We'd planned not to engage with the World Cup, chez Zagger, what with us being as woke as we are, but ultimately the quality of the football and the topsy-turviness of it all did draw us in. There's no denying the hypocrisy, but I'm blaming the 'Rona. A week off with it broke my resolve and there was only so much Bargain Hunt I could take. Just to be clear though, 'only so much' is still a fair bit. Big fan, even since the departure of the magnificent Tim Wonnacott and have a heirarchy of favourite experts. Particularly love an episode with the hapless Gary Pe and/or Danny Sebastian, a man whose voice frequently hits highs audible only to dogs and those of us with who are heading down a different evolutionary branch. But, I digress...
The World Cup. An odd one personally. Never been bothered about England, but the more the right wing elements on Twitter got angry with them, the more I began to love them. At times, the right just didn't seem to know what to do or who to support. There were out and out Nazis pledging to support Senegal as some sort of protest against taking the knee and us lefties becoming all passionately nationalist in response. Mind boggling. Throw in the hatred for Gary's Lineker and Neville and I'm finding myself retrospectively supporting England for the past 30+ years.
The calls, again mostly seeming politically motivated, for Southgate to go seem mad and the preserve of those who hate the knee thing and/or still think England are a world superpower. We're not and I'm not convinced we ever have been. Heresy as it may be, '66 was a fluke. Home advantage, everything just falling into place, a goal that didn't cross the line and all that. Made us no more of a superpower than Wimbledon winning the cup made them one. Decent-ish in 70, crap for decades after. Going the other way in time; Brazil 1950, a shambles featuring the infamous loss to the USA; then quarters, group stage, quarters.
The final itself must've pickled a lot of minds, again especially for the Right. Hate France, hate Argentina. The majority seemed to plump for France, a country we've obviously never been to war with and for whom the Right always have demonstrated enormous respect. Or not. The "cheese eating surrender monkeys" and "dinghy launchers" carried the hopes of those who typically view them as the enemy, simply because they were playing, err, "the enemy" from a war 40 years ago and who had the temerity to sing an anti-English song in their recent celebrations. I managed to get into a stupid twitter spat with a feller who was all about the Falklands, the loss of life (fair enough, it's tragic) but who had spent the previous few weeks obsessed with abusing the Welsh and the Scottish, who I'm pretty sure were involved in that conflict too. These people just can't help themselves. Happy enough to see Argentina win, the football was great, the circumstances around the whole thing still stink and always will.
Closer to home, but only just, the weekend was spent in Glasgow, an eagerly awaited chance to get to Firhill to see Partick Thistle in action. This had been on the agenda for several months, interest aroused by the excellent campaigning and actions by the group Jags For Good. That and a long standing, long-distance love affair with the club kit, a thing of consistently great beauty, right up there with Sampdoria. JFG had first popped up on the Zagger timeline with a campaign to raise funds to buy season tickets for the needy, including refugees. Contact made on that, a visit had always been on the agenda.
Train travel plans scuppered by the industrial action - more power to 'em, remember, no unions, no free time for workers, no football - family Zagger piled pretty much the entirety of our wardrobes into the back of Grandad Zagger's motor for what promised to be a Baltic experience. How many thermal layers can you fit in the back of a Volvo C40? Answer: not enough.
Straight from work, a mere hour and a half for 19 miles to reach Ollerton (something going on on the M1 apparently), OK after that and checked into the (brilliant) hotel at the National Piping Centre, straplines "Eat, Drink, Pipe, Sleep" and "Piping proof ear plugs available at reception", by 10pm. Clearly looking desperate for a pint, the perceptive young woman there directed us to "a quiet wee pub" just down the road, The Station Bar. Wee but not quiet. Splendidly not quiet. Karaoke night, packed to the rafters, possibly the most eclectic karaoke known to man; from the standards, folk, country through to "The WInker's Song (Misprint)" by Ivor Biggun and the Red Nosed Burglars. Hadn't heard that in many years, possibly since it's release in '78. Only discovered today, Googling it, that 'Ivor' was actually Doc Cox of That's Life fame. Every day's a school day but, note to self, not all songs are a good choice for Assembly. A well-received rendition of Valery by a well-oiled Mrs Z and back to crash out, though not before getting talking to some Thistle fans who told us the pub is a bit of a stronghold, with a supporters' bus running from it. Sometimes it all just falls into place.
Saturday morning was spent doing some touristy bits, whilst desperately trying to stay upright in conditions underfoot more suited to Torvill and Dean. The cathedral, home of course to many memorials of Scottish regimental war heroism that our more miltaristic bigoted English nationalist friends perhaps ought to reflect on; the necropolis, Victorian City of the Dead, complete with middle distance view of Celtic Park and a set of floodlights (bottom left photo if anyone can help) sort of southish and further away, which I took to be Hampden before realising (today) that it doesn't have pylons. Time didn't allow the hoped-for expedition to find the ghost ground of Third Lanark at Cathkin Park, so that's one for another trip.
Grandad Zagger has distant roots in the East End, so next up on the skating trip, a perilous slide to Gallowgate to find the site of his own Grandma's house, a long- demolished tenement, now a very pleasant coffee shop. High spot for yours truly, seeing Barrowland, venue for a legendary Clash gig on the Out of Control Tour '84 - the first UK gig for The Clash Mark II. That and discovering a small market almost entirely devoted to vintage soft porn. Every city needs one. Mrs Z was not so sure.
From there, the joy of skating waning, Bolero routine perfected, the #60 bus up to Maryhill Road to find the Woodside Bar, which had been recommended by Neil from J4G. Very nice it was too, with Celtic at Aberdeen on the telly by way of background entertainment. Another slight diversion here, to the very opposite end of the 60 route, its terminus at the Easterhouse estate. Easterhouse the band might be unknown to many - hailed as a potential big thing but never quite fulfilling - and are well worth checking out. Jangly mid 80s Mancunian guitar pop of a very left leaning variety. Revolutionary Communist Party members if I remember rightly - lots of angry songs about being let down by the Labour Party. Plenty on them here: https://www.allmusic.com/artist/easterhouse-mn0000167189/biography
Next a stroll up the hill towards Firhill, pausing to enjoy the spectacle of the most unlikely ICF graffiti. Can find no record of West Ham ever playing at Thistle, so maybe we just have to put this one down to geographically disparate recycling of boarding materials. *
Update; thanks to those who have pointed out that Rangers also have an ICF. Never knew. Met the real one once though. Took them on at Upton Park with my Dad - see post from Aug '21 for details of how it went and who won! ;-) https://peeveeh.wixsite.com/ziggerzagger/post/tuesday-24th-august-lesta-stinky-turner-the-icf-and-rally-jackets
The approach, upwards, to Firhill is pleasingly old-school. A park of sorts on the right before the main (Colin Weir) stand appears, as all properly located grounds should, unless they're situated next to Trent Bridge, out of the housing.
The first feature of note is the great mural of David McParland, club stalwart player and manager, in charge for the much celebrated League Cup final win over Celtic in '71. Past ghostly old turnstiles, still showing admission at a princely £3, we sought out the entrance to the John Lambie Stand, where we were sitting and had arranged to meet the J4G at their foodbank collection point, which today was dedicated to collecting baby food, clothing and toys. Our donation handed over, 'Maryhill is Wonderful' t-shirt purchased and in we went. With a capacity of a tad over 10,000, it's hard to picture the days of a 49,000 record crowd in a vast oval bowl.
With the noisier and most colourful elements of the home support in the John Lambie stand, we seemed to be in the right spot and 'enjoyed', for want of a better word, the bizarre, almost trippy pre match shenanigans of Kingsley, certainly the most aggressive looking mascot I've yet seen and yes, I have been in close promimity to Swansea's legendary and psychotic Cyril the Swan. Kingsley features none too subtly in a mad hoax kit release in the Summer - a tremendous thing, yours on Ebay currently for an asking price of £250.
Kingsley having been pelted with equally psychedelic blue soft toys and then having done his best to intimidate many small children and the visiting keeper, the match got underway. From the start, Thistle looked sharp and attack-minded. We'd been pre-warned to expect very little. What we got was a cracker. This isn't the place for a full match report, but Ayr took the lead with a belter out of the blue from Dipo Akinyemi, whose career has taken him northwards from way down south at Stevenage, Dulwich Hamlet and Welling United amongst many others round that way. 14 goals for him in 16 appearances since signing in July and you could see why - strong, fast and brimming with confidence.
Thistle equalised (Harry Milne), deservedly took the lead (Brian Graham's knee) bang on half time and could have gone in three or four goals better off. Almost inevitably then, Ayr equalised with another belter, this time from Logan Chalmers. As the hour approached, Stevie Lawless slotted home, left footed from the middle of the box, this turning out to the the winner of a thoroughly entertaining match. For their two magnificent goals, Ayr always looked 2nd best and lacked Thistle's spark and creativity. Even at 3-2 up in such a ding-dong affair, Thistgle kept pushing forwards and we're great value for the win, especially with 5 key players out injured. The win, table-topping Ayr's first defeat since October, putting Thistle within touching distance of the play-offs and only 5 points behind the visitors.
And this is where the really, really good stuff starts. We'd been advised to head into Aitken's bar in the main stand straight after the match. This is open to all, home and away supporters alike and there was a cracking atmosphere with a young feller playing guitar and singing. Pints ordered, settled in and suddenly there's a commotion which turns out to be the club CEO Gerry Britton interviewing manager Ian McCall, who was predictably buoyant and optimistic for the remainder of the season.
Interview over, a super-friendly guy whose name I now shamefully can't remember but whose daughter works in media for Thistle (if you're reading this, I'm really, really sorry!) introduced me to Gerry, who in turn insisted on giving us a tour of the ground, including getting onto the pitch, into the dugouts and along to the boardroom. We'd already decided this was an incredibly warm and friendly club and this just sealed it. Fantastic.
From there it was off to the nearby Munn's Bar, described as rough and ready, but warm and welcoming. There, we had a few pints with the Jags For Good team and learned a lot more about the club, its history and fans. That history is traumatic, to say the least. The club was in huge financial trouble in the 80s and fell into the hands of none other than Ken Bates, who planned to operate the Jags as a nursery club for Chelsea. Owners came and went, Jim Oliver pumping in millions, but things continued to be rocky. In 1997 the club came close to bankruptcy, only rescued by a successful 'Save the Jags' campaign set up by fans and raising over £100,000 to buy some breathing space and cut a deal with creditors.
(Hand sanitiser in Munn's. Really, absolutely not our work, though the barmaid has a brother who has a hair-dressers near Broad Marsh)
It's at this point in history and in the conversation that the full glory of legend of John Lambie kicks in, guiding the club to successive promotions in his third spell at Firhill. Lambie, who draws credible parallels to a certain Brian Clough of this parish, was a cigar smoking, sheepskin coated eccentric with a rich taste in profanities. A 2002 fly-on-the-wall documentary, Grasping the Thistle, is reputed to be the most bleeped output in BBC history. True or not, it's a great watch. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k9ubw7aiwIo
It was also Lambie responsible for the famous quote, after being told that striker Colin McGlashan was suffering concussion and didn't know who he was: :"That's great. Tell him he's Pelé and get him back on." Lambie, a committed Christian and SNP activist, passed away in April 2018 and remains an iconic figure.
More recently, there has been a hugely controversial relegation to League One after a legal challenge in the season curtailed by Covid, promotion, a playoff defeat and a poor run of form that threatened to derail this season.
Off the pitch, ownership is a contentious issue. Complicated too. If any of the following is wrong, someone please let me know so I can correct it. The majority of shares were, until his passing, held by lottery winner Colin Weir. 74% of the club shareholding is now in the hands of the PTFC Trust. The controversy has been around the expectations of The Jags Foundation, a supporter group, that Weir's shares would pass into fan ownership with fan representation on the board. The latest twist in this was on the 7th of December, with 7 of the club's 8 board members resigning, citing unrealistic fan expectations as a cause. There is definitely a discernible appetite for supporter ownership and hopefully the club will come out of the recent turbulence stronger and with its enviable community-club feel intact. There is certainly something special here that needs looking after.
Sat in Munn's, with Neil, Ross, Heather and a lovely feller name unknown (another one) we were regaled with tales of epic matches, triumphs, catastrophes and characters past. Characters including Heather's legendary Grandad, Harry 'Bingo' Calderhead, Thistle superfan, still going home and away at the age of 98, getting one last match in one Saturday and departing for a heavenly Firhill a few days later. There's a great obituary to Harry here: https://www.heraldscotland.com/opinion/15518270.obituary-harry-bingo-calderhead-partick-thistle-superfan/
The conversation flowed. Not for the first time on this trip, people were genuinely interested in how Scott McKenna is getting on with Forest and he's clearly held in high regard North of the border as he is with us - player of the season last year and still a colossus. Recounting the meeting with Gerry Britton, who we'd not even realised had been a player, we were shown Youtube footage of his legendary 2001 Scottish Cup goal at Dundee - a wondrous thing - before it being time to head on back to town. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWxAGaMFzMI
A truly fantastic day with great people at friendly, quirky club. Thanks to all involved for one of the most enjoyable football experiences I've had in a long time. Truly life-affirming. We'll be back before the season is through and the first vintage shirt is on order from a seller in Poland; not the Kingsley one, but this 2016-17 beauty. I feel a collection coming on...
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