Budgie - The Autobiography Page 15

  I had a system of defending that Terry Venables had shown me at Crystal Palace which I took with me to any club I was at – it was like shoving the opposition down a funnel. I was basically coaching the defence while I was on the pitch. Alex Miller used to watch me doing this at training with players like Murdo MacLeod and my full-backs Graham Mitchell and Willie Miller, and I noticed that he used that same method a few years later when he was Scotland assistant manager to Craig Brown. The gist of the system was that we wouldn’t let teams play down the outside on the wings; everything would get pushed down the middle where they would run into players like Pat McGinlay or Brian Hamilton, who could both tackle. It was simple, but effective. If opponents beat me once or twice a season from 25 yards down the middle then I could accept that, but if you allow teams to keep getting crosses in from wide areas then they are going to hurt you and you will concede a lot of goals.

  I was coaching this method and we started to adapt to this new system comfortably. You could see the central defenders Tommy McIntyre and ‘Geebsy’, Gordon Hunter, believing in themselves and getting stronger. Gordon wasn’t the tallest lad in the world, but he was a brilliant tackler and he was quick. Tommy was strong and excellent in the air, but to begin with he was a little bit soft and timid. He had everything needed to become a fantastic centre-back. I told him he was good enough to be an international, but first I had to get him to stop being so negative in his thinking. Everything was going well and Alex Miller seemed happy enough to let me get on with it and use this system because we were winning football matches and keeping clean sheets, with Mickey Weir and Keith Wright banging in the goals at the other end. From being a skint club that was on the verge of going bankrupt, we were riding high in the league and enjoying a great season.

  CHAPTER 18

  HAMPDEN HERO

  ‘I had never seen anything like the scenes in Edinburgh that night.’

  The League Cup, or Skol Cup as it was known then, comes thick and fast in Scotland and back in those days it would be all over and done with by the end of October. It was a good format, and it captured the public’s imagination because you’d be playing every week. I hadn’t being paying too much attention to cup runs because my main concern was to keep Hibernian in the Premier League after all the pre-season talk about relegation. But we beat Stirling Albion, then Kilmarnock, then Ayr United in the quarter-finals – all away from home – and before we knew it we’d made it into the semi-finals by September.

  We got drawn out of the hat to play Glasgow Rangers at Hampden Park and obviously they were going to be big favourites to win that game. It was the height of the Graeme Souness era and their team was packed full of internationals. They had one hundred times the budget Hibs had, and they always fielded their strongest team in the League Cup. It was the first time I had played against them, and the first time I had been able to play against Andy Goram – who had been something of a Hibs hero and the man I’d been bought to replace. I had heard stories about Andy Goram from the lads that I couldn’t believe. While I was Mr Dedication, I heard how they used to have to pour coffee down his throat or give him a hot bath to get him fit enough to play because he had been drinking like a fish before games. They said he would be in some terrible states, but then would go out and play brilliantly. That was the complete opposite to me. I would be in bright and early, doing my warm-up routine and preparing for games, so I was sick of hearing about Goram and what a wonderful keeper he’d been. I would ask them: ‘If he was so great, how did you nearly get relegated last year?’

  It was my first time playing at Hampden. All the lads were buzzing though and the green end of Edinburgh was on fire, but Alex Miller took a bit of geeing up. I’ve come across a lot of pessimists in my life, but Alex Miller was the biggest pessimist I have ever seen. At the start of the season I had to battle the team’s collective depression, but I constantly had to battle the manager’s depression as well. He used to give long-winded team talks about how good Partick Thistle or St Mirren were. He would tell us that Chic Charnley was going to belt one in from 25 yards, that he was going to break everyone’s legs, that he needed to be watched – going on and on and on about this team. I eventually snapped and said: ‘For God’s sake boss, it’s Saint fucking Mirren not Saint Peter we’re dealing with! I’ve played about 700 top-league games and you’re trying to make me scared of St Soddin’ Mirren!’ All the lads were giggling away in the dressing room as they saw Miller’s serious face develop into an even darker frown, but I had the bit between the teeth and I went on: ‘Don’t stand there telling us what they are going to do to us, tell us what we are going to do to THEM!’

  I wanted him to be optimistic and to have them worrying about us. But before the Rangers game, he started it all again, bigging them up during the team talk in the hotel. He had played for them in the 1970s and obviously was in awe of them a bit. He was raving about how good they all were – Ally McCoist, Pieter Huistra, Mark Hateley, John Brown and Mo Johnston. He said to me: ‘Budgie, see Hateley – be careful, he’s going to mince you in the first few minutes. He does it to all goalkeepers; he hammers you, and smashes into you with his elbows.’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing and I said back to him: ‘Young Mark? His old dad [Tony] might have tried to do it to me when I was 16 at Workington, and he was playing for Notts County, but this fucker isn’t going to do it to me.’ The lads were falling about laughing. For good measure, I added: ‘I’ll put him in the hospital. Talk about us, not about them.’

  He didn’t know what to say, he was gobsmacked.

  When we got to Hampden, I was in the dressing room before the game telling jokes and playing pranks, putting people’s stockings in the showers, that kind of thing, when Alex Miller came over and told me to be serious. Now, anyone will tell you I am deadly serious when a game starts, but if you’re helping to make people laugh in the dressing room it takes pressure off the game. If you got out there with a smile on your face, you play better.

  Miller asked me again: ‘Are you being serious, Budgie?’ That rattled me a bit and I said: ‘I’ll show you how serious I am.’ So when we got into the Hampden tunnel, where both of the teams were lining up and preparing to be led out, I spotted Hateley and gave it to him with both barrels. I shouted at him: ‘Hey Hateley, I’m going to break your back if you come in my six-yard box, you big fairy!’ I saw McCoist trying not to laugh, so I turned my guns on him. ‘I dunno what you’re laughing at, McCoist. You were a failure at Sunderland and you couldn’t cut it, son. You’ve had to come back to Scotland and beg for a game!’ Murdo MacLeod, who was the captain and player-manager, was getting a bit concerned at all the shouting and swearing and asked me what I was doing winding them up before a game, but there was no way anyone was going to stop me having my say and I continued, addressing the whole Rangers team this time (at least any of them that would look me in the eye). ‘The whole lot of you are fucking rubbish,’ I said. ‘You play in a chewing gum league. If you want to play in a big league, come down south and prove yourselves down there!’

  All the lads were laughing their heads off. I was ready to take on the whole Rangers team if they wanted a fight, I was so pumped up. I had my fists clenched and I just wanted to get out there. After the game started, in front of a full house at Hampden, I was really enjoying the occasion, and pulled off two or three great saves in the first half. I got a sharp reminder just how hard I would have to work to maintain my concentration when I made one silly mistake and dropped a cross. To my horror I saw that the ball was about to fall to Hateley – it would have been a major embarrassment for me if he’d scored after all my mouthing off – but big Tommy McIntyre pulled me out of a sticky situation by kicking it clear.

  We were more than holding our own against Rangers, and we made the breakthrough just before half-time when Andy Goram mis-punched a ball to Mickey Weir on the right, who crossed it back into the box for our centre-forward Keith Wright to score with a header. I came out for everything in the second half as
we battled to hold on to our one-goal lead. They were throwing men forward and I made one of the best saves of my life.

  Ian Durrant hit a perfect shot, which I touched on to the post, and as it came back to Ally McCoist, he hit it full pelt from seven or eight yards out. I got across the goal like lightning and managed to catch it, and I could hear him grumbling: ‘What a fucking save.’ It was our night; we had beaten a star-studded Rangers team and were heading into the final against Dunfermline on the crest of a wave.

  We were big favourites to win the game, and there was an enormous Hibs crowd at Hampden expecting nothing other than victory. They felt it was fated – that they were going to win their first major trophy since 1972, and do so just over a year since they were nearly wiped off the planet by Wallace Mercer. After a tense, goalless first half, little Mickey Weir got bundled over for a penalty and big Tommy McIntyre kept his cool to put us one-ahead from the spot. When Keith Wright added a second, you could sense the emotion pouring out from the fans. We’d done it!

  As The Scotsman newspaper reported the following day: ‘Hibs’ journey back from two years of abject misery was completed yesterday when the Skol Cup was won by goals from Tommy McIntyre and Keith Wright. It was Hibs’ first trophy since winning the League Cup 19 years ago, and signals the return of the club to what they have has always perceived to be their rightful place at the forefront of the domestic game.’

  Murdo MacLeod went up the Hampden steps to lift the trophy, and then it was time to go and properly celebrate with our fans. There were around 40,000 of them in Glasgow that day and they were demanding a lap of honour. I lifted Alex Miller up on my shoulders and said: ‘C’mon, let’s go.’ The time for grudges was over. He was reluctant to join us for the lap of honour, but I picked him up and carried him round the pitch and made him look a hero. I told him he was the boss and he deserved a big share of the credit – which he did.

  We went back to the hotel and had a good knees-up. I had won cups before, with Aston Villa and Blackpool, and a title with Crystal Palace where we had ridden through the streets of Croydon on an open-top bus, but I had never seen anything like the scenes in Edinburgh that night. As we returned from Glasgow to the outskirts of the city, we switched from the team coach to an open-top bus. I had never seen anything quite like it – for mile upon mile there were huge crowds of well-wishers lining the streets.

  The whole of Edinburgh came out – even as we drove through the Hearts end of town it was packed – and it took us about three hours to get to Easter Road, where there was a full stadium waiting for us. The highlight for me was coming along Princes Street, where the crowds were 20 deep. All of the statues had been dressed up in green flags and green hats, and people had climbed up on top of them to give us a wave. Everyone was so happy Hibs had done well that season. Back at the stadium was an amazing experience too, and we went out on to the pitch to do another lap of honour. I climbed up on to the fence with the trophy and shook as many of the supporters’ hands as I could – it was a wonderful feeling.

  We were taken up the Royal Mile to the City Chambers to meet the Lord Provost and all the local dignitaries and receive more accolades. All the boys were in the mood for a massive party, but although I enjoyed every minute, I was no night owl, and I was content just to go back for a good night’s sleep at the hotel with Janet.

  The League Cup was the crowning glory of a marvellous season, considering all the doom and gloom that had been surrounding the place before a ball had been kicked. By winning the cup, we had automatically qualified for Europe; we’d also done really well in the league, finishing fourth, and got to the quarter-finals of the Scottish Cup too, so it was Hibs’ best season in 20-odd years.

  Playing for Hibs in Europe was great. We got a plum draw out the hat – Anderlecht, who were on the biggest clubs around at that time and could boast a side full of internationals. There was an electrifying atmosphere at Easter Road and we should have beaten them. The German referee had a nightmare. We had got an early goal from Dave Beaumont, then he gave a penalty against me just before half-time. He said I had brought down their player Bruno Versavel, but I won the ball clean as a whistle, and was doubly annoyed when they buried the penalty. The Dutch international Peter van Vossen put them 2-1 up, and then the referee continued his horror show by sending off wee Mickey Weir, but we showed tremendous spirit and Pat McGinlay grabbed a late equaliser to give us a bit of hope for the second leg in Brussels.

  The scenes in Belgium were nothing short of amazing. There were 3,000 Hibs fans over there and they sang their hearts out for the whole 90 minutes. We got off to a nightmare start when Anderlecht scored in the first five minutes, but Darren Jackson soon equalised and we gave them a torrid time. We just couldn’t get that killer second, and their fans actually applauded us off the pitch and booed their own players. We’d gone out on away goals, and with our heads held high, and the fans stayed in the stadium for an hour to cheer us. Every time we started to head towards the dressing room, they would demand one more bow, and I was – as usual – at the front.

  CHAPTER 19

  MANAGEMENT ISSUES

  ‘The simmering bad blood between me and Alex Miller boiled over during a game at Airdrie, when we came to blows.’

  On the back of all Hibs’ success, Alex Miller had just been given a fat new contract by the chairman Douglas Cromb and a fancy BMW, and while I didn’t begrudge him that I felt it was my turn. Alex and I didn’t see eye to eye very much, and my pitch for a new deal was to bring the underlying tension to a head. I think he resented me, because although he was trying to be the boss, he knew I had the dressing room. None of the players liked him and they were a little bit frightened of him because he was a bit of a shouter, but at this stage of my career I wasn’t afraid of him, and it ended up a war of attrition between us as to who was going to be the boss.

  When I started my contract talks, Miller already had his new deal signed and sealed. He had been given his rightful share of the credit for a good season, but I felt I was being given no recognition for the part I had played in lifting the lads. His words at the start of the season had been all about beating relegation, but I had aimed higher than that. The club had brought in an awful lot of money as we’d got into the Uefa Cup, won the League Cup and done well in the league.

  When I first came to Hibs I was paying £20 out of my own pocket for my return fare from Durham to Edinburgh every day, plus another tenner for a taxi from the station down to the training ground and back. I eventually bought a rail season ticket for about £450, so I could travel any time, and I also bought myself a small motor bike, as I used to like them when I was a kid and I thought it would be handy for zipping around. It was just a little 150cc Yamaha and I used to park it in the Waverley Station on the bike rack. It was perfect for me, because when I had to queue for a taxi and head into traffic jams I could never gauge how much time it would take me to get down to training. But on the motorbike I was always at the front of the queue, and I knew I could get to and from the Waverley in less than 10 minutes. One day, however, I was running late and it’s a bugbear of mine that I don’t like being late for training. My usual routine was to get there about 45 minutes before the rest of the lads, so I could do my own technical work. I jumped off the train and went to get my bike so I could get down to training as quick as I possibly could. I threw on my helmet, which I used to strap through the bike chain so nobody could pinch it, and set off. But as I was riding down to Wardie I became aware of a terrible smell. Then the horrible realisation came to me – somebody had crapped in my helmet during the night! It must have been a Hearts supporter who had done it. As I weaved my way through the traffic, it was seeping out the edges of my helmet and it was running down my face – there was nothing I could do about it and it took all my concentration to stop myself from being sick. When I got to Wardie, I jumped into the shower and scrubbed and scrubbed myself till there was no trace of it, and then I scrubbed the helmet. Naturally, the lads thought it was
hysterical.

  The rail fares and the bike all came out of my pocket, though, and I felt after the season I had just had, I was due a raise. I went in to see Alex and told him I wanted a big increase and a £50,000 fee to sign on again, but he bluntly told me: ‘You’re not getting an extra penny.’

  In those days, before Bosman, you couldn’t just walk out on a club – they could make you play. Players were a bit like slaves in those days. Even though I was 40 years old, they could slap a million-pound transfer tag on me and stop me playing or stop my wages if they had really wanted to, and I knew Alex was well capable of doing that. It may sound like I asked for too much, but when money was involved and my contract was up I was ruthless; I had to be. I backed down a bit and said that the least the club could do was pay my season-ticket on the train, but again he said: ‘No, you’re playing on the same wages you did last season, not a penny more.’ That was the start of my downfall at Hibs. I had been prepared to play another two or three years with them because I was very, very happy, but Alex Miller took all the goodwill out of me.

  I may not have been the club captain, but I had been the heart and soul of that team the season before. After Miller’s attitude to my contract, I lost my enthusiasm. Some days I didn’t want to train – the first time I’d ever felt like that in my career. I hadn’t lost any feeling for the club or the fans; I had just lost all respect for Alex Miller. It even got to the stage where two or three days a week I would call in ill. I just didn’t want to play for Miller’s Hibernian.

  The new season started and my heart wasn’t it, and it was affecting my form. I missed a lot of games, and would ring in with false excuses. In the past, nagging injuries like dislocated fingers, sore shins or bruised toes had never kept me out, I would just strap them up and play, but now I was using them as an excuse not to play. I would have found a new club in the Third Division in England rather than play for a team where I wasn’t happy. I knew a few other clubs in Scotland had been asking about me too, but it seemed to be the case that Alex Miller was turning them down to make a point.