Showing posts with label Hampden. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hampden. Show all posts

Wednesday 21 June 2023

Long Night, Long Day


Another tiring day.  
Struggled to wake this morning, forced myself up, and breakfasted on a stale roll.  Some folks have less than this of course.  I cogitated on the day and decided I wished it to be a restful one, except of course I had the parcel to post.  Another birthday, another waddle down to the Post Office at the corner shop, I go there because the young lady always smiles at me, unlike the miserable dragons at what laughingly, is the main Post Office in town.  So, sun cream applied, desert hat on head, off I hobbled.  
There is a wind at the moment but the sun was about 70% as I headed east.  I could feel it on my face, in spite of the hat, and my absurd appearance meant several vans and cars slowed down to let me cross the road when required.  They needed the laugh I suppose.
After this my day was over.  Groomed and fed I just dozed away for a while.
This is the Longest Day, and the sky has been bright since very early, which I did not see.


The reason for the sloth this morning was easy to find.  Last night I began to watch Scotland playing Georgia, a 7:45 kick off time.  However, before the game began there had been an almighty cloudburst and 6 days worth of heavy rain fell in a couple of hours.  Now, major football grounds have systems to remove rainwater falling during a game, this was too much for Hampden however, and some decisions had to be made before the game went ahead.  
In spite of Michael Stewart constantly referring to having played in worse, which was a lie, the water was forming huge puddles, the ball did not run, bounce or flow, there was indeed now ay to play in such circumstances.
UEFA however insisted the game went ahead.
Players splashed about in dire conditions, Scotland even scored a goal, but the ref then left the field and we began well over two hours of debate as to whether the game ought to continue, or be abandoned and play again the next night in Paisley.  Any sensible person would play the next night.
UEFA insisted the game continued.
So we saw the ground staff, ball boys, volunteers aplenty attempt to brush the excess water from the field.  Eventually, well after 9:15 pm the game restarted.  Georgia were far from pleased, and quite rightly, and they were even more unhappy when Scotland scored a second goal and eventually ran out winners by 2-0.
The game finished at 11:20 pm, at lest what I made it, the crowd had remained throughout, they had paid their tickets and no information was forthcoming thanks to UEFA, and many a child was late for school this morning, many a man was asleep at work, and all considered it worth while.
During the waiting time the announcer played music over the Tannoy.  Above we see the list of songs played, many enthusiastically supported by the crowd joining in.  'Don't let it rain on me,' by a Glasgow group, the favourite of the night.


Monday 30 November 2015

A Special Day


Today as you all realise is a special day, St Andrews Day!  Now I will not wax lyrical about Scots superiority as I don't wish for you to feel inferior, even though as non Scots you are, so Iwill pass this day in a simple manner.  
The ticket above celebrates the first ever football international which was played in Glasgow in 1872. This date is so long ago even our friend Mike Smith was not in attendance!  The score between the Scots heroes and the imperialist upper class twits was 0-0.  This shows how good their goalkeeper had been during the game.  Such internationals between the only two nations playing in such organised football matches became an annual event, one year in England the next in the land of the free.  This continued until during the 1970's the glory of the encounter wore off and Scotland began to look at the wider football world and saw meetings with then 'Auld enemy' of little meaning.  Of course some wish to bring back this game but with the wider scope of football today Scots would be better playing European sides and developing young players, especially in what were once called 'B' internationals.  
In spite of much weeping and gnashing of teeth I only managed to attend  two of these games, both at Hampden Park, Glasgow.  The first finished in a 1-1 draw and I was placed high in what we term the 'Rangers End' under cover from the rain and surrounded by drunken wee Glasgow neds.  The result meant we failed to qualify for the European Championships that year and we were somewhat surprised by the wee neds bursting into drunken tears at the end.  The result meant a lot to drunken Rangers fans in those days.  
We left, I say 'we' but I have no memory of whom I attended the game alongside, we left and made our way down the dangerous slippery slopes and turned to our right heading for the bus.  The one little difficulty here was the stream of thousands from the other end who were making their way to the left.  We crossed though this far from merry throng and followed the right crowd in the right direction.  As we got halfway down we passed one of the common sights in Glasgow at the time, one somewhat imbued individual standing facing the masses heading in the direction directly opposite to he himself.  naturally you and I would move to the correct crowd and follow their movement this joker stayed where he was and by swinging his arms and misusing industrial language requested the thousands to move and let him past.  He may still be there, trampled into the tarmac!    
The next time I managed to get a ten shilling ticket was two years later in 1972, the price had not gone up much in one hundred years you notice so I suspect the early one shilling fee was intended to put off the rougher element.  1972 gave us the second only 0-0 draw in one hundred years of football.  I was there - in 1972 that is.  It was not a great game, the loudest cheer came when the Ayrshire Drum Majorettes (aged between 8 and 80) appeared at half time, short skirts and swinging long sticks, marched in time to the music to the far end of the ground, faced the crowd and went down on one knee.  I believe seven at least had heart attacks at that moment.  There was little else to consider.  Of course I was with three others, one, with an English accent that came from being brought up down south, one with an Edinburgh accent wishing England would score and two of us trying to make sure these two did not get too close to Rob Roy MacGregor wearing the 'See You Jimmy' cap and confused drunken expression just in case he lashed out.  The other joy of Hampden in those days was ensuring you stood between the crush barriers.  These tended to collapse with age and with 137,500 tickets handed in (only 135,000 had been printed by the organisers) and you stood where you would survive if one or other went.  
We avoided the crush afterwards by heading into town, amongst the crush.  This meant waiting next to a police horse slavering at both ends with one of Glasgow's finest psychpathic polis sitting upon it.  The joys of football crowds!  Today all has changed.  The slippery slopes have been replaced, seating is compulsory for safety reasons and only 50,000 or so attend.  Some wish to bring back standing at football matches because of a rose tinted view of the past, I say no, not for any crowd over 5000, it is just to dangerous.
So we celebrate St Andrew in the usual Scots way, we mention it and just get on with life.  Not like the drunken Irish who celebrate St Patrick ( a Welshman) who they care little about nor the English who's imperialism wishes to bring back a celebration of St George, a man born in Armenia!  I wonder if they would let him in as a migrant?
Happy St Andrews Day anyway.