| You Don't Have To Be Crazy - But It Helps |
| (chapter 34 from 'Red & Yellow Forever') |
by Robert Reid
It's generally accepted in football circles that goalkeepers have to be slightly mad. Some would say equally that to be an avid Thistle supporter you need to be a good few sandwiches short of the picnic. (I chose that expression in preference to the one about not being the full 5p - doesn't sound right somehow). While recognising that everyone, apart maybe from Sun columnist and erstwhile referee Jim McGilvray, has a soft spot for Thistle, it could be said with equal conviction that everyone for Thistle has a soft spot in the head. Don't believe it for one minute. I refute totally the suggestion that I, a thinking person, am in any way crazy but I confess to having done some really irrational things in my time in order to get to see Partick Thistle. It's a kind of obsession with me which needs to be satisfied.
UNDER THE WEATHER
I began my teaching career in one of Lanarkshire's most prestigious schools, Airdrie Academy. The piece of extreme folly about which I'm going to tell you took place when I had been there for some time trying my level best to teach French to young people between the ages of 12 and 18. Among them a fresh-faced youth by the name of Bobby Watson who went on to pursue a successful career in professional football, mainly with Rangers (honest I didn't point him in that direction) and later Motherwell, and was for a while a director of Partick Thistle, if you please. Incidentally I never let him forget that he was a member of the Motherwell team thrashed 8-3 by Thistle at Firhill in 1971. Anyway, for the one and only time in my life I'm glad to say, I fell victim to a bout of flu. I mean the real influenza which floors you totally. I had struggled into school on the Monday but I could hardly stand up and I had to give in — straight to bed without the option.
I felt scarcely better by the Thursday but as luck would have it what was the Thistle fixture for the Saturday? Yes you've guessed it, Airdrie at Broomfield. Some of the Academy pupils were Airdrie fans, though not as many as I thought should have been, a lot of them preferring to journey to Glasgow to you know where, but those who did favour the Diamonds were sure to be at Broomfield for the Thistle match. Now there was no way I could be seen there having been off work on the Friday so out of the sickbed I struggled, doped up to the eyeballs, endured the one and a quarter hour journey from my home to Airdrie Academy and somehow got through a day's teaching all with a view to being able to support Thistle at Broomfield the following day. Talk about going against doctor's orders. By the way after all this we lost nil three. Obviously the team was under the weather like myself. Both parties had fully recovered thank goodness in time for the following Saturday's match Thistle three Celtic one was the result. Just the final pick-me-up I needed.
WHERE'S EDDIE?
Then there was the December 1962 match with Hibs at Easter Road. I had an arrangement with my friend Eddie McCulloch who would pick me up in town and drive me through to Edinburgh. To my great consternation, the agreed time came and went — still no sign of Eddie who is, incidentally, just about the most reliable and most meticulous person you could hope to meet. Because of this very fact I waited and waited, afraid to make a dash for a train or bus. It was unthinkable that Eddie would let me down and sure enough it emerged later on that it was my fault as I had been waiting at the wrong place! Anyway, it came near to two o'clock so I simply had to make a move. I was up near the top of Buchanan Street so I tried the bus station. Express service to Edinburgh fully booked. I hopped down to Queen Street station but by this time the two o'clock train had left. Would you believe it, I boarded the 2.30 pm, beside myself with frustration.
I gasped at the thought that, in spite of my years of unfailing loyalty, the Thistle game would start without me. Would anyone in his right mind leave Glasgow at half-past two for a match starting at three o'clock at Easter Road unless he had a private jet? It seemed like an eternity but eventually the train pulled into Edinburgh Waverley. I jumped off once it had slowed down a bit and made a beeline for the nearest taxi rank. It was just like the movies; “Easter Road — and don't hang about” I said to the unsuspecting driver. I got into the ground shortly before half-time, just in time to see wee Neil Duffy fire a beauty into the net. Final score — Hibernian 0 Thistle 2. The frustration and anxiety had gone. The clouds of depression had rolled away and the sun was out once more. Needless to say the return trip to Glasgow was infinitely more relaxed than the frenzied outward trip had been.
ANOTHER MAD DASH
The weather towards the end of 1976 and in the early part of 1977 was nothing short of atrocious. We had been due to play Aberdeen at Pittodrie on Saturday in December but the match was postponed and would have to be played midweek. A real pain in the neck. It finally came to be rescheduled for the 12th of January 1977. Temperatures were below freezing, the roads were on a dangerous condition and I couldn't imagine how the game could possibly be on. We knew very well that the irrepressible Ally MacLeod, who was the manager of Aberdeen at the time, was desperate to get the game played because if the Dons won the match they would go to the top of the league. I arranged a spot of cover, left work a wee bit early, drove the car towards town, parked it and jumped on a bus and then boarded the Aberdeen train without a minute to spare — or so I thought. From memory, this would be about 4.15 pm or so. First of all, the bleeding thing wouldn't start and when it finally got underway about half an hour late I soon discovered to my horror there wasn't a vestige of heating throughout the length and breadth of the entire train. What a wretched journey it turned out to be. Snow was falling quite heavily now and it seemed to be getting steadily worse all the time. The thought struck me that the match might be called off, the Thistle bus would have headed for home and I would be stranded in Aberdeen if I ever got there. All of this was going through my head as the train trundled on. It finally pulled into Aberdeen at 8pm. Another mad leap into a taxi. You'll be thinking I was accustomed to travelling in style, but I probably hadn't been in a taxi more than a couple of times since the Easter Road episode 14 years before.
I asked the driver if the game was on alright, he had no idea. However, as we hurtled along King Street and turned down towards Pittodrie I could see the floodlights and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I breathed an equally huge sigh of despair when I got in and discovered that wee Joe Harper had given Aberdeen a 1-0 half-time lead. Face tripping me, I braced myself for the second half. The pitch was in a terrible state and the game should never have been played. It would certainly have failed one of today's pitch inspections. I have often wondered if the wily Ally MacLeod had exercised all of his most persuasive powers to get the game on. No I take that back Ali wouldn't do that would he? Still anybody who could persuade thousands of people to flock to Hampden to see a Scotland team when they weren't even playing. And what about those carpets he persuaded people to buy on the telly? Anyway Thistle gave a good account of themselves in the appalling conditions and came near to an equaliser a few times. Then, with just six minutes to go, we forced a corner on the right down at the away end from the beach. I suppose you could say the gasometer end. The pitch was white so the ball had to be orange. No comment from me. The more cynical might say it's a wonder that even in good weather the ball wasn't… but you wouldn't catch me saying anything like that. Young Jim Kelly, whom we had signed straight from Hyndland Secondary School and who had a great left foot, took an in-swinger. Dougie Somner, our saviour on so many occasions, rose to meet the ball perfectly with his forehead and smashed home a marvellous equaliser. I was delighted with the result and relieved that I could get back to Glasgow in the team bus.
We were all buoyed up at having secured a point in very difficult circumstances but the journey home on the icy roads was a real nightmare. We finally pulled up outside Firhill at 2.15am. The administrative manager, Mr. Symon, got his car going and gave me a lift to where I had parked mine the previous afternoon. In the sub-zero temperatures it refused to budge. A friendly taxi driver saw my plight or more exactly was made aware of my plight by my waving him down. Poor soul thought initially he was getting a fare. Drew in behind me and kept pushing until I finally managed to jump-start my car. I couldn't even stop to say thanks for fear of not getting started again. Please accept my apologies taxi driver if you're reading this. I eventually reached home about 3.15am and then had to get up for work as usual in the morning. Was all of this worth it? Of course it was and Thistle got a point into the bargain.
THOSE S0-AND-SO WEDDINGS
I was invited to a wedding a number of years back. I always dreaded this happening because nobody seems to get married nowadays on any other day than a Saturday. Thistle were playing Dumbarton at Boghead on the day in question. I drove with my son David down to Dumbarton, saw him safely into the ground, then handed him over to a group of friends with whom I had made an arrangement that they would deliver him back home at the conclusion of the match. David being quite young at the time, I saw the match kick-off then left about 3.03pm for the mad dash back to Glasgow.
I suppose the only plausible explanation for this act of complete folly, to quote football commentator Jock Brown's favourite phrase when a player foolishly gets himself ordered off, was that it constituted an attempt on my part to serve my conscience and so far as by making the effort to go to the ground at all I wasn't deserting my team. As soon as I could get to a phone I put a call through to Boghead and who should answer but my good friend and former Thistle stalwart Alex Wright who had an administrative post with Dumbarton at the time. I disguised my voice somewhat when asking for the result. “1-0 to Thistle” came the reply. “Thank you very much” I replied politely, still not revealing my identity, not wishing to rub it in as it were. I replaced the receiver and said in more than an audible whisper, “that's the stuff”. I discovered later that wee Jamie Doyle had scored the only goal of the game. Normally speaking I am not that keen on wedding receptions but I enjoyed that one.
I have to confess that despite my most heroic efforts I have not always managed to get to the Thistle game. Such occasions you can count on the fingers of one hand however. One such instance occurred a way back in 1964. I came home one evening, I think from an adult class I had been teaching in the College of Commerce and Distribution in Cathedral Street, to be informed by my wife that an old school pal of mine had been on the phone and would like to come up and see me. I thought this was a bit strange because I hadn't seen this person for ages, but I dismissed it as being nothing too sinister. You've probably guessed the rest of this story. Yes it was another one of those so-and-so weddings and yes he wanted me to be his best man. No way I could wriggle out of that and, yes, the wedding was on a Saturday afternoon, quite a number of weeks ahead of course. As soon as my friend left I dashed for the fixture list, Scottish Cup third round, oh no. 1964 had to be one of the years when we reached the third round without getting a bye in rounds one and two. Not at all like nowadays when we can't win a Scottish Cup tie at all. The luck of the draw sent us to Ibrox. Now if I were obliged to miss one Thistle game in an entire decade and I could choose which one I would in all probability choose an Ibrox fixture. I feel distinctly uncomfortable there, outnumbered 43 to 1, thinking so differently from all those other people around me. Could it just be conceivable that maybe they're right and I'm wrong? No, I may well be a voice crying in the wilderness, a martyr to a cause, but I still think I'm right nevertheless. And where was this wedding to take place? Govan of all places, with a four o'clock kick-off, I mean start. So there I was sitting in the back of the plush taxi as it made its serene way along Edmiston Drive with Thistle playing no more than yards away. It was excruciating, not quite as excruciating as it must have been for the Thistle fans who did make it to the game. We lost 0-3.
Weddings, weddings, weddings, they've a lot to answer for. My darling daughter Kathleen got married in August 1995 on a Saturday but the wee soul made sure it was the 5th of August before Thistle's season had begun. But it was a bit too close for comfort don't you think? Her husband Richard is from the East and therefore a wise man as witnessed by his choice of wife. He's not into football which is just as well. He could have been a Jambo. A chapter which began by suggesting, tongue-in-cheek of course, that you were halfway crazy towards qualifying as an ardent Thistle fan if you were a bit crazy is now concluded.
What's the verdict? Crazy or not, I own up, I'm crazy. The final line of the Patsy Cline hit fits the bill perfectly. Thistle, you'd better believe it, I'm crazy for loving you.
  The blood in my veins is red AND yellow — it must be. I have a disease of some sort for which no cure has yet been found. Maybe I'd be disappointed if someone were to come up with one. To use a well worn cliché, Partick Thistle isn't just a football team, it's a way of life. I ask Thistle fans even older than I if maybe the first 50 years are the worst, and they assure me things don't change and certainly don't get any better. Never mind Thistle, we love you just the same. So you think it's all over — well it is now. No, one final thought! Will this be Thistle's year? Of course not, don't be silly! Robert W. Reid (1935-2025) |
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Originally published on 03-Sep-1996. |
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Re-published here on The Thistle Archive, 29-Jan-2026. |
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Latest edit version, 03-Sep-1996. |
| see also: |
| Firhill fanatics → |
| Jagged words → |
| Fan books Thistle's place in history → |
| Archive museum: item #49 → |
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