ALEX’S ANGLE: FAREWELL, DENIS, AND THANK YOU

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THERE was a time I wished Denis Law played for Celtic.

A guy can dream.

Denis possessed the skills that illuminated football grounds throughout the universe. The man oozed charisma and class. He left an indelible print on the beautiful game, searing memories that will never fade.

Alas, this wonderful human being, a legendary figure for Scotland and Manchester United, has passed away at the age of 84.

I well remember talking to a genuine all-round good guy just before a landmark birthday.

Here is the tale as it appears in my second book of newspaper memoirs, ‘A Raccoon Stole My Thunder‘, which was published in October 2021.

I hope you enjoy it.

‘SIXTY?’ exclaims Denis Law. ‘My God I’m ancient. That really is old, man. When I was growing up, I thought people at that age were right out of it.’

The declaration, I’m delighted to inform you, is accompanied by a hearty chuckle.

A LABOUR OF LOVE…Alex Gordon’s tribute book to the one-and-only Denis Law.

The date is February 23 2000 and I have just put in a call to my favourite footballer of all time, The Lawman. I am aware of his landmark birthday the following day and I thought I would get in early to offer my good wishes. I also wonder if The Great Man is up for an interview to mark the occasion.

‘Aye, I was expecting this call,’ he responds. As ever, the chat goes smoothly; it’s a breeze going through a question and answer routine with this gentleman.

‘Any regrets?’ An easy one to kick off thirty minutes or so of gentle interrogation.

‘None whatsoever,’ he replies emphatically and honestly. Reflecting on the financial rewards even half-decent players are enjoying, Law remarks: ‘The boys today must believe all their birthdays have come at once.

‘Back in my day, though, there were comparisons with the likes of Stanley Matthews and Tom Finney. They had earned between £14 and £15 a week and I was picking up something like £100 with Manchester United in the sixties, so I suppose everything is relevant. I’ve got absolutely no complaints.’

We discuss the exorbitant transfer fees being chucked around. Real Madrid have just paid a mindboggling £22.5million to Arsenal for striker Nicolas Anelka. How much does Denis reckon he would be worth in the market place?

‘Behave yourself,’ I’m chided. ‘I’m not answering that question.’

I detect a giggle travelling down the line. ‘I cost Manchester United £110,000 when they signed me from Torino back in 1962. That was a lot of money at the time. That might act as some sort of guideline.’

A WHOLE DIFFERENT BALL GAME…Denis Law takes a break from Scotland international training with some table tennis with his Celtic pal Jimmy Johnstone.

Please remember we are discussing the merits of the man who was voted European Footballer of the Year in 1964, the only Scot to have had the honour bestowed upon him. During 404 outings for United, he netted 237 goals. That’s extraordinary marksmanship in any era.

I am not surprised to learn he doesn’t have anything special lined up for his sixtieth birthday. ‘Nothing planned,’ he answers cheerily. ‘I’m not that sort of person. The family will come over and we’ll all have a good time.’

At the end of the conversation, Denis asks me what I’m getting up to for the rest of the day. I tell him I am meeting up for a beer and a bite with former Daily Record and Sunday Mail colleagues, the bedraggled members of the so-called Wednesday Club which takes place at The Montrose Pub on Glasgow’s Broomielaw four times a month.

‘Are you keeping bad company?’ he asks with another laugh.

I am aware Denis knows all of them very well. ‘Usual suspects,’ I inform him. ‘Alex Cameron, Don Morrison, Dixon Blackstock, David Leggat and there will be a few guest appearances as well no doubt.’

‘Formidable,’ comes the acknowledgement. ‘Tell them I’m asking for them,’ he says with authentic affection. ‘We had some good times together.’

Actually, there was always an exuberant atmosphere when Denis was in the vicinity. I could sit in this totally unassuming guy’s company and just enjoy being swirled back in time.

For me, as a kid growing up in the housing scheme of Castlemilk on the south side of Glasgow, it was a two-mile hike to and from the national stadium, a trek I made umpteen times with my pals just to witness Denis Law in the flesh.

He brought Hollywood to Hampden. The shock of blond hair, arm thrust into the air, the cuff tightly gripped, the back ramrod-stiff, the jersey flapping outside the shorts and the magisterial strut after leaving another scene of devastation behind him.

Always punching above his weight, the quintessential Scotsman.

WORLD-BEATER…Denis Law pounces to open the scoring in Scotland’s memorable 3-2 triumph over England at Wembley in April 1967.

Law is Scotland’s joint-top scorer on thirty goals alongside Kenny Dalglish. The incorrigible Lawman, with his trademark mischievous grin, likes to remind folk: ‘I scored my goals in fifty-five games, it took Kenny one hundred and two.’

Nobby Stiles, the gumsy midfield warrior in England’s World Cup-winning team of 1966, was a team-mate of Law at Manchester United. Sir Bobby Charlton was another club colleague and part of the club’s phenomenal fusion of talents known as The Trinity; Denis Law, Bobby Charlton and George Best, a gifted threesome enshrined forever in the form of an impressive statue facing the main entrance of Old Trafford. Fittingly, Denis, right arm aloft, is in the centre.

Denis took no prisoners when he donned the dark blue of his country. Nobby pulled Bobby aside in the Wembley tunnel before the April 1967 fixture.

‘We’re in for a tough time this afternoon,’ he nodded in Law’s direction. ‘He’s wearing shin pads.’

The Scot rarely had time for what he believed was cumbersome protection, but he made exceptions and the annual duel with The Auld Enemy was most certainly one of them.

Nobby was quite right in his assessment. Law played like a man possessed and scored the opening goal with a typical cobra-like strike after keeper Gordon Banks had spilled a low shot from Willie Wallace.

Scotland overwhelmed the team that had been proclaimed World Cup winners the previous year, their first loss in nineteen games. Denis and his pals annihilated the English 3-2 on a memorable occasion.

‘It was great to beat them,’ Denis told me years later, adding with a grin, ‘especially on their own midden.’

Law was idolised wherever football was played, but he was a bit of a contradiction in terms, a showman who shunned the spotlight. Try to give this guy the red carpet treatment and he will head for the back door.

Paddy Crerand, team-mate at Manchester United and Scotland, knows Law better than most and insists his good friend, at the height of his powers, continually knocked back hefty financial inducements for a variety of commercial enterprises.

‘Denis made few public appearances and preferred his privacy to the fees he could have picked up,’ says Crerand. ‘When he was in a Manchester hospital recovering from a knee injury that would rule him out of the 1968 European Cup Final against Benfica, the BBC thought it would be a good idea to put cameras into Denis’ hospital room.

HONOURED…Denis Law and his statue erected in his native Aberdeen in 2021.

The game was being beamed live on television, of course, and they wanted to show his reaction and perhaps get his comments at the end. Matt Busby raised no objections to this idea and the hospital authorities were quite willing to allow a camera crew to set up at his bedside.

‘The only person who didn’t like the idea was Denis. He said: “No.” And that was that.’

Crerand admits the Aberdonian could be a bit reclusive. ‘He avoided public places where he would be quickly recognised and in many ways he was a lone wolf. He even had his own gimmick for not getting involved. If, after training, some of the boys asked him what he was doing in the afternoon, he would always answer “gardening” with a straight face.

‘He wouldn’t know one end of a weed from the other, but it gave him an excuse to go off on his own and earned him the nickname, The Gardener.

‘Denis chose his company very carefully. He would rather have a beer in a quiet pub with ordinary blokes than mix with celebrities at a cocktail party. If he liked you, then Denis could be great company, but there was no middle road with him. If he didn’t like someone he wouldn’t talk to them.’

I recall an incident as the evening of Friday May 23 1975 wore on. I didn’t think Denis Law could do any more to impress me. I was wrong. The location was the White House Hotel on Euston Road near Regents Park and the Scottish support had arrived mob-handed, as usual, for the bi-annual tussle at Wembley.

Half of Scotland seemed to have decanted into the two ground floor bars of the five-star accommodation.

The bevvy was flowing and the alcohol was taking hold of a few who had probably saved up for two years for this event. As so often happens, some of them had seen their senses washed away in a sea of booze. I detected friction among some of the supporters.

UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL…Denis Law is hugged by an ecstatic fan at Wembley 67.

The previous good-natured banter was turning a little sour. It didn’t matter they were all wearing kilts and looking like extras from Braveheart, they were beginning to argue among themselves.

It threatened to become a little rowdy. It wasn’t quite The McDonalds v The Campbells, but there was more than hint of tension in the air. And then in stepped a bloke wearing a crisp white open-neck shirt, dark blue jacket, smart grey trousers and black slip-on shoes.

‘Now, boys’, was all he said. They seemed to snap to attention, almost saluting in the process. Peace had broken out. Only Denis Law could have achieved that. Pity he couldn’t turn out the following day; we were walloped 5-1.

On August 19 2021, Denis Law announced he had been diagnosed with mixed dementia. Surprised when I heard the news? That would be putting it mildly. I had spoken to Denis the previous month for the foreword for a book I was involved in.

During the course of the conversation, Denis, at the age of eighty-one, seemed reasonably sharp. There was a lapse or two, but nothing that would cause alarm.

As I write this, I am three months short of my seventieth birthday and I would admit I am not as nimble upstairs as once was. I acknowledge that as part of the ageing process. Better to experience it and attempt to combat it than not be around to encounter the intrusion, methinks.

When the illness came to light, Denis, with typical fortitude, said: ‘It is an incredibly challenging and problematic disease and I have witnessed many friends go through this.

SIGN HERE, PLEASE…legendary double-act Denis Law and Billy McNeill with a young autograph hunter.

‘You hope that it won’t happen to you, even make jokes about it whilst ignoring the early signs because you don’t want it to be true. You get angry, frustrated, confused and then worried, worried for your family, as they will be the ones dealing with it.

‘However, the time has come to tackle this head on, excuse the pun.

‘I recognise how my brain is deteriorating and how my memory evades me when I don’t want it to and how this causes me distress in situations that are beyond my control.

‘I do understand what is happening and that is why I want to address my situation now whilst I am able, because I know there will be days when I don’t understand, and I hate the thought of that right now.

‘I know the road ahead will be hard, demanding, painful and ever changing and so ask for understanding and patience as this will not be an easy journey especially for the people who love you the most.’

Yes, I shed a tear when I read those words. There is the dreadful dawning Denis Law is a mere mortal just like you and I.

Back in 2013, I had the thought of writing a tribute book to The Great Man. Over a beer one afternoon, I mentioned the possibility of penning the Denis Law homage to Davie Hay, who just happens to be a bit of a legend himself.

The former Celtic player and manager was in the same Scotland team in West Germany 1974 when Denis made his only appearance in the World Cup Finals, a 2-0 win over Zaire.

Without hesitation, Davie said: ‘Denis Law, Scotland’s first football superstar.’ Six little words. The book came alive in that instant.

I spoke to Denis about my intentions, of course, and, as you would expect, he was most helpful all the way through. The book, entitled ‘DENIS LAW: King and Country’ was published on August 29 that year, coincidentally the same day as my first work of fiction, ‘Who Shot Wild Bill?’.

Unlike The Lawman in his prime, with that astonishing ability to hover in mid-air before summoning up all the power in his neck muscles to snap his head forward and make perfect contact with a cross ball, my timing is often a tad awry.

I sent a few copies of the biography to Denis for his perusal. I heard nothing for a few days and then one evening I returned with my wife Gerda from a day in town. The twinkling red light on the telephone informed me I had missed a call. I picked up the receiver, stabbed the relevant button and on came the unmistakeable tones of my friend.

‘Hi, it’s Denis,’ began the short message. ‘Just to let you know, Alex, I am up to Chapter Seven. Loving it. All good stuff. Thanks.’

A simple little communication and so typical of a decent, thoughtful human being. It meant the world to me.

 

MEMORIES ARE MADE OF THIS…author Alex Gordon with Denis Law mementoes.

In ‘King and Country‘, I concluded the publication with a brief chapter under the headline: FOREVER THE KING. I see no reason to alter a single word.

‘Denis Law was the showman supreme. Fearless, swashbuckling, elusive, unique. He was more than a mere goalscorer whose cavalier thrusts and menacing darts brought panic and pandemonium to opposing defences.

‘Law was an inspiration to those around him at club and country level; and to street urchins everywhere.

‘His was a defiance born of a tough upbringing in an Aberdeen tenement, displaying an admirable stoicism while faced with poverty, adversity and even cruelty. Blighted by the deformity of a squint in his eye, he was undaunted as he went about his life with a stubborn, laudable single-mindedness.

‘He snarled at fate. And overcame the obstacles that were strewn across his path.

‘There is a lot of courage in the Denis Law story. Team-mates adored him, opponents feared him, fans revered him. He was a free spirit, an extrovert, a complete one-off, a rare combination of impudence and intelligence, skill and steel.

‘No footballing system is capable of producing a player such as Denis Law. Life chiselled out this character.

‘Undeniably, he deserved every rapturous applause that greeted yet another spectacular goal, another piece of sorcery. He possessed a certain grace of movement which was to be to be admired and cherished, artistry to beguile and behold.

‘Every ounce of hero worship was earned, the acclaim thoroughly deserved, the adulation, quite rightly, was his.

‘Denis Law is, was and always will be The King.’

Amen to that. Rest in peace, Denis.

It’s my turn to say thanks.

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