Sporting Aspects
The Gentleman from Glasgow
By J. P. W. MALLALIEU 0 N Friday, April 17th, 1953, at about 11 p.m., in Piccadilly, a gentleman from Glasgow declined the advice of a gentleman from London. As the gentle- man from London was wearing one of those funny helmets, the gentleman from Glasgow spent the night in a cell, and thereafter was decanted before another gentleman from London who wore no helmet but was protected, instead, by two pene- trating eyes.
" What," said the Beak, " is the charge ? " " Drunk and disorderly," said a Clerk. " What," said the Beak some moments later, nodding his head at the gentleman from Glasgow, " had he in his pockets ? " " Two pennies and the return half of his ticket to Glasgow," said the London gentle- man who had been wearing his helmet the previous evening. " Two pennies, the return half of his ticket to Glasgow—and a ticket for the England and Scotland match at Wembley this afternoon."
The Beak's penetrating eyes bored into the gentleman from Glasgow whose face, whatever colour it might have been at 11 p.m. on Friday, April 17th, was by now white. Would it be a lecture ? He could not endure it in his shaking state. Would it be a fine ? Had anyone ever heard of a 2d. fine ? Would it be a prison sentence ? Then he would miss the match.
The Beak reflected; then " One day's imprisonment ! " ; then " But take care that he's out in time to see the match "—and at that, while the Beak rustled the papers of his next case, the gentleman from Glasgow's face suddenly became like the sunrise and the whole police court was suffused with beaming warmth.
Englishmen, on the day, feel strongly about an encounter between England and Scotland whether at Rugby or Soccer. But their feelings are only strong, not fundamental; they are not expressed, and they exist only on the day. But a Scotsman's feelings on these matters seep down into his being until they become a part of his instinct; they are expressed as steam is expressed through the safety valve of a standing locomotive, and they exist not just for one day but from the moment one match ends until the moment the next match has ended. The fire underneath his boiler is no sooner extinguished than it is rekindled; and if the boiler happens to burst, as I saw it burst last Saturday, well then, there are plenty more boilers where that one came from. The Scotsman turns homeward on the Saturday night. His spirit may deflect him from the home- ward line, so that, for example, he finds himself without his train at Crewe, but eventually he gets home; and from that moment he begins to save, as he will save for nothing else, to meet the fare and other expenses incidental to a Wembley trip in two years' time. He must not cheat about this saving. There must be no raiding of his children's boxes, no docking of his wife's money. The savings must really be his own, and, because they are his own, they are his to deal with as he pleases. Once he has paid his fare and got his Wembley ticket, he can blow the whole lot—all but twopence—on the Friday night, and no one will stay his hand. No one ? It was a near thing. Not even Jacob, fobbed off with Leah after seven years, could be more downcast than a Scottish football fan fobbed off with a prison cell after two years. But because sportsmen, in England or elsewhere, are sportsmen, the gentle- man from Glasgow got his Rachel after all.
I thought of him nearly all that afternoon at Wembley. The tartan bonnets and the red lions of Scotland on their yellow backgrounds so dominated the arena that the greenness of the velvet turf seemed only pale by ccoaparison. The pre-match hum of the 100,000 crowd had a tone which was alien to my ear, and the tunes which were played either by the disabled ex-servicemen without or by the wholly able Marines within were alien too. Wembley that afternoon seemed to be soaked in Scotland. I felt there the demanding eagerness of that two years' expectant abstinence; and, as the game wore on, I felt compassion for those thousands whose new unleashed desires were not, it seemed, about to be fulfilled. The truth, apparent after a very few minutes, was that England were not a good side. The Froggatt family on their left wing were full of energy but, today, deficient in skill. Finney, on the right wing, felt so full of skill that he tried to beat not one man but three—and failed. Lofthouse at centre could not beat even one man. In the defence, the shakiness of Barrass at centre-half and of Smith at left-back seemed to be unsettling Merrick in goal. Only Wright and Dickinson, the English wing-halves, seemed wholly sure of themselves. So it was that, twice in the first half, Scotland looked like scoring. First, after thirty-one minutes, Merrick leaped for a cross, missed, fell to the ground and left his goal open. The Scottish forward who was up had only to hit the trickling ball hard. Instead he tapped it, and an England back kicked off the line. Again, after forty minutes, Steel hit the cross-bar. Again the rebound, more difficult to control this time, was only tapped back, and again an England defender kicked it off the line.
But in spite of England's weakness, in spite of Scotland's chances, it was clear beyond doubt to expert eyes that England would win. By half-tune they were a goal ahead. in the nineteenth minute Pinney had got the bah on the wing, beaten two men and then, as usual, been beaten by the third. But he recovered, snatched the ball again, sent in a lovely ground pass to Broadis who scored directly. (hereafter England ambled easily until it was time for a sponge and a slice of lemon.
England continued to amble in the second half until e:even minutes after the restart, when a pass from steel, while Ban-ass was thinking about higner things, gave Johnstone a chance wnich he slammed against the cross-bar. Before Merrick coma re- open nis eyes, nedly had the rebound in the net. Tne:eat England, at any rate, caught fire. For nearly a quarter of an hour they hammered tne Scots, and at last -the deserved goal came. Broadis cut his way through the centre unm, on the penalty line, he looked to have a scoring cnance. But tamely he passed far out to Finney on tne wing. That was that. But it wasn't. Finney held the bail, manoeuvreu and seemed to have beaten Cox. Then Cox beat him. That was that. But it wasn't. Finney recovered, • snatched the nail, ran round Cox and centred. Broadis hit tne ball direcuy into the net. That was 2-1 with fifteen minutes to go, ana, w nen it was seen that Cox had so injured himself in trying to stop Finney that he had to be carried off, we knew that tnat really was that. Just as England ambled their way througu the remaining minutes, so hundreds if not thousands of spectators ambled from the arena. 1 thought only of the gentleman rcom Glasgow, his hopes ebbing from him and his head a.:ning. Would not the prison cell nave been preferable to all this ?
Then it happened. It was past normal time. There w ere, as it turned out, no more than twenty seconds left of the extra time allowed for injuries, when Johnstone in mid-field gage a pass to Reilly. Reilly, to show that there was no harm in a little fun, passed back to Johnstone while Barrass, the England centre-half, looked on indulgently. But then Johnstone re- passed to Reilly and Reilly, tiring of the fun, hit the ball smack into the top of the England net, amid a roar so complete and even that it seemed like stunned silence. Farm, the Scottish goalkeeper, ran half the length of the field to hug Reilly and had Dot the time even to get back in his goal before the final whistle sounded; and at that the green Wembley turf vanished under a flood of tartans and within twenty-four hours some- where in Glasgow, a gtntleman put two pennies into his box for use in 1955.
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