Faddy Interview 11/01/14

[Steve Diggle]

Requested in drop box.

 

Spiers on Saturday: meeting James McFadden

 

Spiers on Saturday

Graham Spiers

Saturday 11 January 2014

I?¯wondered whether the word "fulfilled" would actually come from James McFadden's lips.

 

 

James McFadden has been back to his mercurial best in recent weeks. Picture: Colin Templeton

But it does. The 30-year-old Motherwell striker, whose career has been blighted by injuries for three years, offers an upbeat appraisal of his life in football.

 

I?¯met McFadden in the Motherwell players' lounge where, for all his star status, he quietly goes about his lunch, blending in with the rest, back where it all started for him.

 

Remember, this is a guy who, for 20 months between 2011 and early 2013, was shunted around various clubs in England, all of them proving unwilling to take a chance on him after a bad knee injury.

 

You could forgive McFadden for feeling a degree of self-pity at the way his career in England was disrupted. But none is there. "I don't have any regret in me," he says. "But I?¯know for a fact that, if I?¯had never got injured, I?¯would still be playing in the Premier League in England. But that's life; you have to deal with what's thrown at you.

 

"I'm not in hell. I'm not in a bad place. I'm still playing football at the highest level in Scotland, and I?¯still enjoy it. Motherwell is where I?¯started out and, if this was as good as it had got for me, I?¯would have been happy. I've been very fortunate - I've played at the top in England, I've played in Europe, and I've played for my country. I'm very lucky. I?¯feel privileged.

 

"I?¯don't feel hard done by and I?¯don't feel as though I've made mistakes. I?¯feel I've been very fortunate in my career. I?¯signed for Motherwell when I?¯was 16 and my sole aim was to play for the first team. As it turned out, things got even better for me. I?¯feel I've enjoyed a really good career."

 

None the less, those dark months following one Friday morning in August 2010 at Birmingham City are not forgotten. According to McFadden it was "an innocuous training-ground clash" which led to him suffering cruciate ligament damage in his left knee, which cruelly interrupted his time in the top flight of British football. He was just 27 and, out of nowhere, was suddenly told the worst news.

 

"I?¯was gutted to be injured in that period, but I?¯knew what I?¯had to do to get back. Having done all the rehab [in season 2010-11], I?¯was still getting swelling and soreness, so looking back, my rehab was probably a bit too aggressive: too much too soon. But I?¯felt like I?¯was flying.

 

"I?¯knew it wasn't right, so the surgeon took another look and then told me he wasn't sure if I?¯would play again. That was definitely the hardest part of it. My knee is fine now - it is totally healed - but I?¯just have to manage it properly. Not too much hard training, and certainly not too much on astroturf. Stuff like that. But I'm fine, honest."

 

McFadden's sudden career cul-de-sac provided an ecstatic moment for Motherwell supporters. Having left Birmingham for Everton and then Sunderland, and then when talks to join Celtic fell through, he made the decision last year to bring his wife and four young children back north, to settle in Hamilton and pick up his career again at Fir Park.

 

The beloved son came home.

 

"Now I?¯just need to get a bit of form back," says McFadden. "I?¯came back to Motherwell last year and did pretty well, but I've struggled this year a bit. By my standards - and the standards that other people set for me - I've not been good enough. I've not been able to have a big influence in games, which is what I?¯should be doing for Motherwell.

 

"I?¯had a bit of a dodgy spell at the start of the season, when I?¯had niggly hamstring and back injuries. I?¯kept playing on, hoping everything would be alright, but it turned out I'd actually torn my hamstring. So I?¯had to go back and do the rehab for a normal hamstring injury.

 

"I'm fine now. I?¯just need to play some games and get confident again. People remember me here when I?¯was young, when I?¯had bags of confidence, when I?¯could take people on. I?¯know I?¯can still play decent football."

 

On this very theme, I?¯asked McFadden what the mental difference was between being the young, gallus footballer, like a rock star - as he was back then - and today, aged 30, with his greater worldly awareness.

 

"I?¯think when you're younger it doesn't bother you so much if you have a bad game. You've always got next week, you never look too far ahead, and you never really think that it's not going to last forever. Then, as you get older, you realise it is going to stop at some point.

 

"Personally, I?¯now dwell on things that maybe I?¯shouldn't, like if I?¯make a couple of mistakes. It annoys me now when I?¯make mistakes. And sometimes I?¯try too hard now to put it right. That's the difference.

 

"I?¯still enjoy the game as much as when I?¯started - otherwise I?¯wouldn't do it. I?¯love playing football as much as I?¯ever did. This is not a job to me at all. My wife and I?¯laugh whenever I?¯suggest I'm going off to work. I?¯mean . . . this isn't work."

 

It has been noted by some that McFadden's languid, less-industrious style is not suited to the modern, athletic game. I?¯even put it to him that he was a 1970s footballer, not one of this current age. He disputes this.

 

"I?¯was four and a half years at Everton, and the manager [Davie Moyes] expected you to run back; it was demanded of you. You couldn't do anything less than run up and down, there was no hiding from it.

 

"So I'm not a player that doesn't do a shift for the team. If I?¯need to run back, I'll run back - it's now part of the game. But I?¯still think, to get the best out of me, I?¯need to play further forward, higher up the park."

 

The young pony-tailed pop star is now a family man, and it is quite something to witness McFadden glow with pride and love over his young family.

 

His time away from football is consumed with James (7), Emily (5), Toby (3) and a baby, Lily-Mae. "I?¯get a lot of pleasure from my kids," he says. "It's a great thing to be able to bring a kid into the world and teach them the ways of the world. In any situation - if you feel down or fed-up - they are a great distraction.

 

"When I?¯was child-free and in my house, if I'd had a bad game I'd just sit there with my thoughts. You get time to think about things, and maybe over-think things. But not any more. I?¯take my kids to school every morning and I've to be at the school gate to get them at 3 o'clock.

 

"Then I?¯take them swimming. We then get home and I?¯get their dinners ready, and then I've to get them into their baths. When I?¯finally sit down at nine o'clock I'm like, 'wow . . . phew!' But I?¯love it."

 

And the future? McFadden says he has learned that he cannot look much beyond the 12 months that are ahead of him. "The last three years have told me that it is pretty difficult to plan far into the future. As I?¯get older, and I?¯sign a contract for a year here or there, there's not much planning you can do.

 

"Now that I?¯feel better, I?¯hope I?¯can get back to a level of playing that I?¯am happy with. As long as I?¯manage my body right, I?¯don't see why I?¯can't go on playing for another few years. I'm enjoying my football again - that is the main thing.

 

"Right now I've got no aspirations or aims. I?¯just want to continue enjoying playing the game."

[Steve Diggle]

Obviously confirming many a sharp eyed well fans assertion that his lack of form was a combination of 'not being arsed' and his 'mind not being in the right place'

[joewarkfanclub]

Great interview.

 

Puts to bed some of the nonsense being peddled a few weeks ago. Hopefully it will make people think a bit more before decreeing a career is over or anyone is rubbish/waste of a wage. There are often underlying reasons fans are not aware of.

 

Here's hoping he can produce the same form we saw at the tale end of last season.

 

Quite a weekend for Motherwell in the Media.....

[Bop]

Cheers for posting the full article, good read.

[two_sevens]

 

Quite a weekend for Motherwell in the Media.....

 

Anyone hear Danny Baker this morning?

[milo]

First half today he was sublime. Hope he wasn't injured when he went off.

[joewarkfanclub]

Anyone hear Danny Baker this morning?

 

No. What was he saying?

[two_sevens]

I didn't hear the whole thing, but he's decided to become a Motherwell fan. A Well fan who phoned in has to support Millwall in return.

[joewarkfanclub]

I didn't hear the whole thing, but he's decided to become a Motherwell fan. A Well fan who phoned in has to support Millwall in return.

 

I think we should excuse the unfortunate caller. Do we really want Danny Baker supporting the Well?

[Steve Diggle]

Aye, Danny's alright

[joewarkfanclub]

Aye, Danny's alright

 

Never listened to his show. Just remember those really awful football bloopers videos! That and him being pished with Gazza and Chris Evans. Dont suppose that makes you a bad person!

[Ya Bezzer!]

I've always like Danny Baker but he's gotten better with age, doesn't go on wild rants too often these days and is generally a jolly old man(except when the BBC sack him). His non football week day show was better than the one he does now though.

 

I remember him saying years ago his dad picked Motherwell as a second team but he didn't know why, so I'm assuming its something to do with that.

 

I don't listen to the show until Sunday nights on my iplayer run.

[joewarkfanclub]

I've always like Danny Baker but he's gotten better with age, doesn't go on wild rants too often these days and is generally a jolly old man(except when the BBC sack him). His non football week day show was better than the one he does now though.

 

I remember him saying years ago his dad picked Motherwell as a second team but he didn't know why, so I'm assuming its something to do with that.

 

I don't listen to the show until Sunday nights on my iplayer run.

 

I will try and get the podcast and give the man a chance....

[weeyin]

I always enjoyed listening to Danny Baker's football show before they took it off the air. He had a rule that nobody involved with the professional game was allowed to participate and most of the focus was on the wee teams like ourselves.

 

He often had great ideas for his phone-ins from team mascots that got into fights to best places to watch games for free - seem to remember Albion Rovers got a shout in that one.

 

Unfortunately, that particular show was cancelled when he fell out with his bosses, so he isn't 100% football anymore. Even in it's current guise, however, his show is an entertaining way to spend an hour or two. He's obviously a huge fan of the game and, more importantly, of the unfashionable teams and the fans who go for years with little success.

 

(And if I ever make it to the sausage sandwich game - brown sauce every time).

[numpty]

He now does that kind of show on BT Sport with Danny Kelly instead, so it's a bit like Under The Moon used to be on Channel 4 too.

[underboyleheating]

I didn't hear the whole thing, but he's decided to become a Motherwell fan.

I know nothing about Danny Baker, however, maybe we should invite him up to Fir Park to watch a game.

 

 

[joewarkfanclub]

Had a quick skim through the podcast. Not really my cup of tea but nothing to put me off Danny Baker. Couldnt find the discussion about Motherwell but couldnt find the motivation to listen to the full 1hr 31mins!

 

For the record though, its ALWAYS brown sauce. The saugage has to be of the sliced variety with onions however!

[weeyin]

Had a quick skim through the podcast. Not really my cup of tea but nothing to put me off Danny Baker. Couldnt find the discussion about Motherwell but couldnt find the motivation to listen to the full 1hr 31mins!

 

For the record though, its ALWAYS brown sauce. The saugage has to be of the sliced variety with onions however!

 

Onions? No chance. No need to taint a quality sausage with any Fancy Dan trimmings.

[joewarkfanclub]

Onions? No chance. No need to taint a quality sausage with any Fancy Dan trimmings.

 

Need to make a concession to healthy living somewhere!

[chummy]

Onions done in butter, broon sauce luverly.

[bizarro!]

Also a good interview with Willie Pettigrew in the Scotsman.

 

 

 

 

I’M A stranger in this town, name of Hamilton. It’s difficult to avoid cowboy allusions when the man I’m meeting is Willie Pettigrew, the great goal desperado from the 1970s with the moustache to match, but maybe comedy allusions would be more appropriate.

 

 

 

I already know him as one half of a terrific strike partnership. Now I’m wondering if he and Bobby Graham were also a double-act in laughs. Maybe not Morecambe & Wise class, but Pettigrew solo is definitely funnier than Cannon and Ball put together.

 

Sans mouser and not much hair either, he picks me up from the train station and, knowing it’s my first time, takes me on a tour of the most prominent roadworks before quipping: “That’ll be the place off your bucket list then.” At his front door he cautions: “There’s a dog. He doesn’t bite but he will lick you to death.” In the front room there are also cockatiels and, remembering my old weekly newspaper editor’s instruction to always get pets’ names, I ask what they’re called. “No idea,” he says, fetching coffees. “Poor man’s parrots, I don’t get familiar with them. They were dumped on us by my son when he went off to Canada to become a snowboarding instructor. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘they’ll drop off their perch soon enough.’ Four years later they’re still bloody here.”

 

From the Not-Dead Cockatiel Sketch, Pettigrew, 60, moves on to funny stories about Ally MacLeod, John Greig, Kenny Dalglish, Wallace Mercer, the proverbial man-and-his-dog at Brechin City and those famous slapstick brothers, the McLeans Jim, Willie and Tommy. The yarns do not have the whiff of the after-dinner circuit about them. Then he takes out his wallet and produces a snap in faded Kodachrome of baby Craig, the future exotic-bird depositor, plonked in the Scottish League Cup while his mum Audrey looks on. “Every time after that when Celtic and Rangers players have drunk champagne from the trophy I’ve had a wee chuckle because that was a very dirty nappy!”

 

Pettigrew twice won the League Cup with Dundee United but is best-remembered for his goal-grabbing on gluepot pitches for Motherwell, although he might have been a Hibee. I think I knew this. Wouldn’t Hibernian pay his bus fare as an S-form or something, or was that Gordon Strachan? Anyway, both these guys have places in the All-Time Great Lost Mythical Hibs XI. “I’ll tell you the story,” he says. “I was playing for a wee team in Bonkle which had just sent Billy McEwan to Hibs when Dave Ewing was the manager. At that time, aged 15, it was said of me by Falkirk and a few other clubs: ‘All he can do is score goals.’ My view was: ‘Well, is that no’ the point of the game?’ Anyway I signed my S-form with Hibs but they played me at centre-half, even right-back. It took me a year to get out of Easter Road.”

 

Ally MacLeod at least knew Pettigrew’s best position and, although the two would fall out later when the former took over at Motherwell, he tried his best to get the youngster to sign for Ayr United. “Ally was in my parents’ house for six hours. Eventually my folks, by that point in their jammies, went off to bed. I told him I’d made a gentleman’s agreement to join Motherwell and I was sticking to it.”

 

At Fir Park, when he landed in ’72, his pal from back in primary school had been Willie Leishman. “He’s dead now, but when we were both part-time and he got made up to full-time, I was miffed and marched in to see the manager. This was Ian St John. ‘So you want to be full-time, too?’ he said. ‘All right then, you are.’ And that was to be his last act as Motherwell boss; the following day he left for Portsmouth.”

 

Pettigrew was never shy about voicing his opinions. “I had attitude as a footballer and sometimes it came off the park with me. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, basically.” But some of the opinions sounded perfectly valid. “I wanted to be coached. Ian St John took me aside and taught me stuff, which was great. That never happened before, or after really. Later at Hearts, when I was struggling a bit, I asked Walter Borthwick if I could come back in the afternoons for some shooting practice. He said: ‘Sorry Willie but I’m going shopping with the wife.’ ”

 

At ’Well under Willie McLean the transition to full-time was tricky. How did he spend his downtime? “Playing snooker and other things I wouldn’t like quoted!” Agitating for a first-team opportunity, he got his chance to deputise for the injured Bobby Graham one Christmas in what would be a venomous derby at Airdrie’s Broomfield (was there any other kind back then?). “The ball hardly touched the ground, the pitch was like a war zone and I got hauled off at half-time.” But with Graham back next game he was allowed to budge up next to the ex-Liverpool man; ’Well beat Ayr 5-1 and Pettigrew bagged four.

 

I love these old footballers who scored for fun wherever they went, like it was their trade, which it was. The modern version can sometimes be a baffled, and baffling, striker-hybrid who’ll have the media trying to explain away his goal drought, insisting that full acclimatisation to a club takes time, although his designer labels indicate he’s had no trouble finding the swankiest local stores. Pettigrew smiles as the likes of Joe McBride and Alan Gordon flit through the conversation. “The ethos in the game now doesn’t seem to be about what you’ve won but how much you’ve earned. If you’re a millionaire you must be a good footballer. Well, not always. In my day I looked up to Celtic and Rangers guys who didn’t wear their medals on their chests but were definitely winners. That’s what I wanted to be, and maybe to play for my country as well. Those were special things you could hold dear.”

 

Now he’s laughing again because he’s remembered the night he enraged Kenny Dalglish. “It was a World Cup qualifier against Wales [’76] and, with Scotland winning 1-0, I got on for the last ten minutes and right away chased a lost-cause ball, cut inside and shot. Kenny went mental; he wanted me to waste time. But from first minute to last my view was always the same: ‘There’s a goal for me in this game.’ If someone chucked a ball in here just now you’d be in trouble. I’d be right over that table!”

 

Pettigrew, who won five caps, scoring an absolute cracker on his dark blue debut against Switzerland, now coaches Motherwell under-14s. “I look around the car park at our training complex at Braidhurst and there must be a couple of million pounds worth of motors there. You know, I didn’t get free sweeties as a kid; I had to work for them. If I was to ask these Motherwell lads to do what I did at that age, travel three hours by bus, two trains and on foot to training, I’m not sure many would. I did it on my own, mind, and for good reasons that wouldn’t be allowed now. Not to Edinburgh, anyway!” (A joke at the capital’s expense from a Lanarkshire vantage-point, rather than the other way round? Surely a first).

 

The Pettigrew-Graham double-act wasn’t created in a science lab or even, very much, on the training pitch. “We didn’t work at it; we just seemed to know where the other one would be.” This is remarkable when you dig out old clips of their interplay, with muddy or rutted fields no impediment to back-heeled one-twos, before the customary dead-eyed finish by Pettigrew. “Bobby could score too, and I made some goals for him. He’s 69 now and still one of my good pals, though two weeks ago, according to him, he was faster than me. I’m no’ having that!”

 

If he didn’t have to work at the partnership, did he work at his hair? After all, the Pettigrew barnet was one of the 70s’ most emblematic. “Naw,” he laughs. “Were there even hair-dryers in those days?” He fetches the scrapbooks and what a trichological tapesty they offer up: mad hair, crazy hair, hair from a Peter McDougall gangland drama, hair from the court of Louis XIV. Best of all are the shots where, perversely, the photographer has insisted our man stand side-on to a Lanarkshire gale, so one side flaps upwards like half of a hopelessly-assembled tent.

 

He talks some more about the attitude he wore under Motherwell’s claret slash. “My mother used to say she couldn’t talk after I’d hit 12. From then I always knew what I was doing.” Mind you, attitude came as standard in 70s footballers. “Tackling from behind was allowed back then; as was tackling from above. In the first ten minutes of a match you’d always get a slap. Against the Old Firm, and Motherwell used to cause them problems, you’d get up straight away and their guys would think: ‘Well, there’s a game on today.’ John Greig would kick three shades of sh**e out of you and at the end he’d want to shake your hand. ‘Good game, Wullie.’ ‘Aye, maybe from where you’re standing. I’ll be getting a wheelchair to the pub!’ ”

 

Pettigrew reels off the ’Well team which threatened to win something but didn’t quite, including Joe Wark (“You don’t get one-club men like him anymore”), Bobby Watson (“The lay preacher”), Vic Davidson (“He’s in America now”) and Stewart MacLaren (“A nice guy who if you broke his leg wouldn’t react, though ten minutes later he might hit you over the head with the stump”). Then there were the real tough nuts, Willie McVie and Gregor Stevens. “We’d just carry on training round about them whenever they started fighting. On cold days Willie would wear green gloves at Ibrox and blue ones at Parkead to wind up their fans. Gregor was a nice guy off the park but in games he just used to turn into a psycho. Christ, I hope I don’t bump into him this afternoon!”

 

Pettigrew twice topped Scotland’s scoring charts. As reward he was made, he believes, Scotland’s highest-paid player. “I think that was Motherwell’s downfall, and probably mine as well. There was some jealousy, and more pressure on me. I became a marked man, or more of one. I fell out with Willie McLean. Bobby moved on to Hamilton and I was always a better player alongside him.”

 

Willie McLean he rates the quietest of the brotherly triumvirate. “The most knowledgable, some reckoned, but he could be devious, slapping you on the back one day and trying to sell you the next. I got Tommy at a good time, his first manager’s job at Morton with Tam Forsyth as his assistant. I called them ‘Haud it and daud it.’ ” And in between, for the £100,000 which took him to Dundee Utd in ’79, there was Jim. “I’ll be eternally grateful to Jim for signing me and for the medals I would never have won at Motherwell.” There’s a “but”, of course. “He could be a nutcase. He demanded absolute perfection, which isn’t possible, and thought I was too one-dimensional. We thrashed Fergie’s Aberdeen 4-1 and I scored with a great volley. Afterwards, all he wanted to talk about was a 90-yard run I’d made. ‘Do that more often,’ he said. ‘Aye Boss but what about my goal?’ Another time against Morton I disobeyed his orders at a corner and, instead of going to the near post, hung around the penalty spot. The ball came straight to me – goal. He went mad. It was as if he’d rather have seen me make the perfect decoy run. In fairness to Jim, though, when I’d fallen out of the team before the [1980] League Cup semi, he put me back in for that tie and the final because I’d played in all the earlier rounds. He was superstitious like that.”

 

Another move, to Hearts, produced more goals for a gunslinger who’d finish with 140 to his name – and another bust-up. “Wallace Mercer never spoke to me after a party at his big house in [Edinburgh’s] Barnton when we won the old First Division and I got too drunk. I embarrassed myself by dancing on his billiards table.” His final strikes came for Morton, including one at Brechin that rates among the most satisfying of his career. “All game I had to take dog’s abuse from this lone punter. ‘Yer nuthin’ without Graham,’ he’d shout. After I’d nutmegged the centre-half, walked round the ’keeper and stuck it away I ran over to the old moan and said: ‘That okay for you?’ He marched straight out of the ground!”

 

The cockatiels haven’t let up all afternoon but Pettigrew has been even chirpier. After retiring he had his own grocery business, got into money trouble, was advised by the bank to sell his house, but in the same self-taught, self-determined way he went about football, salvaged the situation. He took a nightshift job so he could care for his parents in their final days. Last October, he and Audrey went to Las Vegas to celebrate his 60th.

 

“I’ve no regrets,” he says finally. “I tell the kids I coach that they must work harder because I now know what they should be doing. When I was playing nobody told me. Saying that, today’s techniques might have made me a better player but I’d probably have scored fewer goals.”

 

Oh, and next month Pettigrew will be inducted into Dundee Utd’s Hall of Fame. He wonders if Jim McLean will be there and would like to see him again. “Even though he’ll probably expect me to walk in a different door for that wee element of surprise!”

 

 

 

[SteelmaninOZ]

On 1/13/2014 at 2:57 AM, bizarro! said:

Also a good interview with Willie Pettigrew in the Scotsman.

 

 

 

 

I’M A stranger in this town, name of Hamilton. It’s difficult to avoid cowboy allusions when the man I’m meeting is Willie Pettigrew, the great goal desperado from the 1970s with the moustache to match, but maybe comedy allusions would be more appropriate.

 

 

 

I already know him as one half of a terrific strike partnership. Now I’m wondering if he and Bobby Graham were also a double-act in laughs. Maybe not Morecambe & Wise class, but Pettigrew solo is definitely funnier than Cannon and Ball put together.

 

Sans mouser and not much hair either, he picks me up from the train station and, knowing it’s my first time, takes me on a tour of the most prominent roadworks before quipping: “That’ll be the place off your bucket list then.” At his front door he cautions: “There’s a dog. He doesn’t bite but he will lick you to death.” In the front room there are also cockatiels and, remembering my old weekly newspaper editor’s instruction to always get pets’ names, I ask what they’re called. “No idea,” he says, fetching coffees. “Poor man’s parrots, I don’t get familiar with them. They were dumped on us by my son when he went off to Canada to become a snowboarding instructor. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘they’ll drop off their perch soon enough.’ Four years later they’re still bloody here.”

 

From the Not-Dead Cockatiel Sketch, Pettigrew, 60, moves on to funny stories about Ally MacLeod, John Greig, Kenny Dalglish, Wallace Mercer, the proverbial man-and-his-dog at Brechin City and those famous slapstick brothers, the McLeans Jim, Willie and Tommy. The yarns do not have the whiff of the after-dinner circuit about them. Then he takes out his wallet and produces a snap in faded Kodachrome of baby Craig, the future exotic-bird depositor, plonked in the Scottish League Cup while his mum Audrey looks on. “Every time after that when Celtic and Rangers players have drunk champagne from the trophy I’ve had a wee chuckle because that was a very dirty nappy!”

 

Pettigrew twice won the League Cup with Dundee United but is best-remembered for his goal-grabbing on gluepot pitches for Motherwell, although he might have been a Hibee. I think I knew this. Wouldn’t Hibernian pay his bus fare as an S-form or something, or was that Gordon Strachan? Anyway, both these guys have places in the All-Time Great Lost Mythical Hibs XI. “I’ll tell you the story,” he says. “I was playing for a wee team in Bonkle which had just sent Billy McEwan to Hibs when Dave Ewing was the manager. At that time, aged 15, it was said of me by Falkirk and a few other clubs: ‘All he can do is score goals.’ My view was: ‘Well, is that no’ the point of the game?’ Anyway I signed my S-form with Hibs but they played me at centre-half, even right-back. It took me a year to get out of Easter Road.”

 

Ally MacLeod at least knew Pettigrew’s best position and, although the two would fall out later when the former took over at Motherwell, he tried his best to get the youngster to sign for Ayr United. “Ally was in my parents’ house for six hours. Eventually my folks, by that point in their jammies, went off to bed. I told him I’d made a gentleman’s agreement to join Motherwell and I was sticking to it.”

 

At Fir Park, when he landed in ’72, his pal from back in primary school had been Willie Leishman. “He’s dead now, but when we were both part-time and he got made up to full-time, I was miffed and marched in to see the manager. This was Ian St John. ‘So you want to be full-time, too?’ he said. ‘All right then, you are.’ And that was to be his last act as Motherwell boss; the following day he left for Portsmouth.”

 

Pettigrew was never shy about voicing his opinions. “I had attitude as a footballer and sometimes it came off the park with me. I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, basically.” But some of the opinions sounded perfectly valid. “I wanted to be coached. Ian St John took me aside and taught me stuff, which was great. That never happened before, or after really. Later at Hearts, when I was struggling a bit, I asked Walter Borthwick if I could come back in the afternoons for some shooting practice. He said: ‘Sorry Willie but I’m going shopping with the wife.’ ”

 

At ’Well under Willie McLean the transition to full-time was tricky. How did he spend his downtime? “Playing snooker and other things I wouldn’t like quoted!” Agitating for a first-team opportunity, he got his chance to deputise for the injured Bobby Graham one Christmas in what would be a venomous derby at Airdrie’s Broomfield (was there any other kind back then?). “The ball hardly touched the ground, the pitch was like a war zone and I got hauled off at half-time.” But with Graham back next game he was allowed to budge up next to the ex-Liverpool man; ’Well beat Ayr 5-1 and Pettigrew bagged four.

 

I love these old footballers who scored for fun wherever they went, like it was their trade, which it was. The modern version can sometimes be a baffled, and baffling, striker-hybrid who’ll have the media trying to explain away his goal drought, insisting that full acclimatisation to a club takes time, although his designer labels indicate he’s had no trouble finding the swankiest local stores. Pettigrew smiles as the likes of Joe McBride and Alan Gordon flit through the conversation. “The ethos in the game now doesn’t seem to be about what you’ve won but how much you’ve earned. If you’re a millionaire you must be a good footballer. Well, not always. In my day I looked up to Celtic and Rangers guys who didn’t wear their medals on their chests but were definitely winners. That’s what I wanted to be, and maybe to play for my country as well. Those were special things you could hold dear.”

 

Now he’s laughing again because he’s remembered the night he enraged Kenny Dalglish. “It was a World Cup qualifier against Wales [’76] and, with Scotland winning 1-0, I got on for the last ten minutes and right away chased a lost-cause ball, cut inside and shot. Kenny went mental; he wanted me to waste time. But from first minute to last my view was always the same: ‘There’s a goal for me in this game.’ If someone chucked a ball in here just now you’d be in trouble. I’d be right over that table!”

 

Pettigrew, who won five caps, scoring an absolute cracker on his dark blue debut against Switzerland, now coaches Motherwell under-14s. “I look around the car park at our training complex at Braidhurst and there must be a couple of million pounds worth of motors there. You know, I didn’t get free sweeties as a kid; I had to work for them. If I was to ask these Motherwell lads to do what I did at that age, travel three hours by bus, two trains and on foot to training, I’m not sure many would. I did it on my own, mind, and for good reasons that wouldn’t be allowed now. Not to Edinburgh, anyway!” (A joke at the capital’s expense from a Lanarkshire vantage-point, rather than the other way round? Surely a first).

 

The Pettigrew-Graham double-act wasn’t created in a science lab or even, very much, on the training pitch. “We didn’t work at it; we just seemed to know where the other one would be.” This is remarkable when you dig out old clips of their interplay, with muddy or rutted fields no impediment to back-heeled one-twos, before the customary dead-eyed finish by Pettigrew. “Bobby could score too, and I made some goals for him. He’s 69 now and still one of my good pals, though two weeks ago, according to him, he was faster than me. I’m no’ having that!”

 

If he didn’t have to work at the partnership, did he work at his hair? After all, the Pettigrew barnet was one of the 70s’ most emblematic. “Naw,” he laughs. “Were there even hair-dryers in those days?” He fetches the scrapbooks and what a trichological tapesty they offer up: mad hair, crazy hair, hair from a Peter McDougall gangland drama, hair from the court of Louis XIV. Best of all are the shots where, perversely, the photographer has insisted our man stand side-on to a Lanarkshire gale, so one side flaps upwards like half of a hopelessly-assembled tent.

 

He talks some more about the attitude he wore under Motherwell’s claret slash. “My mother used to say she couldn’t talk after I’d hit 12. From then I always knew what I was doing.” Mind you, attitude came as standard in 70s footballers. “Tackling from behind was allowed back then; as was tackling from above. In the first ten minutes of a match you’d always get a slap. Against the Old Firm, and Motherwell used to cause them problems, you’d get up straight away and their guys would think: ‘Well, there’s a game on today.’ John Greig would kick three shades of sh**e out of you and at the end he’d want to shake your hand. ‘Good game, Wullie.’ ‘Aye, maybe from where you’re standing. I’ll be getting a wheelchair to the pub!’ ”

 

Pettigrew reels off the ’Well team which threatened to win something but didn’t quite, including Joe Wark (“You don’t get one-club men like him anymore”), Bobby Watson (“The lay preacher”), Vic Davidson (“He’s in America now”) and Stewart MacLaren (“A nice guy who if you broke his leg wouldn’t react, though ten minutes later he might hit you over the head with the stump”). Then there were the real tough nuts, Willie McVie and Gregor Stevens. “We’d just carry on training round about them whenever they started fighting. On cold days Willie would wear green gloves at Ibrox and blue ones at Parkead to wind up their fans. Gregor was a nice guy off the park but in games he just used to turn into a psycho. Christ, I hope I don’t bump into him this afternoon!”

 

Pettigrew twice topped Scotland’s scoring charts. As reward he was made, he believes, Scotland’s highest-paid player. “I think that was Motherwell’s downfall, and probably mine as well. There was some jealousy, and more pressure on me. I became a marked man, or more of one. I fell out with Willie McLean. Bobby moved on to Hamilton and I was always a better player alongside him.”

 

Willie McLean he rates the quietest of the brotherly triumvirate. “The most knowledgable, some reckoned, but he could be devious, slapping you on the back one day and trying to sell you the next. I got Tommy at a good time, his first manager’s job at Morton with Tam Forsyth as his assistant. I called them ‘Haud it and daud it.’ ” And in between, for the £100,000 which took him to Dundee Utd in ’79, there was Jim. “I’ll be eternally grateful to Jim for signing me and for the medals I would never have won at Motherwell.” There’s a “but”, of course. “He could be a nutcase. He demanded absolute perfection, which isn’t possible, and thought I was too one-dimensional. We thrashed Fergie’s Aberdeen 4-1 and I scored with a great volley. Afterwards, all he wanted to talk about was a 90-yard run I’d made. ‘Do that more often,’ he said. ‘Aye Boss but what about my goal?’ Another time against Morton I disobeyed his orders at a corner and, instead of going to the near post, hung around the penalty spot. The ball came straight to me – goal. He went mad. It was as if he’d rather have seen me make the perfect decoy run. In fairness to Jim, though, when I’d fallen out of the team before the [1980] League Cup semi, he put me back in for that tie and the final because I’d played in all the earlier rounds. He was superstitious like that.”

 

Another move, to Hearts, produced more goals for a gunslinger who’d finish with 140 to his name – and another bust-up. “Wallace Mercer never spoke to me after a party at his big house in [Edinburgh’s] Barnton when we won the old First Division and I got too drunk. I embarrassed myself by dancing on his billiards table.” His final strikes came for Morton, including one at Brechin that rates among the most satisfying of his career. “All game I had to take dog’s abuse from this lone punter. ‘Yer nuthin’ without Graham,’ he’d shout. After I’d nutmegged the centre-half, walked round the ’keeper and stuck it away I ran over to the old moan and said: ‘That okay for you?’ He marched straight out of the ground!”

 

The cockatiels haven’t let up all afternoon but Pettigrew has been even chirpier. After retiring he had his own grocery business, got into money trouble, was advised by the bank to sell his house, but in the same self-taught, self-determined way he went about football, salvaged the situation. He took a nightshift job so he could care for his parents in their final days. Last October, he and Audrey went to Las Vegas to celebrate his 60th.

 

“I’ve no regrets,” he says finally. “I tell the kids I coach that they must work harder because I now know what they should be doing. When I was playing nobody told me. Saying that, today’s techniques might have made me a better player but I’d probably have scored fewer goals.”

 

Oh, and next month Pettigrew will be inducted into Dundee Utd’s Hall of Fame. He wonders if Jim McLean will be there and would like to see him again. “Even though he’ll probably expect me to walk in a different door for that wee element of surprise!”

 

 

 

Great interview 

[Mad Dog]

I wonder if Danny Baker still follows us and if he was ever invited up to watch a game.