| Jim Craig main page | Lisbon Lions |
Legend of the Lisbon Lions remains undimmed . . . and it was never a penalty
The Scotsman Newspaper 25/05/07
WAS it really 40 years ago today? Using the most recent statistic for the life expectancy of the average Scottish male, that is half-a-lifetime. And the survivors from the team which won the European Cup in Lisbon that night are still dining out on the triumph. Long may it continue!
It almost goes without saying that life would have been markedly different for each of us without the moniker of "Lisbon Lion". Within hours of Celtic lifting the trophy in 1967, we were Lisbon Lions, a name coined anonymously by someone with a penchant for alliteration but also an appellation which the players accepted with alacrity. Mind you, in my darker moments, I wonder what it would have been like to lose in places like Berlin, Athens or Warsaw; I'm sure that suitable alliterative nouns could have been thought up fairly easily, involving parentage, body parts and . . . let's not go any further.
The nickname for that winning side has passed into common usage. When my son James started school, he came home complaining that the headteacher had given him a special nickname. "Dad, he called me a Lisbon Cub – what is that?". I tried to reassure him it was not a nasty designation, although I'm not sure he believed me. Then, many years later, when he ran out at Murrayfield for his first cap against Australia, his statistics shown on the huge screens round the ground were accompanied by a reference to his dad being a Lisbon Lion. And, two years ago, at half-time in a match between Australia and France in the Under-20 Rugby World Cup at New Anniesland, the announcer broke into the music being played to announce that there were two Lions in the ground, a British version in the form of John Beattie and a Lisbon one in myself.
Not everyone gets it right, though. My wife, who was a teacher, was talking to the school janitor one day when a youngish teenager loudly interrupted their conversation. "Hey, janny, see that Miss Craig you're talking tae, she's a fitballer's wife. She's married tae one o' thae Lesbian Lions!"
To have lived through the last four decades as a Lion of Lisbon has been quite memorable. Like my team-mates, I have received wonderful hospitality from Celtic fans in the USA, Canada, Australia and New Zealand, plus various corners of Europe, England, Wales and Ireland, as well as most of Scotland. They all want to know what actually happened on that day.
Was the Celtic bus going the wrong way to the Estadio Nacional? Yes, somebody noticed the fans were all going in the other direction and the driver turned the bus round.
Did Bertie Auld actually break into the words of The Celtic Song as the players came up the steps to the pitch? Yes, and we all joined in … if only to drown him out.
Why did several players run towards Ronnie Simpson's goal at the final whistle and grab his cap? Because those who had false teeth had left them in there.
Is it true that the players were not officially presented with their medals? Quite true. During the post-match banquet, a UEFA official came up and placed what looked like a shoebox in front of Jock Stein. On opening it, he found the winners' medals inside and duly passed them around.
Why did the players make their lap of honour round Celtic Park on the back of a coal lorry? Because the No 62 bus only went straight along London Road to Auchenshuggle. No detours. And, of course, the coal lorry had been cleaned up especially for the occasion.
And were all the players born within a 30-mile radius of Celtic Park? Well, it's Bobby Lennox, born in Saltcoats, who is responsible for that figure of 30. The rest were all born within 10 miles of Parkhead. Auld, Chalmers, Simpson and myself were Glaswegians; Gemmell, Murdoch, McNeill, Clark and Johnstone came from Lanarkshire; and Wallace was born in Kirkintilloch.
There is, however, one question invariably directed towards me. In the seventh minute of the final, I was judged by the West German referee Kurt Tschenscher to have fouled Inter's Renato Cappellini and the official awarded a penalty. It was one of the worst decisions in European and world football, ranking alongside the decision to send off that very pleasant guy, Rattin of Argentina, at Wembley in 1966 or the one when Maradona got away with his "Hand of God" goal in Mexico in 1986.
For 40 years, I have been asked by fans of all ages if I thought the decision was correct. Well, I've had enough. Even though I hope to go on for many years yet, the stonemason has been given his instructions. While not quite in the same category as Spike Milligan's "I told you I was ill", my own wording of "It was never a penalty!" should provide a definitive answer for future generations.
JIM CRAIG
40th Anniversary of the Lisbon Lions