunning psychological ploy which many traumatised victims adopt during times of extreme stress). Concentrate, concentrate. Whit wiz ah daein’? Aye, that’s right … “Is it a watch?”

“Naw, don’t be daft, it’s no’ a watch. Guess again.”

The mist began to clear from Craig’s eyes as the sniffles subsided and the package took on a more regular shape. It’s rectangular outline was now a dead giveaway. Confidence was growing. “I know, it’s a video!”


Craig looked down at his grotesque appendages and discovered to his delight that his nose-pickers had been restored to their former glory. He thrust his fi ngers hungrily at the package and destroyed the wrapping instantly. A haunted, piercing scream from the depths of his soul was matched by his terrible, troubled face. His uncontrollable sobbing blew apart the thin veneer of normality which had masked his tortured soul for the last seven months.

“What is it son?”

A friendly face gazed into his gutted countenance as the 5-1 video was gently removed from his trembling hands.

“I suppose you lot think this is funny.”



A Christmas Tale

auldheid story 1

See me?

See me?

Ah jist luv fitba’.

It’s funny cos I was never that interested until about age eleven when a good pal, who wis destined never to see his 21st birthday after a car crash in Rome, encouraged me to try it. John wis there tae become a priest but goat fast tracked by the Big Man who knows a good guy when he sees wan.

John encouraged me tae gi’e it a go in Suffolk St. We played “croassies in” wi’ the metal pull down blinds that formed the gates tae the interior o’ the Barras as goals. Plastic ba’s, Fridos then Wembleys, arrived aboot then and many a red hot poker made the gemme a bogey in a failed attempt at repairing a burst ba’.

(Ah blame the whelk shells; they were aw ower the place fae the Oyster Bar in the Gallowgate – where ah was entrapped in the cellar two weekends in a row cleaning whelks and mussels – and the ravenous appetite of the Glasgow Barras punter for shellfish.)

Ah played fitba’ morning, noon and night in ma early teens and saw Glesga Green pitches UPGRADED fae black ash/clinker tae red blaze. We thought we wur Wullie Fernie playing oan that stuff and there wis a case for playing with 10 ba’s as teams were filled with tanner ba’ players (goalies were just last man standing) for whom the object of the game was to beat everybody else in the opposition before scoring or it wisnae a goal.

Ah remember wan night at the Glasgow Green waiting tae play for St Alphonsus v Our Lady of Fatima when ah saw Tony Green, who wis a Mungo boy and went on to play for Newcastle and Scotland before injury ended his career too early, waiting, sannies under his erm, tae get a game wi’ any team who were a man short. Ah think the OLOF manager mugged wan of his boys as Tony appeared fur thum and turned a virtuoso performance against us tae gi’e OLOF a 3-2 victory.

Ah started work and went tae London furra year tae work in the old Post Office Savings Bank. In ma furst week Jock (a Jock) approached and asked if ah played. He never mentioned the sport – he didnae hiv tae, we wur already communicating at the spiritual level only fitba’ lovers can achieve.

Ah get directions furra gemme oan the Saturday at Acton Town and turn up, new Puma boots, paid by my civil service transfer grant, unner ma erm (nae sannies fur me).

On entering the park ah’m puzzled – there wiz GRASS everywhere! Nae clinker or red blaze in sight. “Must be roon the back o’ the dressing rooms,” I remember thinking.

Anyhow, ah gets changed, runs roon the back to see — MAIR grass as far as the eye can see. So ah troop back tae the dressing rooms to get directions tae the ash pitches. When ah explain whit ah wiz used to playin’ oan they aw jist looked at me like my village wiz searching fur their idiot.

Well ah get sorted oot and line up. The ba’, ah remember, wiz a size 5 orange wan, but no wan o’ they bricks wi’ laces. The first pass tae me wiz high and ah chests the ba’ doon and whirls roon afore I get studded fae the back as wiz the custom oan the narrow pitches o’ Glasgow Green. Tae ma amazement the nearest opponent tae me is about 4 yards away. As ah look intae his eyes ah smile and turn to Jock at the sidelines and shout, “Yer gonnae need anither ba’!” as ah meander aff in pursuit of the only goal that counted for a tanner ba’ man. Ah think I managed 7 before netting and ah’ll take that.

It wiz oan unfamiliar grass efter a’.

“Aye very guid Auldheid,” yer thinking if you have stayed wi’ me so far.

“Nice reminiscing and it is Christmas Eve, so thanks fur the memories. “

But there’s mer tae this tale, fur see me?

See me?

Ah jist luv fitbaw.

It’s ma game, it’s OOR game and when ah see the mess those responsible fur looking efter its welfare have made of it ah want tae dae somethin’.

I hope ah’m no’ alone.


auldheid story 2

The Zen of Nakamura

Great to see Shunsuke Nakamura back at Celtic Park for the St. Mirren game and what a host of fantastic memories it brought back.

A Gordon Strachan midfield stalwart for four seasons, Naka was the scorer of some of the most thrilling goals we’ve see at Paradise in recent times and the man who gave the Parkhead DJ the chance to dust off his Vapors single (it could have been worse had he been a fan of that cringingly naff ‘Aneka’ – real name Bella McGlumpher or some such – record)

This was the transfer that we were all assured by the likes of the Rectumsport staff was not going to happen. Following the Artmedia nightmare it became very clear that Celtic wouldn’t be taking any part in the 2005-06 Champions League, therefore the logic of the Darylls dictated that without the lure of European football the man from Japan wouldn’t be interested in coming to Scotland in order to go mano y mano with Ross Tokely and the rest of Hammer Throwers Inc.

With clubs like Borussia Dortmund and Atletico Madrid sniffing about we were led to believe that the aforementioned DJ might be spinning ‘Jilted John’ for us over the tannoy. Yet, without indulging in too much of a crude national stereotype, the Japanese are nothing if not honourable, not to mention inscrutable. Promises had been made, and so it was that Naka came to Glasgow and made his Celtic debut against Dundee United on August 5th 2005.

First impressions were favourable, to say the least. His first touch was immaculate, he could find a team mate with a pass virtually every time he got the ball, he was able to keep possession and he played with his head up – and not up his arse either. By the standards of 90% of the SPL this put him on a par with Zico. Unlucky not to score on more than one occasion, his manager was quick to praise his Man of the Match performance. Naka himself, speaking inscrutably through his interpreter, declared himself to be reasonably happy with his contribution to Celtic’s afternoon, pledging to work on his cardiovascular regime in order to catch up with his team mates, some of whom were just finishing their second slice of pizza and wondering what he was on about.

Deployed mainly wide on the right of midfield by Gordon Strachan, despite having a left foot that stood favourable comparison with Lubo, Naka went on to become a regular starter and one was one of Celtic’s main creative threats throughout a season that he finished by picking up a Championship medal to go with the League Cup badge won the previous month.

The following season Naka became the first Japanese player to play in the Champions League when he turned out against Manchester United at Old Trafford. His growing reputation as a free-kick specialist was cemented that night when he scored a Naka cracker to bring us level at 2:2. It might have been enough to earn us a creditable away point had Giggs not conned the ref with an outrageous dying swan routine to win the home side a penalty.

Revenge was sweet in the return at Celtic Park, though. Once again Naka flighted home an amazing strike past van der Sar which seems to get further out each time you watch it. This time the Holy Goalie saved the mandatory United penalty and we qualified from the group stage for the first time.

Apparently, apart from endlessly practising inscrutable free-kicks at training in a manner best described as inscrutable, Nakamura also practised Qigong to help his concentration and delivery at dead balls, a set of breathing and movement exercises often taught in association with Chinese martial arts. It seems that Qigong’s slow external movements help stimulate the internal organs by promoting the flow of the body’s internal energy or qi.

Certainly different from Kris Boyd’s ten pints of lager and a crate of Monster Munch training regime.

In between the games against United Naka had scored his first Celtic hat-trick in a 4-1 defeat of Dundee United at Tannadice – and not a free kick among them.

He won Goal of the Season that year as well for yet another memorable effort, this time chipping the ball over United’s Derek Stillie from somewhere near the touchline to secure a comeback point at Celtic Park.

His second league medal was secured when he won the game at Kilmarnock with yet another brilliant free-kick. The emotion he showed as he ran into the crowd swinging his jersey hinted that the mask of inscrutability might be in danger of slipping were he to hang around CP much longer. Later the same evening he won the SPFA Player of the Year award, followed in May by the Hacks award and the Celtic Fans’ award.

A knee injury picked up in the Champs League qualifier against Spartak kept him out for the first three months of the following season, but he was back by January to play his part in the run-in, most notably with arguably his best goal in the Hoops, a vicious swerving drive that left Allan McGregor looking as if he’d just had a night out in Loch Lomond with Bazza.

In his final season in the Hoops he was definitely not the player of old, caught up in the general malaise and looking as if he had half an eye on his exit route. Before the January transfer window there was already speculation that he wanted to return to Japan in order to let his wee boy start school in his homeland and play out his final years for his first club, Yokohama. The fact that he ended up at Espanyol just proves what I was saying about him being inscrutable.

In his four seasons at Celtic he gave us some fantastic memories, some wonderful goals and provided the club with an exposure in Japan that must have been worth millions in terms of commercial spin-offs. According to David Thompson, Celtic’s former commercial director, “Celtic are now the third most popular Scottish brand in Japan, behind whisky and Sean Connery. Their popularity has even led to the creation of a word for Scot – “Scoto-rando-jin” – whereas in the past Scots were referred to as being English.”

It’s easy to see why Peter Lawwell and the bhoys in the boardroom were eager to get Naka’s successor, Koki Mizuno, signed in order to keep the profile up in the far east. 140,000 Nike Hoops tops a year wasn’t to be sniffed at. I wonder if there is still any interest in Celtic in Japan now that Naka is part of the club’s history?

Nakamura left as still something of an elusive (nay, inscrutable) character, but he did come across as someone who enjoyed his experience at Celtic, even though it didn’t always show in his persona. As his biographer Martin Greig noted, “there are clear parallels with Henrik Larsson, even if Nakamura isn’t, yet, as revered. The Swede appeared cool and aloof when he arrived, but as the public admiration grew, so Larsson’s inscrutable veneer began to peel away and his charisma shone through – and so it is with Nakamura”.

If only he’d had an extra yard of space!


ntv 231


NTV 231 available from December 14th, featuring:

resolution 12 update


dundee, salzburg, hearts, partick thistle and motherwell match reports

the book of wisdom – banal’s second letter to the sevconians

the ref’s notebook

10 men won the league book review

a very different paradise book preview

govan bugle

tales from the crypt


Celtic and Alfredo di Stefano

The football world bestowed many richly deserved eulogies on Alfredo di Stefano following his death on July 7th 2014. Winner of five straight European Cups as he was, he might have surpassed even that had he chosen to take up the offer of a contract with Celtic when his playing days with Real were numbered. This bizarre footnote in the history of the club came in the midst of a particularly lean time of it for the fans when Celtic had instigated what was loosely termed a youth policy. Yet the so-called ‘policy’ was not always practised consistently, as Campbell and Woods relate in their seminal book, The Glory and the Dream:

“Some of the transfers were induced through panic, and nowhere was this more apparent than in a fruitless scramble after Alfredo di Stefano in August 1964. The famed striker of Real Madrid had been released from his contract by the Spanish club, and Celtic embarked on a wild goose chase to land the South American superstar. The club phoned Spain, but the player was on holiday and the calls were not returned; the club sent telegrams but these were ignored, until a belated reply rejecting the offer finally arrived at Celtic Park.

Despite the player’s manifest lack of interest and unavailability (he had recently agreed a lucrative one year contract with Espanol) the club ordered Jimmy McGrory to make a hurried, undignified trip to Spain, accompanied by John Cushley, Celtic’s reserve centre-half and a graduate in languages from Glasgow University, in a futile bid to change his mind.

It was fortunate for Celtic that di Stefano dismissed the overtures. Magnificent player that he was, di Stefano had an arrogant streak and ruled imperiously at Madrid for years. Well substantiated rumours were disconcerting; he insisted that passes be made directly to his feet and ignored others; he forced Didi, Brazil’s World Cup star, to quit Madrid because his vanity would not allow a newcomer to usurp his popularity; he accepted Puskas as a team-mate only when the Hungarian wisely gave up a chance to score in order to lay on a goal for him, a goal that gained for di Stefano the Spanish leading scorer title.

At the age of 38 the proud Argentinian would not have welcomed the rigours of a Scottish winter to play alongside the apprentices, even at the princely £30,000 that Celtic offered him for less than one season. Thoughtful supporters had to wonder about the club’s sense of direction; for years the club had advocated a long-term policy based on young teams of traditional Celtic values. Surely the frantic chase after di Stefano contradicted this.”

Celtic and di Stefano would cross paths again three years later, this time on the football pitch. Among the trophies adorning Celtic Park is the Real Madrid Golden Ball, featured in John Traynor and Douglas Russell’s illustrated book (1991) alongside the following caption:

“On 7th June 1967, fresh from the pinnacle of achievement in the European Cup Final, the Lisbon Lions entered the cauldron of the Santiago Bernabeu Stadium in Madrid to have their new stature tested in the fiercest of fires. Real threw everything at Celtic in an attempt to re-assert themselves in a ‘friendly’ against their immediate successors as European Champions but the flowering Parkhead maturity prevailed for a 1-0 victory, courtesy of an inspired performance by goalkeeper John Fallon, the solitary strike of Bobby Lennox and a scintillating display by Jimmy Johnstone, who received a standing ovation.

This was the icing on the Lisbon cake, at the personal invitation of the great Alfredo di Stefano, who had wanted nothing but the best for his own benefit match.

The Celtic team that night was: Fallon, Craig, Gemmell; Clark, McNeill, O’Neill; Johnstone, Murdoch, Wallace, Auld, Lennox.”

di stefano teams

Kevin McCarra concludes his brilliant book ‘One Afternoon in Lisbon’ with this description:

“Almost a fortnight after Lisbon a leg-weary and slightly fractious team took the field in the Bernabeu to play Real Madrid. Only the honour of appearing in the great di Stefano’s benefit match had tempted Celtic to accept the invitation. Real, European Cup winners of 1966, were desperate to demonstrate their superiority to the new holders.

John Fallon, who had been on the bench as goalkeeping substitute in each European match that season, was given the chance to demonstrate his worth. While Celtic struggled, he held Real at bay. As time passed Celtic’s competitive instincts began to surface once more. In the 69th minute they produced the only goal of the game. Jimmy Johnstone left half a dozen opponents in his wake and slipped the ball through to Bobby Lennox in the inside-right channel.

Bobby Lennox: ‘I ran on and hit the shot from the edge of the area. The whole stadium had gone quiet and I suddenly heard one of the other players, clear as a bell, shouting, “Goal!”’

For a brief moment the voice of industrial Scotland drifted out over a hushed continent.”