TODAY is the 56th anniversary of one of the most infamous games in Celtic’s proud history – the first leg of three vicious encounters in the Intercontinental Cup Final against Argentina’s Racing Club of Buenos Aires
It was the evening at a packed Hampden where “football went oot the windae,” according to Wee Jimmy Johnstone, who became the target for the thuggish visitors.
In another CQN EXCLUSIVE, Alex Gordon looks back over the next five days at the so-called soccer showpiece meetings, starting with an edited extract from unforgettable Lisbon Lion Bertie Auld’s best-selling autobiography, ‘A Bhoy Called Bertie,’ co-authored by the writer, which was published in 2008.
WE were waiting to discover where our World Club Championship play-off against Racing Club of Buenos Aires would be played.
After two brutal confrontations with a bunch of Argentinian thugs who masqueraded as a football team, I thought I had a reasonable suggestion. I offered, ‘Why not take it to Madison Square Garden?’
Those guys were a lot more interested in fisticuffs than football and I thought the mecca of world boxing in New York would have been an ideal location. We had just played two pulverising and punishing games against a vicious ensemble of assassins who had hacked, punched, kicked, pulled our hair, whacked us on the back of the head and generally violated us during the previous encounters.
I can take someone kicking me, but it is fairly hard to accept when someone comes up, with the ball about 50 yards away, and spits in your face. Then they would look at you and flash a wicked smile before running off. We had never encountered anything like this. Listen, when you can play in Scottish Junior football as a teenager, there is nothing left to frighten you on a football pitch.
But how do you react when you are left wiping spittle off your face for the umpteenth time? Where I came from in Maryhill there would be only one destination for a cretin who indulged in this disgusting behaviour – the Western Infirmary. Believe me, it’s not easy to control your emotions at a time like that.
However, I believe it is to my colleagues’ enormous credit that we took all that from a bunch of cowards in two games in Glasgow and Buenos Aires and didn’t allow it to interfere with our concentration levels. Everyone has a breaking point, though. And we were getting close to it as we prepared for that game in Uruguay. We had been goaded beyond belief by these guys.
business, alright.
However, there was nothing they could do to prevent Caesar, Billy McNeill, majestic in the air as usual, getting the only goal of an evening that was memorable mainly for all the wrong reasons.
HIGH AND MIGHTY…Racing Club keeper Augustin Cejas fists clear with Billy McNeill and Willie Wallace waiting to pounce.
We thought our fortune was out just beforehand when I slung over a free-kick in the 55th minute and our skipper thumped a header off the woodwork. Chances were few and far between against this side and we cursed our luck as that opportunity passed us by.
However, all was right with the world again when Yogi swept over a corner-kick from the right. Caesar, who had been bumped, jostled, punched and blocked throughout at deadball situations, managed to get clear in a packed penalty box.
His blond head met the ball perfectly and it seemed to take an age before it swept high into the net past their keeper, Agustin Cejas.
THE END GAME…Billy McNeill has something to say to Racing Club defender Alfio Basile as Bobby Lennox, Jim Craig, Willie Wallace and Bertie Auld come off the Hampden pitch.
Caesar leapt in delight and then had a few well-chosen words with Alfio Basile, who would later manage Argentina. Basile had tried to rough up our centre-half every time he ventured into their penalty area, but he was helpless as our impeccable captain got that so crucial goal.
I asked Caesar afterwards what he had said to his opponent, but he feigned surprise and claimed he couldn’t recall the incident. I got the drift he wasn’t inviting his opponent out for a drink afterwards.
A South American journalist asked their left-back Diaz what he thought about playing against Wee Jinky. At least, the Argentine was honest. He said something along the lines of: ‘I tried to tackle him fairly at the start, but I realised this would be impossible for the entire game. I elected to kick him when he came near me after that. He would have destroyed me.’
And yet he wasn’t booked by the referee. Racing coach Pizzuti didn’t take the risk of fielding him against Jinky in the second leg just in case a real match official turned up.
He promptly dropped him and brought in another hatchet man called Nelson Chabay, who looked as though he was just another version of Diaz. Only harder and dirtier.
