AS AN 11-year-old boy, I was the only Bairns supporter in the village of Banton. With the exception of one Celtic-supporting friend and me, all my school mates supported Rangers. That was the easy option but throughout my life I have never picked 'e
asy'.
Rangers were already a force in European football and were about to win the 1956/57 First Division title ahead of Hearts with their city rivals Celtic, trailing far behind. But this year was to be different. Falkirk FC, fighting relegation (no surprises there then) had experienced a wonderful run in the Scottish Cup and it seemed that from out of nowhere my team had reached a final at Hampden. The opponents on the day were Kilmarnock, who had beaten Celtic in the semi-final, and who were sitting a credible third in the league. The newspaper pundits had Killie firmly marked down as favourites to lift the trophy, but even back then pundits could get it wrong and as it proved, this was to be our year.
I remember asking my parents, not expecting them to agree, if I could go to the cup final.
My father worked in the foundry village of Bonnybridge for Smith and Wellstood Ltd and the social club of this now defunct but then famous heating stove manufacturer was running a bus to Hampden. I was to be allowed to go to what turned out to be the biggest and to date most important game of my life.
Preparations were thorough. There were no replica tops in the 1950s and so my gran quickly knitted me a scarf with the names of the Falkirk team embroidered into it. Two small problems arose from this kindness. The blue was not quite the club's navy hue and it seemed, to my young but critical eye, to be closer to Kilmarnock's paler blue. Worse was to come when it was noted that she had mis-spelled my favourite player's name. Tommy Murray was the Kevin 'Crunchie' McAllister of his day, a tricky winger who could pass a defender and plant a ball on a centre forward's head with ease and grace. He was my idol. After many tears, I was consoled with the gift of a giant home-made rosette from my Auntie Jenny, a lady who always seemed to save the day, and a neighbour's borrowed rattle.
The journey to Hampden was fraught. If you sat upstairs you choked on cigarette smoke, but moving down didn't help as the heater spewed diesel fumes from the engine. And anyway, after a while people smoked downstairs too. I was travel sick.
The game passed quickly and I don't remember too much about it except that an unbelievable 81,000 supporters do make a lot of noise.
The game ended 1-1 and on the bus home everyone agreed it was a poor game but hoped the replay would show improvement.
Wednesday seemed to take forever to arrive, and when it did, a crowd of 79,500 gathered for the match. The result for us was perfect, two goals to one and the quality of football, it was agreed, was much improved. When we arrived back in Bonnybridge the crowds were already gathering to cheer the winning team's open top bus through the village. It seemed to me another 80,000 had gathered there. The bus passed. I cheered. I saw the cup, and although it was 52 years ago, I can still see that glint of silver in my mind's eye.
In 1997, my second Falkirk cup final, Alex Totten took his First Division side to the final, but this time it was held at Ibrox Park because Hampden Park was undergoing redevelopment.
We were dealt a cruel blow when a disallowed 'goal' saw Falkirk come away empty handed while Kilmarnock lifted the cup courtesy of a Paul Wright strike.
The 1997 final has always been tinged with sadness for me, as a young friend and colleague was tragically killed in a workplace accident a few weeks after the final.
James Fordham was a fanatical Falkirk supporter aged just 22 who had, in an unusual show of club loyalty for the time, dyed his hair blue and white. James and his special hair-do were featured on national television in the lead up to the final and at 3pm today I will give silent thoughts for a very special young man who should have been there to share what I hope will be a Falkirk victory.
Some things however never change in football. Rangers win the league. Falkirk fight relegation and get through to the Scottish Cup final. This time however, win or lose, for the first time in their history Falkirk will be playing European football next season.
I never imagined that in my life time we would get another crack at the cup. C'mon ye Bairns – it can be done!
The full article contains 852 words and appears in The Scotsman newspaper.
