: Michael McEwan
: Gallus Scotland, England and the 1967 World Cup Final
: Polaris
: 9781913538989
: 1
: CHF 14.00
:
: Ballsport
: English
: 368
: Wasserzeichen
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
There are two kinds of people in this world. Those who insist that football is just a game, and those who know better. Take the April 1967 clash between England and Scotland.  Wounded by their biggest rivals winning the World Cup just nine months earlier, Bobby Brown's Scots travelled to Wembley on the mother of all missions. Win and they would take a huge step towards qualifying for the 1968 European Championship, end England's formidable 19-game unbeaten streak, and, best of all, put Sir Alf Ramsey's men firmly back in their box.  Lose? Well, that was just unthinkable.   Meanwhile, off the pitch, the winds of change were billowing through Scotland. Nationalism, long confined to the margins of British politics, was starting to penetrate the mainstream, gaining both traction and influence. Was England's World Cup victory a defining moment in the Scottish independence movement? Or did it consign Scotland to successive generations of myopic underachievement?  Michael McEwan, author of The Ghosts of Cathkin Park, returns to 1967 to explore a crucial ninety minutes in the rebirth of a nation. 

Michael McEwan is a journalist from Glasgow. He is the Assistant Editor of PSP Media Group's portfolio of sports titles, which include Bunkered, Scotland's highest circulating golf magazine. He is a former winner of both the RBS Young Sportswriter of the Year and Evening Times Young Football Journalist of the Year awards and the author of Running the Smoke: 26 First-Hand Accounts of Running the London Marathon.

PROLOGUE

AS THE RAIN HAMMERED AGAINST THE WINDOW, Britain’s most expensive footballer picked up his phone and dialled the number. It was a little after 10 a.m. on the morning of 30 July 1966 and Denis Law wanted revenge. Distraction, too. But mainly revenge.

A few weeks earlier, one of the Manchester United forward’s best friends, a local businessman called John Hogan, had beaten Law over eighteen holes at a local golf course. This, despite the fact that Law was the better player of the two (and by some distance).

Oh, how Hogan had revelled in what was a rare win over his old pal. ‘Any time you want a return game,’ he had crowed, ‘just give me a shout.’

The words rang in Law’s ears as Hogan answered.

‘Remember how you said “a return match any day, you name it,’’’ Law reminded him. ‘Well, I will name it now – today.’

Hogan was as incredulous as he was crestfallen, and it had nothing to do with being a fair-weather player.

‘But Denis . . . today’s the World Cup final.’

Not just any old World Cup final but the first World Cup final to feature England. A 2–1 win over a Eusébio-led Portugal in the semi-finals had earned the Three Lions a shot at the title, and on home soil, too. Ninety minutes. Ninety measly minutes were all that stood between Alf Ramsey’s men and the right to hear their names echo in sporting perpetuity. The country had ground to a halt, intoxicated by an irresistible cocktail of anticipation and expectation. Shops closed early, alternative plans were cancelled, street parties were convened, and Hogan had been looking forward to joining in the fun.

Law had other ideas. A £25 wager managed to persuade Hogan and, in short order, a tee time at Chorlton-cum-Hardy Golf Club, just a few miles to the south of Manchester city centre, was booked.

Law was grateful for the diversion. Two years earlier, he had received the Ballon d’Or, the gilded trophy awarded to Europe’s ‘Footballer of the Year’. He was the first Scot and only the second Brit – following the great Stanley Matthews in 1956 – to land the prestigious honour.

Since then, though, his form and fortunes had taken a dip. The season just ended had finished in abject disappointment on all fronts for Law and his United teammates. Partizan Belgrade had beaten them 2–1 on aggregate in the semi-finals of the European Cup. Three days later, Everton denied them a place in the FA Cup final, a late goal from Colin Harvey settling a scrappy contest at Bolton’s Burnden Park. Their league title defence finished on a note every bit as meek. Having won the old First Division for a sixth time twelve months earlier, the ‘Red Devils’ could do no better than fourth in 1965/66. Worse, they had to watch as fierce