Paddy Crerand: Never Turn the Other Cheek

Paddy Crerand: Never Turn the Other Cheek
Paddy Crerand

Paddy Crerand's eagerly-awaited autobiography recounts the previously untold story of one of post-war football's fieriest characters. As a defensive midfielder, famed for his tough tackling, for Scotland, Celtic and Manchester United from 1957 to 1972, he was the Roy Keane of his day and this book holds nothing back on or off the field.As a Catholic born in the then infamous Gorbals area of Glasgow, Crerand was determined to escape from an extraordinarily tough background of family tragedy, religious bigotry and working in the Clyde shipyard, to become a professional footballer.As a Celtic player in the early years of Jock Stein's management, Paddy Crerand was forced to play in the shadow of the then dominant Rangers team. At Manchester United, however, he enjoyed great success in Sir Matt Busby's post-Munich Air Disaster team, winning two league titles, the FA Cup and the European Cup, and playing alongside the likes of George Best, Bobby Charlton, Denis Law and Nobby Stiles.In his own distinctively punchy style, Crerand reveals the full truth about his controversial friendship with the hard-drinking Protestant Rangers star 'Slim' Jim Baxter and the legendary Liverpool manager Bill Shankly; what it was like to be George Best's minder and Matt Busby's confidant; and his passionate involvement in Irish nationalist politics.Crerand’s life story is a genuine triumph over adversity told by someone whose informed opinion on Manchester United and football in general is as respected today as it was forty years ago.

Dedication (#ulink_1dcc7d6d-9270-514e-bfc0-1f58ad51a100)

For my mother, Sarah,who made me the person that I am

Contents

Cover (#u41833377-ef77-502a-9c9b-6dc7caef9ca1)

Title Page (#u7f2b2fcb-e31f-550f-8a69-df3acceea79a)

Dedication (#ulink_5a8462f4-3b7c-51dd-bc04-16c8a8485aa2)

Introduction (#ulink_7767b070-1801-521c-b455-eeded0bcc456)

1. Heart of the Gorbals (#ulink_95b2bf56-c09f-5fb3-8ae2-8e03db9fab94)

2. A Grand Old Team to Play For? (#ulink_d0395243-6bfd-535a-a4dc-01e6325de275)

3. End of a Dream (#ulink_9a0981d8-3f0e-5857-93e0-1a8d1a641fa2)

4. South of the Border (#ulink_03b905ff-91d9-5d58-9920-b33113a6b423)

5. The Making of Champions (#litres_trial_promo)

6. Best Team in England (#litres_trial_promo)

7. Champions of Europe (#litres_trial_promo)

8. Cheated (#litres_trial_promo)

9. Decline and Despair (#litres_trial_promo)

10. Troubled Times (#litres_trial_promo)

11. A Brave New World? (#litres_trial_promo)

12. Red Eyed (#litres_trial_promo)

The Crerand Career (#litres_trial_promo)

Index (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Picture Section (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)

Introduction (#ulink_a358e143-07f3-5ddc-ba47-f7a30948954f)

Many people have approached me over the years to write an autobiography, but it wasn’t for me until now. I don’t feel comfortable talking about myself and never have. If you talked about yourself where I was from then you were seen as being big-headed. But I’ve had a good chat with my family and they’ve encouraged me to tell my life story. I’ve waited until I am 68 years old – so I have plenty to say. I played football for Celtic and Manchester United, the two greatest clubs in Britain – some might say, the world – and football has remained my life since I hung up my boots in 1972.

My vices are red wine and bad language. I’ve toned down the swearing for this book; those reading it will probably be able to see where. I speak as I find and there are many things which made me angry, and still do. My opinions can be as strong as my language.

Some people think of me as being rabidly pro-Manchester United. I am. And I’m proud of it. Proud to stand up for the club when so many people want to put us down. Manchester United has been a huge part of my life and Manchester has been my home for over four decades. I believe in standing up against injustice and always have.

I defended Eric Cantona after his infamous so-called ‘kungfu’ kick in 1995 and got slaughtered for it in the media. That didn’t bother me one bit as most of the people offering opinions knew nothing about football or United. And if I had been in Eric’s boots when that idiot came at him from the stands, I would have done exactly the same; except I would have hit him hard enough to make sure that he didn’t get back up. If someone attacks you then you have every right to defend yourself – you hit them hard and make sure it’s a good one.

A BBC presenter from Northern Ireland had a real go at me for sticking up for Eric. A radio station called me for my opinion, and the presenter went on about how she was a United fan who had watched the incident on television with her two sons. She said it was the worst thing she had seen in her life, how it was a totally deplorable act. I wasn’t having that.

‘You work in the media in Belfast,’ I said. ‘And you’re telling me that even with all the troubles that have affected your part of the world, that Eric Cantona kicking a complete idiot who deserved it is the worst thing you’ve ever seen? Who are you kiddin’?’

I wasn’t naïve about Irish politics when I made that statement, as you’ll see. At times I was more than an observer of The Troubles.

Standing up for what I believed in often got me into trouble as a player. I’d not been at Celtic long when we played a five-a-side tournament in Falkirk, then the most anti-Catholic, anti-Celtic town in Scotland. You were not allowed to pass the ball back in your own half in five-a-side, but this referee let a Falkirk player get away with it so I swore at him. He sent me off. Three Falkirk players came charging towards me and a fight followed which saw my mate Mick Jackson and me dismissed, leaving Celtic with two outfield players. I was fined, not just for being sent off, but for attacking a journalist who tried to speak to me about the incident after.

It wasn’t the only time I was sent off in a career that spanned nearly 500 games for Manchester United and 120 for Celtic, and it wasn’t the only time that I was involved in an argument with a journalist, but we’ll come to that.

My life’s philosophy was determined by my upbringing in Glasgow’s Gorbals. I was a child of Irish Catholic immigrants and we led an impoverished, underprivileged existence – not that I knew it at the time. I became interested in politics at an early age and joined the Labour Party as soon as I could. There was a rumour that someone in the Gorbals voted for the Tories in the 1970s, but I don’t believe it.

Principles formed in Glasgow still govern my life. I was taught to face problems head on, never to go down in a fight and never to turn the other cheek. I’ve made mistakes and I’ve got things right, but my life has seldom been dull. After reading what follows, I hope you’ll agree with me.

Paddy CrerandManchester 2007

ONE (#ulink_ab0324e1-cd23-5abe-87d9-d3f4b4c1fa66)

Heart of the Gorbals (#ulink_ab0324e1-cd23-5abe-87d9-d3f4b4c1fa66)

My dad felt uneasy about going to work on the night of 12 March 1941. He wanted to be with my mum, who was about to give birth to their fourth child. He was also nervous because German bombs were being dropped around the shipbuilding yards on Glasgow’s River Clyde with increasing frequency, but my mother reassured him that he would be fine and off he went.

Dad Michael worked for John Brown’s Shipyard in Clydebank, one of the most famous shipbuilding yards in the world. In later years, the Queen Mary and the QE2 liners were constructed there with the ‘Clyde-built’ seal of quality. Before the war, John Brown’s built many notable warships and liners like the Lusitania and HMS Hood.

Eighteen months into the Second World War, the focus of the yard was HMS Vanguard, which was to be the biggest-ever British battleship. Dad was not a skilled ship worker but a recently arrived Irish immigrant who had ambitions of opening a grocery shop in Glasgow. He was on fire-watch when the German bombers flew along the Clyde and made several direct hits on the shipyard.

Dad was killed instantly by a Luftwaffe bomb. Several other people lost their lives that night, most of them Irish immigrants who had come to Scotland to make a living. Michael Crerand’s name is etched into an obelisk that stands in Clydebank. I’d like to see it one day.

The day after my father’s death, my sister Mary was born. Can you begin to imagine what my mother, Sarah, went through in those twenty-four hours? She never did speak about it. Mum became a widow with responsibility for four children, all of them under the age of four. My brother John was three and a half; I was two; and my sister Bridie was just a year old when my father was killed.

My parents were originally from County Donegal, in Ireland’s beautiful north west. At 19, mum left the small town of Gweedore to work as a maid at the Baird Arms Hotel in Newtonstewart, County Tyrone, following in the path of some of her eleven sisters. Mum worked for next to nothing, but that she didn’t have to pay for food and accommodation meant she was in a better position than many of her friends. The hotel owner was originally from Kilmacrennan, County Donegal, and she had two sons, one of whom, Michael, became my father. Dad worked in the hotel, too, and that’s where he met my mum.

Dad was 15 years older than mum and his mother did not approve of the relationship, partly because of the age difference and partly because my mother was a maid, which she considered to be a lowly profession. Mum and dad were in love though and, unable to face the hostility from my dad’s family, they eloped to Symington in Ayrshire, Scotland, where his brother John was a priest, the youngest in Scotland. My parents married at the beginning of 1937, but John couldn’t conduct the service as he died from pneumonia in late 1936. When my grandmother heard of the marriage she hung a black bow on the door of her hotel, as was the custom in Northern Ireland when someone died.

My parents returned to Northern Ireland and opened a food shop in Plumbridge, County Tyrone. Poverty was rife and it was difficult to achieve a good standard of living if you were a Catholic because you were treated like a second-class citizen, no matter how hard you worked. The Catholics suffered extreme hardships under British rule. British imperialism meant Protestant landlords got the best land which they rented to Catholic tenants. This created deep religious animosity and the Catholics rightly felt persecuted. During the Famine of 1845–49, the British offered relief to the Catholics on the condition that they attend a Protestant church. It was no surprise that Irish nationalism gained momentum.