In honour of Gordon Strachan and the news that he resigned at Glasgow Celtic FC today I thought I would share a couple of stories regarding the (great) man.
Let me start off by saying that apart from his L**ds and Manchester U****d connections, I really do like the man. He is a decent manager, his interviews were always funny and quote worthy, but as a player I was obliged to strongly dislike him.
PART ONE.
One year back in the early 90's I flew back to England and a friend of mine had arranged for me to have a tour of Maine Road before the match against L**ds, with a chance of meeting City manager Peter Reid and both sets of players.
I also had an old Geordie friend (Keith) who I knew from California coming down for the weekend for a visit. When I informed him of the plan he was well chuffed because apparently his mum had a massive crush on Gordon Strachan, he immediately called her and she ordered him to get her idol's autograph for her.
Can you imagine how that conversation would have gone?
"Gordon, can I have your autograph? Errr... it's not for me, it's for me mam"
Anyway I was instructed to go to the players entrance and ask for City's assistant manager Mick Heaton, he came out and told us to hold on while he informed Peter Reid that we were on our way to the dressing room to meet the players.
It was at this point that I started to get cold feet and decided that meeting the players like some awestruck 8 year old wasn't really the thing a retired footy hooligan should be doing.
"Fuck this" I said to Keith, "let's get into the ground, I can't be arsed with this"
"But what about Gordon Strachan?" he whined.
"Fuck Gordon Strachan"
And with that we made our way into the North Stand and took our seats, Keith was devastated.
A few moments later we forgot all about Gordon as 20 or so L**ds fans suddenly appeared in the seats in front of us and were quickly leathered as us and hordes of other City fans eagerly steamed into them.
I could tell that Keith was still gutted though and I swear he might have even been holding back tears as he called his mum that night to inform her that he never meet Strachan after all.
The little ginger git had the last laugh though as he crept through the City back four fucking miles offside to toe poke home the winner in a 3-2 win for the sheepshaggers.
Jammy Yorkshire bastards.
PART TWO.
Back in the 80's when Strachan played for Man United we drew them in the FA Cup at Old Trafford. Strachan was a favourite target for abuse among City fans, because he was ginger, Scottish and usually very annoying.
I was stood with the City fans in the corner section of the Scoreboard End where it meets the United Road Paddock.
Anyway I had typically spent all my money on ale and was already a bit bladdered when up walks my mate Stocker holding two meat and potato pies and as usual, I'm fucking famished.
"Hey Stocker, give us a bite of one of those pies"
"Fuck off, I'm starving"
"So am I you tight twat, just one bite"
While this delightful banter was going on United win a corner directly in front of the City fans and Strachan walks over to take it.
"Fuck off Strachan you ginger twat"
"You Scottish bastard"
"Munich wanker"
And other such charming pleasantries were aimed in his general direction from the City fans. Unfortunately for him it was at this point that Stocker finally relented and decided to give me a bite of one of his pies, he handed it to me just as Gordon sarcastically cupped his ear in order to mock his sky blue tormentors.
He then turned his back to us and bent over to spot the ball in order to take the corner.
Well, I don't know why, but upon seeing this I just snapped.
"Fuck off Strachan" I shouted as I hurled the pie towards him.
"Noooooooooooooooooooo" screamed Stocker anxiously as the pastry treat flew through the air in a perfect arch and seemingly in slow motion until SPLAT!!!!!! It hit the cheeky wee Scotsman right on the back of his pristine white shorts leaving a nice brown gravy stain right around his ring piece making it look like he had follow through on himself.
This was met by a roar of approval from the away fans and I am an instant hero with my fellow blues as many surge forward to pat me on the back or shake my hand to congratulate me on my perfect aim.
Stocker isn't one of them as he is still crying about the loss of his meat and potato pie, oh well, serves him right for being a greedy twat anyway.
Let me start off by saying that apart from his L**ds and Manchester U****d connections, I really do like the man. He is a decent manager, his interviews were always funny and quote worthy, but as a player I was obliged to strongly dislike him.
PART ONE.
One year back in the early 90's I flew back to England and a friend of mine had arranged for me to have a tour of Maine Road before the match against L**ds, with a chance of meeting City manager Peter Reid and both sets of players.
I also had an old Geordie friend (Keith) who I knew from California coming down for the weekend for a visit. When I informed him of the plan he was well chuffed because apparently his mum had a massive crush on Gordon Strachan, he immediately called her and she ordered him to get her idol's autograph for her.
Can you imagine how that conversation would have gone?
"Gordon, can I have your autograph? Errr... it's not for me, it's for me mam"
Anyway I was instructed to go to the players entrance and ask for City's assistant manager Mick Heaton, he came out and told us to hold on while he informed Peter Reid that we were on our way to the dressing room to meet the players.
It was at this point that I started to get cold feet and decided that meeting the players like some awestruck 8 year old wasn't really the thing a retired footy hooligan should be doing.
"Fuck this" I said to Keith, "let's get into the ground, I can't be arsed with this"
"But what about Gordon Strachan?" he whined.
"Fuck Gordon Strachan"
And with that we made our way into the North Stand and took our seats, Keith was devastated.
A few moments later we forgot all about Gordon as 20 or so L**ds fans suddenly appeared in the seats in front of us and were quickly leathered as us and hordes of other City fans eagerly steamed into them.
I could tell that Keith was still gutted though and I swear he might have even been holding back tears as he called his mum that night to inform her that he never meet Strachan after all.
The little ginger git had the last laugh though as he crept through the City back four fucking miles offside to toe poke home the winner in a 3-2 win for the sheepshaggers.
Jammy Yorkshire bastards.
PART TWO.
Back in the 80's when Strachan played for Man United we drew them in the FA Cup at Old Trafford. Strachan was a favourite target for abuse among City fans, because he was ginger, Scottish and usually very annoying.
I was stood with the City fans in the corner section of the Scoreboard End where it meets the United Road Paddock.
Anyway I had typically spent all my money on ale and was already a bit bladdered when up walks my mate Stocker holding two meat and potato pies and as usual, I'm fucking famished.
"Hey Stocker, give us a bite of one of those pies"
"Fuck off, I'm starving"
"So am I you tight twat, just one bite"
While this delightful banter was going on United win a corner directly in front of the City fans and Strachan walks over to take it.
"Fuck off Strachan you ginger twat"
"You Scottish bastard"
"Munich wanker"
And other such charming pleasantries were aimed in his general direction from the City fans. Unfortunately for him it was at this point that Stocker finally relented and decided to give me a bite of one of his pies, he handed it to me just as Gordon sarcastically cupped his ear in order to mock his sky blue tormentors.
He then turned his back to us and bent over to spot the ball in order to take the corner.
Well, I don't know why, but upon seeing this I just snapped.
"Fuck off Strachan" I shouted as I hurled the pie towards him.
"Noooooooooooooooooooo" screamed Stocker anxiously as the pastry treat flew through the air in a perfect arch and seemingly in slow motion until SPLAT!!!!!! It hit the cheeky wee Scotsman right on the back of his pristine white shorts leaving a nice brown gravy stain right around his ring piece making it look like he had follow through on himself.
This was met by a roar of approval from the away fans and I am an instant hero with my fellow blues as many surge forward to pat me on the back or shake my hand to congratulate me on my perfect aim.
Stocker isn't one of them as he is still crying about the loss of his meat and potato pie, oh well, serves him right for being a greedy twat anyway.
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