LITMIR.BIZ

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much so that I asked to be relieved of the job of penalty taker at Celtic. The decision drew an interested reaction from Matt Busby. Matt had missed a penalty playing for Scotland against England so he knew how I felt. He wrote a consolatory piece in the Scottish Daily Express about my predicament. He mentioned United’s great penalty takers like Charlie Mitten and Bobby Charlton, saying that they had also missed penalties and asked to have been relieved of their position. ‘While footballers remain human,’ Busby wrote, ‘even the greatest marksmen will miss a penalty. And the penalty for that should certainly be something less than shooting the shooter.’

      The way Celtic was run remained a shambles. The disorganization ran from top to bottom and top players continued to leave. There was even more lack of direction at the club, with Bob Kelly, ever the autocrat, picking the team, no question. It was a standing joke which Alex Ferguson and I still talk about now, marvelling at how such a situation was allowed to be. We often speak about life in early 60s Glasgow and the characters from that time. The crisis at the club was a heartbreaker for me because I was a Celtic fan, yet my illusions were being shattered when I saw the reality of the way the club was being run. The community I had been brought up in were mad about Celtic. The club was supposed to light people’s lives.

      Rangers were winning everything and, seeing the chaos at Parkhead, I knew why. I didn’t have the heart to tell people on the streets what a mess the club was in. I’d tell them that we were optimistic about the future and that results would change, but I knew they wouldn’t. It was that bad. Had you told me Celtic would be European champions in 1967 I would have laughed out loud.

      The problem wasn’t the lack of talent, but the bizarre team selections and naïve technical decisions and I blamed Bob Kelly. For example, our team coach edged towards the ground at Airdrie for one game when Kelly spotted Willie Goldie, a former Celtic reserve goalkeeper, walking along to the ground as a fan wearing a green and white scarf. Kelly stopped the coach and invited him to play. The players couldn’t believe it, but anyone who stood up to Kelly didn’t have a future at Celtic.

      On one hand I admired Kelly’s idea of bringing youth through, but he made major errors. Bertie Auld was a great footballer, a hard inside-forward and a typical Glaswegian. If he looked in the mirror he’d try and start a fight with his reflection. He wasn’t afraid of answering back and that was to be his downfall at Celtic. In one game against Rangers in 1960, Bertie ruffled the hair of the Rangers’ player Harold Davis after he had scored an own goal at Parkhead in a Glasgow cup tie. Davis was furious and ran the length of the park to catch up with him. Bertie was just having a laugh and maybe he shouldn’t have done it. Bertie would often fly off the handle at the smallest thing – if he couldn’t find one of his boots in the dressing room he would start raging – and Bob Kelly didn’t like his style. He was transferred at the end of the season. Bertie eventually returned to Celtic and was a key player in the side that won the European Cup in 1967, but in 1960 those in power at Parkhead wanted rid of him.

      Jimmy McGrory was a soft manager who used to let anything go. Maybe he should have been stronger with Bertie and told him to be quiet once in a while, but Jimmy didn’t do discipline. A balance was needed because players should be allowed to have an opinion otherwise resentments fester, but under Bob Kelly, anybody with an opinion that didn’t tally with his was seen as a dissenting voice.

      Another example of Kelly’s amateurism was how he dealt with Mick Jackson, who wasn’t a full-time professional when he should have been. He had a heavy shift as a printer and one day finished work at 3.00 pm so that he could make a 4.30 pm kick-off against Rangers in the semi-final of the Scottish Cup at Hampden Park. Things like that would never have happened at Rangers.

      Despite the problems, I loved playing for Celtic. Players like John Colrain and Mick Jackson were real characters. One of my highlights for the club was a friendly game in 1962 against Real Madrid. Over 73,000 filled Celtic Park to see us play a side that included Ferenc Puskas, Paco Gento, and Alfredo Di Stefano. The speed of their passing was incredible, so simple and yet so devastating, and they were 2–0 up after half an hour, three after an hour. We kept battling and pulled a goal back to make it 3–1. We felt that we had been outclassed, but done ourselves justice and even 3–1 was a magnificent result. The crowd agreed. ‘We want Celtic, We want Celtic,’ they roared until we left the dressing room and returned for an unlikely lap of honour. Most of us only had our socks on, but the fans were going wild. Puskas said that he had never seen anything like it.

      By 1962 I was the highest paid Celtic player on £22 a week. I was seen as Bob Kelly’s boy and indeed he loved me for a short period of time, probably because I was a good player. I wasn’t the quickest runner and I wasn’t good in the air, but then I had Billy McNeill alongside me who was great in the air. My qualities were that I passed the ball well and I could tackle.

      Kelly was the main reason why I came to leave Celtic. I never wanted to go, but my situation at the club became untenable. We played against Rangers at Ibrox on New Year’s Day 1963; the game should never have been played because it was a brick hard pitch. I argued with the coach, Sean Fallon, with whom I normally got on well, about what kind of tactics we should play. Sean was a former Celtic player who had played in the double-winning team in 1954. He had legendary status among fans because after breaking a collarbone in a game against Hearts, he left the pitch for twenty minutes only to return with his arm in a sling. Sean earned the nickname ‘the Iron Man’ for his part in Celtic’s momentous 7–1 League Cup final victory over Rangers in 1957. He retired a year later but remained a major figure at Celtic and eventually became assistant manager when Jock Stein took over in 1965. In truth, Sean and I differed on our football theories that day and I couldn’t hide my feelings any longer. We were trailing 1–0 when we trudged back into the dressing room and the lid came off.

      ‘We need to knock long balls forward,’ said Sean in a measured and firm manner.

      ‘No, we need to pass the ball to feet,’ I replied angrily. ‘The long ball won’t work.’

      ‘No, we play long balls forward,’ replied Sean, clearly agitated. ‘And you, Crerand, don’t move so far up the park.’

      ‘I’m not going back on the field if we have to play like that,’ I said. ‘You don’t know what you are talking about.’ The toys had well and truly been thrown from my cot.

      ‘You’re wrong Crerand, you’re wrong,’ Sean replied. I was, especially as there were no substitutes in those days, and after a few minutes I backed down and walked back angrily onto the pitch. Bob Kelly was in the dressing room and witnessed everything. He didn’t say a word though. Nor did ten of my team-mates. It was me against the rest.

      We were hammered 4–0 anyway and one of the goals was a deflection off me. I can’t take anything away from Rangers because they were a better organized team with better players, but I was distraught and very angry when we returned to the dressing room, where I had another stand up row with just about every Celtic player and Sean. I adore Sean; he’s one of the greatest Celts that has ever lived. He was from Sligo in Ireland and when he was given the Freedom of Sligo in 2002 I was honoured to be invited along with him. But that day at Ibrox I was furious with everyone, especially Sean.

      The repercussions were serious. Bob Kelly got the needle and dropped me for a game against Aberdeen five days later. Celtic never stayed overnight and we travelled to Aberdeen by train in the third class carriage, with wooden seats and no toilet. When we got to Aberdeen I wasn’t named in the team. There was no explanation as to why. I was particularly annoyed because my mum had got a train from Glasgow to watch me play. I met her outside the ground before the match to give her a ticket and told her that I wasn’t playing. She didn’t say anything, but I could see her disappointment.

      It was obvious to me that the club either wanted rid of me or that I was just not good enough to be in the side, despite being a Scottish international. Because of a bad spell of weather – one game between Partick Thistle and Morton was called off ten times – there was no play in the Scottish Leagues for four weeks. Then I was dropped for a game against Falkirk. I decided that enough was enough and asked for a move in a written transfer request. I didn’t consult Noreen or my mum, when I should have done. Mum found out when a newspaper journalist

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